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In a complex teeming with people, I needed a moment alone with her.
Parker. My former best friend’s little sister. My … friend? No, at four years younger than me, she wasn’t quite a friend back then. More like a borrowed pesky little sister. Only, she never got on my nerves like she did Brandon’s.
And there’s nothing sisterly about how I feel now, standing this close to her.
I can’t pinpoint exactlywhatI’m feeling. My emotions have been jumbled since I recognized Parker sitting in that conference room. Mostly, I was stunned that the gorgeous woman who somehow hid through most of the meeting wasParker. I think I hid my shock well.
So well, in fact, she looked hurt, probably thinking I didn’t recognize or remember her.
As though I could forget. It did take a few seconds, but only because I hadn’t expected Parker to be in the conference room.
Back in the day, she had the singular ability to make me smile, something I rarely had reason to do. She was always overflowing with energy and big ideas, like some kind of fiery woodland sprite fueled by straight espresso.
Speaking of fiery …
I'm not prepared when she shoves me, both palms pressed flat against my chest. I stumble back and then grasp her wrists, walking forward until her back is against the wall.
“Don’t call me that,Wolverine,” she says.
“Don’t call you little? Or don’t call you Peter Parker?”
Her old nickname for me—taken fromX-Men’s Logan, aka Wolverine—inspired mine for her. Though I usually shortened it to Pete.
Stupid, maybe. But it traces back to middle school. That’s when I started playing hockey with Brandon and spent most afternoons at his place. Parker was in elementary school then. It’s amazing how four years’ age difference when you’re in school is massive. It’s nothing now.
“I’m not little,” she says.
I eye her, trying to be respectful but still taking in her fitted black slacks and turquoise shirt. Professional. But even appropriate work attire can’t hide how attractive she is. Parker is nothing short of stunning, and I’m still trying to wrap my head around the shift from my best friend’s adorably dorky little sister to …this.
Nope—she’s definitely notlittle.
I’m staring. And I really need to stop.
Though I’m the one who trapped her here, I’m not sure what to say now. I’m like a house cat who finally caught a mouse and doesn’t know what to do with it. Still, I don’t release her wrists.
“I didn’t think you recognized me,” she says, her voice a little breathless.
“I could never forget you, Pete.” The words come out a lot huskier than I mean them to, a lot more serious too. I quickly add, “But I didn’t recognize you. Not at first. I wasn’t expecting youhere.”
“Surprise?”
I chuckle, and then, realizing exactly how close we’re standing and how I probably shouldn’t keep holding her wrists, I step back. Not too far. Just one step.
“It’s been a minute,” she says, bending to pick up her tablet.
I should have done that for her, but I forgot the tablet was even there.
“That it has.” I pause. “You work for the Appies,” I say, stealing the title of Captain Ridiculously Obvious.
She smirks, regaining some of her composure. But I don’t miss the way she clutches her tablet tightly to her chest like a shield. “And you play for them.”
For now. I don’t say this. No need to start my first day with talk of leaving.
She tilts her head. “Would you have been any nicer if you recognized me right away?”
“Unlikely.”
She laughs then, which was my goal, and I catch a glimpse of the girl I remember. If Parker wasn’t laughing, she was smiling. Always. She was a compact ball of sunshine who drove away the constant storm cloud I lived under. For a while.
