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The only way it would bemoreperfect is if I could work up the nerve to ask Parker if she wants things between us to benotfake. Because nothing about tonight felt like pretend at all—except when either one of us brought it up.
There is definitely something real here. But I just can’t stop circling back to the harsh facts: I hope to be gone in a matter of months.
But even if I go, does that have to matter? Couldn’t we talk about how things could be? Living in different places doesn’t have to mean an end. And it wouldn’t need to be forever. But the idea of the future suddenly hits me like a slap in the face.
Parker’s hands loosen on my shirt. But instead of pulling away, she slides her palms up my chest, curling them around my neck. She angles her head back, and when I meet her eyes, the look there makes my heart hammer.
She bites her lip. Looks at my mouth. Back to my eyes. Down again.
I wait, and these are the longest moments of my life. I know she wants her first kiss to mean something. And she flat-out said she didn’t want to kiss me when this was fake.
All it would take from me is a word to say it’s not fake. That this means something. Everything. The words are lodged in my throat as the moment stretches.
Then Parker is lifting up on her toes. My lids start to fall closed, waiting. Ready. But her lips brush my cheek, not my mouth, as she leans forward to whisper in my ear.
“Logan, will you … will you tell me what you would do?”
Tell her?
Parker correctly reads my hesitation as confusion and moves closer still, her lips grazing my ear. “Tell me in words how you’d kiss me. If this were a real date.”
She gives a soft laugh then, one I recognize as embarrassment because I know her so well.
“I mean, if youwantedto kiss me.”
If I…
Does this woman honestly not know? After this whole night together, is it possible she doesn’t know how I feel?
Maybe not, but if she’s confused, it has to be because of the fake label still stuck to everything. I’d like to rip that label right off.
But that’s not what she asked for. She asked me to tell her how I’d kiss her. And she’s still waiting for my answer.
Parker must think my lack of answer is a no—ano I won’tor ano I don’t want to kiss her—because she stiffens and starts to pull away.
I don’t let her. Instead, I draw her closer. Now I’m the one leaning forward, finding her ear to speak soft and slow. At least, that was my intent. But it takes me a moment.
I swallow thickly, then clear my throat. Still, my voice is shaky. “You know I’m not so good with words, Pete.”
But then Parker places a kiss, feather soft, on my jaw. “I trust you,” she says.
Turns out, that’s all the permission I need.
CHAPTER17
Parker
This iseither the best or worst idea I’ve ever had. Ask me again tomorrow.
I’m still sort of frozen in shock from what I just asked when Logan starts to move. I suck in a breath.
He keeps his rough cheek pressed to mine, his lips close to my ear. But his hands glide slowly up my back, his palms spread wide and his fingers tiptoeing their way up my spine. Still, Logan doesn’t say a word. But his breath catches when his hands reach the top of my dress and move to the bare skin of my upper back.
Then he speaks, his voice raw and rough but so, so soft.
“I wouldn’t rush,” Logan says, and I’m not sure if the full-body shiver is from his words or his breath on my ear or from his rough hands moving slowly on my skin. “I would take my time with you.”
I bite my lip as Logan’s fingers slide underneath the straps of my dress. This shouldn’t be so sensual. He’s touching my upper back. My trapezius muscles. The scapula bones I’ve always thought looked way too much like stunted chicken wings. Nothing sexy or sensual about that. Total neutral zone.
