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What I want to know is how could Parker have made it this long without kissing someone?
Someone so beautiful. So kind. So vibrant and fun. Any one of the guys on the team would probably kiss her.
THAT thought has my ankles wobbling. Not for the first time since we got out here.
No—better not to think about Parker kissing one of the guys. Not if I don’t want to get kicked off the team for punching someone in the throat. The force of my reaction surprises me. Jealousy is a new emotion. One I’m still not used to.
“Logan.” Parker sounds exasperated now. “Pick a food.”
“I don’t like any one food enough to eat it forever.”
“Fine, Mr. Commitment Issues.”
“I don’t have commitment issues,” I snap.
Parker raises one eyebrow. The corner of her mouth lifts. “Sure, you don’t.”
Fine. Maybe I have commitment issues. Or maybe it’s that no one in my life has ever been committed to me. And I’ve never had anyone I felt was worth me committing to them.
But even as I think that, I meet Parker’s gaze, those brown eyes bright and curious. Probably wondering why I’m being such a jerk. Or maybe wondering what I think about what she said. She didn’t give me a chance to respond. Did she want me to respond?
After teasing her about kissing, did I make it worse by saying nothing?
I wasn’t sure how exactly to react after Parker shocked me, then ran from her office, calling “Suit up, buttercup. We’re going skating.”
When I stepped on the ice, meeting a waiting Parker with her phone already out, my ankles wobbled.Wobbled. Like some kid who just laced up his first pair of rental skates.
Now, we’re skating in circles, with her asking me ridiculous questions like this when all I want is to demand other answers. And it’s taking all my energy to keep the tension in my body from snapping me in half.
Why is this affecting me like this? I can’t explain it. I just know that I can’t stop thinking about it. And how bad I feel about teasing Parker until she had to tell me. So, if I’m mad—it’s all directed at myself for pushing her into a corner.
“Fine. You don’t have to eat one food foreverymeal,” she says. “What’s a food you could eat at least once a day?”
“Pizza,” I say.
“Solid choice. Toppings?”
“Cheese. And olives if I’m feeling fancy.”
She grins. “Olives are your idea of fancy, Barnes?”
I find myself cracking a smile. As usual, Parker is the sun banishing even my darkest clouds. “They’re my idea ofpizzafancy.”
“What’s your idea of fancy aside from pizza?”
“I’mnotfancy aside from pizza.”
Parker laughs, and the mere fact that I can make her laugh has me grinning right back at her. A little of the tension eases from my shoulders. And a little more as I unclench my fists.
“So, olives on pizza and wearing suits on game day are the only times you’re fancy?” she asks.
“Pretty much.”
She taps her phone. Probably stopping and starting another video. “What’s your idea of a perfect night?”
This sounds very close to asking about a perfect date. Which makes my mind circle back to our earlier conversation. And the sticky notes, which are now fixed to the back of my locker. The rules for our date—or our relationship.
But Parker asked about my perfectnight, notdate.
