My whole body stiffens, my brows furrowing into a scowl.
“I wore it for him because I didn’t expect you to show up tonight. I’ve learned to expect nothing from you—it only leads to disappointment.”
She holds my stare for another moment before stepping away, then moving around me and heading back towards the bar, purse swinging beside her as her hips sashay with conviction.
Fucking hell.
“Where are you going now?” I call to her.
“Back to my date.” Melody pauses her trek to add, “I want to see if Shane likes my dress.”
I’m not sure why I submit to her goading, why I let the jealousy flow through my veins again like a toxic drug, or why I allow this uncharacteristic surge of possessiveness to provoke my feet into chasing after her.
But I do.
And then I’m in front of her, bending down and scooping her off her feet until she’s draped over my shoulder, squeaking in surprise.
“Parker! What the hell?” Melody protests, squirming in my grip. “Put me down!”
Marching through the alley to the front parking lot, I veer towards my truck, my one arm holding her tight just underneath her backside. She hardly weighs anything at all.
“I swear to God—”
“You’re not very threatening when you’re upside down.”
Melody growls in frustration, smacking her purse against the back of my thigh. “You’re such an asshole.”
“More than I can say for your date. He has more nose than personality.”
Her belly bounces atop my shoulder with each hurried step, her hands pushing against me, nails digging into my lower back in an attempt to work herself free. Her efforts are fruitless. “Parker!”
As we approach my pick-up truck, I slide Melody down my torso until her heels touch the pavement, maintaining my hold around her waist. She gives me a light shove, smoothing out her hair that has now landed in a hundred different directions and inching her dress down her thighs with a sulk.
A small smile betrays me as I regard her flushed cheeks of indignation.
Melody does a double-take when she glances up at me, hesitating. Then an angry index finger lifts into the air and points right at my mouth. “That’s what gets a smile out of you? Manhandling me?”
My smile grows wider despite myself, and I open up the passenger’s side door to my truck, hinges shrieking. “Get in.”
“So, you’re the one who’s going to kidnap me?” Her arms fold across her chest as she spares a look of curious interest to the open door, then pulls her gaze to my face. Melody bites her lip, resolve dwindling.
She has every intention of getting in the truck.
“I don’t know, am I? Kidnapping would require an unwilling victim.” My eyes case her from head to toe, landing on her firmly planted feet. “You don’t look unwilling.”
Her teeth continue to glide along her bottom lip as her mind races, her knees bobbing up and down. “Where are we going?”
“My place.”
The mood shifts with implication. Melody swallows, her gaze flicking across my face, glittering with temptation.
Honestly, I have no clue what in the goddamn fuck I’m doing. I didn’t have a plan tonight. I didn’t come here with the intention of literally sweeping Melody off her feet and whisking her away to my house for round two of mind-blowing sex.
In fact, I’m not even sure I’m ready for that. It sounds so… intimate. She’ll be getting a glimpse into my lonely life. She’ll meet my old ass dog, she’ll touch my things, she’ll… sleep in my bed.
Fuck.
I’ve never had any woman aside from Bree inside my house before, and I sure as hell haven’t had anyone in my bed.
We stare at each other with heady contemplation. I am reevaluating, and she is giving in. My fingers curl around the frame of the truck door, my mind spinning, screaming at me to back out, demanding I push her away indefinitely.
But Melody makes the first move, shattering my indecision and breaking our standoff.
She climbs inside the truck.
With her hands folded tensely in her lap, eyes pinned straight ahead, she leans back into the seat and lets out a nervous breath.
I close the door, and a new one opens.
Parker — 14 Years Old
I’m sitting beneath the old willow tree in the backyard, drowning out the noise and chatter of my foster siblings, when Gwen rushes over to me. Frizzy copper hair catches the draft, covering her face and cloaking the sniveling sneer I know she’s wearing well.
She pushes the bangs off her forehead when she reaches me, assessing my perch against the tree. My school bag hangs open, textbooks and notepads scattered around me. “Are you studying how to be cool?” Gwen carps, antagonizing me with eyes of blue steel.
I glance down, crossing my legs and ignoring her attempts to instigate. My hold tightens on the book I’m reading.
“We’re going to go to the pool. Want to join us?”
Swallowing, I pretend to be fully engaged in the book, my gaze scanning over the blur of inky letters.
“It’ll be fun,” Gwen continues, stepping closer. Invading my peace. “Landon has an extra pair of swim trunks you can borrow. Lord only knows you could use a little sun… you look like a chicken with its feathers plucked out. Like you’ve never seen a day of sunlight.”
My teeth gnash together.
I prefer the shade. The shadows.
They let me hide.
I tried to hide from my teachers and classmates when my first year of high school began—holing up in the bathroom stalls, even skipping classes. But when the principal contacted my foster mother, it only brought more attention to me. To my flaws and deficiencies. My shortfalls.
“All you need to do is take your shirt off, Parker,” Gwen sneers. “What do you say?”
I feel my cheeks heat up, my stomach swirling with anxiety. “No thanks.”
Gwen yanks the book from my hands, then drops to her knees in front of me, a toothy grin blossoming when my eyes meet hers. “How come? Gargoyles deserve to have fun, too.”
“Just leave me alone,” I bite out, pulling myself to shaky legs, then leaning down to collect my school supplies. I’m startled when I feel a tug on the back of my t-shirt, causing my reflexes to spike and my agitation to spiral. Whipping around, I shove her arm away. “Don’t touch me, Gwen. Please, go away.”
“Just because you don’t want to have fun, doesn’t mean I can’t have fun.”
Gwen sprints toward me again, reaching for my shirt. She wants to humiliate me. She wants access to my scars so she can carve her own cruelty into them and leave her mark on me. “No! Stop.” I dodge her, but she keeps coiling around me, slithering like a snake, all hiss and venom. Her hands grip the front of my shirt, tugging it upward until my burn scars reach her eyes.
She snorts at the evidence. “I feel sorry for you. You’re never going to get a girlfriend looking like this.”
The barb cuts deep, adding to my collection. I’ve been noticing girls in school lately, even though they don’t notice me back. Part of me is angry at all of them because they remind me of my mother. And Gwen. Sometimes I hear my mother’s laughter when feminine giggles claim my ears during lunch period, or sometimes I’ll see Gwen’s icy blue eyes when a girl rakes her stare over me in gym class.