19

Knox

With Parker’s coaching and approval from Gertie, I’ve kept my blog and social media posts hot through the rest of the week.

I gave a Gertie-approved interview to USA Today’s Happy Ever After blog where, in addition to enthusiastically recommending some of my favorite reads and talking about my favorite parts of the romance community without calling anyone names, I mentioned I was quietly dating someone who didn’t own a library card—Parker’s brilliant suggestion—and that the rest of my story was private.

What Parker failed to mention was that declining the other requests for interviews could actually add fuel to the fire. I hadn’t wanted to do more interviews—my blog is for fun, not for work—but the more I say no, the more requests come flooding in. It’s cutting into my reading time, and I’m getting annoyed.

Also, I haven’t seen her since Tuesday, when her brother effectively cock-blocked me and taco-blocked her, but we’ve talked on the phone at least twice a day since. Sometimes she’s advising me on what to post on my Facebook or Snapchat pages. Not because I want my life ruled by social media, but because helping me apparently makes her happy.

Sometimes I’m coaching her on the art of phone sex. Not because she’s bad at sex, but because we both enjoy it, though I’m jonesing for some in-person follow-through.

This afternoon, when I get off my morning shift at the library, we’re doing Sopapilla Saturday. Hopefully followed by my favorite s-word. Mom and Nana are tied up with Steph and Troy, doing last-minute prep work for my niece’s birthday party tomorrow, which means we’ll have my apartment all to ourselves. And we’ll spend it in my bedroom, with the door locked, just in case.

But first, I have to get through this shift at the library. I’ve been working since nine to finalize some last-minute details for the Romance and Chocolate program. This program is usually the highlight of my entire year.

This year, I’m honestly looking forward to it being over.

Probably because the Times has agreed to cover it, which means instead of enjoying myself, I have to cater to the snobs.

No surprise they don’t like being called dicks, but I suspect it was more the volume of outrage all over social media, with my blog leading the charge, that prompted them to investigate what they’re missing.

I started this mess. Now it’s my job to clean it up. While giving the Times an education—and an interview—along the way.

And then my blog can go back to being just for fun, I can reclaim my reading time, and I’ll help Parker nail her pitch to Randy Pickle at her reunion so we can both get back to life as normal.

A weird bubble squeezes in my chest at the thought of life as normal.

I ignore it.

It’s finally almost two, when I’m officially off for the day, so I close up my computer, wave to my coworkers, step out of our office area and freeze.

Lila Valentine is chatting with Gertie at the circulation desk just inside the door.

“Hey, sweetie!” Parker leaps off one of the front reading chairs and charges me, hair tied back tight in a bun, her outfit today tight dark jeans, a peach tank top, and a white cardigan. She has that mix of strict librarian and casual Saturday goddess working for her, and the action Jackson in my pants leaps to attention.

She throws her arms around me and smushes a big, fat smacker on my lips. I should be the responsible one here, keep it short, but she feels so fucking good in my arms, and she tastes like honey and sunshine, and I’ve missed her.

Still, I’m at work, so I break the kiss long before I truly want to. “Hey, beautiful.”

Gertie clears her throat. Though Mom worked at a different branch until she retired, she and Gert have long been friends. And they’re both pissed at me for getting in trouble—again—with Dorky.

Possibly more so this time, since I’ve never put my job on the line before. Not like this.

Nana, on the other hand, keeps making me waffles for breakfast.

“Parker, meet Gertie.” I introduce them, Parker goes pink and apologizes for groping me in public, and Lila just watches it all.

Parker, I notice, manages to avoid looking at Lila entirely, as though she’s not actually there.

“Lila was just telling me about your date,” Gertie says.

Pointedly.

“The bachelor auction date,” I make sure to clarify. For all of them. “That was a very generous donation to literacy. Thank you. Again.”

“That was before we got engaged,” Parker adds.

My heart drops. My stomach drops. Even my toes want to drop, but they’re already as low as they can possibly go.

Fake dating is one thing. Pretending to be Parker’s fiancé for one night at her reunion is also entirely different. But fake engagement here, in my library, leads to—

“Engaged?” Gertie’s brows are defying gravity. “Does your mother know?”

And this Saturday is officially over.

Lila’s frowning at Parker. “Weren’t you—”

“Parker and I go way back,” I interject, because Lila was there when Parker asked me to play her fake fiancée, and her question can go nowhere good. “She used to babysit me. We reconnected after the auction. When you’ve dated all the wrong girls, you know when it’s finally right. Don’t tell my mom. We were going to surprise her this weekend.”

Gertie’s going to be on the phone with my mother within the next thirty seconds.

Fuck.

I’ve read this book too. I know how this one ends as well.

But hell if I can make myself cock a finger at either of them and pull out the just kidding card.

Not here.

Not in front of Parker.

Parker, who had a miserable high school experience, so many bad dates her brothers now routinely stalk anyone she shows a remote bit of interest in, and who’s now going a little red in the cheeks and starting to breathe too shallow, as if she, too, has realized a fake engagement is a death spiral of evil.

“See you Monday,” I tell Gertie. I nod to Lila. “Enjoy the library.”

I steer Parker out the door, but we haven’t gone four steps in the bright afternoon sunshine before I hear my name.

Lila’s following us.

“Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god,” Parker whispers. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

She’s utterly adorable with her eyes wide and panicked, clutching her light cardigan as though she’s clutching her pearls. Talk to her about a social media strategy, about monetizing a blog, about catchy titles and loglines and the psychology of marketing, and she’s brilliant.

But this side of her? The not-entirely-put-together, uncertain, socially clumsy part of her?

It’s growing on me. She doesn’t always say the right thing, she couldn’t pick a paranormal romance out of a lineup, and I haven’t even gotten past third base with her, but she’s real.

“Congratulations,” Lila says smoothly when she reaches us. I’m much better at playing hero than I am at reading the subtle jabs women take at each other, but if she’s exuding any of those secret signals women use to launch psychological warfare missiles, I can’t see them. “Can I buy you two a late lunch?”

“What for?” Parker asks.

I squeeze her hand. “Long week,” I say to Lila. “We were looking forward to some private time.”

Lila smiles at both of us, and again, I look for the mocking that women seem so sensitive to, but I can’t find it. “Fair enough. I’ll check in next week and see if we can’t find a time to celebrate.”

Before Parker can ask What for again—legit question, but she’s wound so tight there’s a real risk she won’t stop at What for—I drop her hand and put an arm around her shoulders to pull her away. “We appreciate the offer, but—”

“No buts.” Lila smiles brightly. “I insist. Congratulations again. Looking forward to chatting soon.”

She waves merrily and turns to head down the cross-street, red hair blazing in the summer evening.

“Why does she have to be so pretty?” Parker grumbles.

That’s it.

We’re standing next to my favorite lunch deli, and I twist so she’s against the wall and can’t see anyone but me.

“Parker Parker Elliott, you’re fucking gorgeous.”

“I don’t even want to marry you—no offense—but I don’t want her to have you either because she smiles and angels sing and her hair’s so perfect and I’m still this big dork under all the vice presi—mmph!”

That’s right.

Sometimes the only answer is to kiss a woman silly.