“I don’t have Erin shit. And, no, I don’t need to talk about it.”
I took the hint and gave him even more room. After refilling my water bottle, I sat down at the kitchen table and watched Parker. He was dressed in soft gray joggers with a red ski patrol hoodie and thick wool socks. He’d taken a shower after we’d spent a couple of hours outside, shoveling snow off the long driveway, trying to fix a broken floodlight on the garage that Parker insisted needed to be in working order for security reasons, and hauling in more firewood. His damp hair stuck up in a messy arrangement, and yesterday’s beard shadow gave his chin a golden-red glow in the light coming through the kitchen window.
I remembered him as an awkward preteen with a face full of acne and a big gap between his bottom front teeth. He’d loved listening to guitar ballads, watching competitive skiing on television, and chewing grape-flavored bubble gum. Despite having shitty, neglectful parents, he’d been the most optimistic middle schooler in history and had a joy of life that had kept me from sinking into my more pessimistic nature.
This man had been the most influential positive role model in my life, and now he was hurting. I wanted to help, but I didn’t really know how.
When he set two plates down on the table, I murmured my thanks before digging in. The sandwich was amazing. We ate in companionable silence for a while until the doorbell rang. This time, I got up to answer. I was expecting an Amazon delivery of some things for the kitchen, but when I opened the door, it wasn’t a delivery driver.
“Oh. Hi,” I said, recognizing the man from the bar where he’d been talking to Parker. “Can I help you?”
“It’s you,” he said with a wide grin. “From the other night. This is a nice surprise.”
I felt Parker move up behind me. The man’s smile dropped. “Oh. And you, too.”
“What are you doing here?” Parker asked gruffly before moving around to face me. “Julian?”
I looked between the two of them. “I… have no idea what’s going on.”
The man stuck out his hand. “I’m Rocco Valentine. I had a date scheduled with…” He cleared his throat. “Jay Thick. I’m assuming that’s a fake name.”
Parker snorted. “Like you’re one to talk. Rocco Valentine? Really? That’s—”
I felt my face ignite. “No,” I interrupted loudly. “I’m Julian Thick, but I didn’t schedule a date with anyone.”
Parker stepped back and set his jaw. “It’s fine. You can go ahead.”
I snapped my eyes to him. “Excuse me? Like I need your permission? I’m saying I never arranged anything. If I had, I wouldn’t lie to you about it, and I sure as hell wouldn’t lie to this man, who’s obviously gone out of his way to show up here.” I looked back at Rocco. “Sorry.”
He was hot and fit, exactly the kind of guy I would have loved to have shown up at my door if Parker wasn’t around, but Parker was around, and I was not about to kick him out so I could get some hot ass.
Eating a BLT with Parker trumped fucking a stranger any day of the week, even a sexy one like this guy.
Rocco looked from me to Parker for a beat before letting out a soft laugh and shaking his head. “Okay. See you later.”
As he turned away, I reached out to grab his arm. “Wait. Who arranged this? Do you know?”
He shook his head. “I assumed it was you. The Grindr username was JThickAV. That’s not you?”
“No. I’m…” I glanced at Parker before looking back at Rocco. “Not on there much.”
Parker coughed out the word “Liar.”
“Anyway,” I said more firmly. “I’m so sorry your time was wasted. I think maybe a friend of ours arranged it to cheer me up or something. But it’s not necessary. Good luck finding… some… other fun.” I finished that stupidity with a toothy smile that most likely looked deranged.
“Yeah, no worries,” he said, waving over his shoulder as he walked back out to his car. “Take care.”
I closed the door and let out a breath. “Jesus. I’m going to kill Mikey.”
“Awkward,” Parker singsonged as he returned to the kitchen table. “Of all the guys in all the world, Mikey hooked you up with the guy who was asking about you at the bar.”
“What do you mean?”
He swallowed another bite of his sandwich. “He was the one I was telling about you being my best man, remember?”
I remembered him yelling after the guy something about me having nice hair and a law degree. My best friend had a special talent for humiliating me in public with the best of intentions. “That was him?” I asked, only because I was seriously hoping I’d remembered wrong.
He nodded again. “He was staring at you all night. Then when I went to refill the beer pitcher, he asked if you were available. Which is really ballsy, when you stop to think about it, isn’t it? I mean, just out of the blue, ‘Your friend is gorgeous.’ Who does that?”
I pushed the rest of my sandwich away. Something about this conversation was making my stomach uneasy. “If he was so interested, why did he leave without talking to me?”
Parker looked everywhere but at me. “I, ah… I told you, there was some confusion about you being my man versus my best man. I may have misspoken. It’s all a blur.”
I thought of the times Parker had interfered with guys I’d dated or guys who’d been interested in me. Of the way he’d literally shown Nolan the door the night of the rehearsal dinner. Of the way he couldn’t stand to hear about me hooking up with anyone, ever.
“Did you warn him off?”
He stood up and took our plates to the sink even though he hadn’t finished either. “No. I… well, I mean, he might have taken it that way? But it was an accident, I swear. And I tried to undo it, but he left.”
“Whatever,” I muttered, reaching for my buzzing phone. It was a text from my sister asking if I had time for a call. “I’m going to head outside to call Hazel.”
He looked at me funny. His expression held a little bit of hurt that I felt the need to speak to my sister in private.
I didn’t really care. I needed Hazel’s advice, and since it was about my stupid best friend, it needed to happen out of his earshot.
“Yeah, fine.” He reached over to crank up the wireless speaker next to the sink and turned on the faucet.
I put on my coat and scarf, stomped into my boots, and headed outside. The afternoon sun angled through the trees with a warm glow, and snow dripped from icicles along the eaves.
“Hey,” I said when she answered.
“How’s he holding up?” she asked in that hushed voice people used for funerals and cancer diagnoses.
I glanced back toward the house, where I could just make out Parker dancing at the kitchen sink while he did the dishes. “He’s fine.”
“Has he freaked out yet?”
“Not one single bit. But he is finally acting a little weird. After begging to sleep in the bed with me the first night, he insisted on sleeping on the sofa the past two nights.”
“He’s sleeping on that short thing?” she asked in surprise.