28

Knox

After we put ourselves back together and slip out of the storage closet, we get separated in the crush of adults devouring Steph’s tacos. I finally find Parker after the piñata’s been murdered and the cake’s been cut, trapped in what looks to be a stilted conversation with my brother’s neighbor, who’s only invited because his kids are more normal than he is and my sister-in-law is something of a saint.

“I got these organic mushrooms I’m growing in my basement,” he’s saying to Parker’s breasts. “You want, you can come over to my place after the party and try some. Not far.”

“Hey, you.” I slip an arm around her waist and press a kiss to her cheek. Her jaw’s tight, and I wonder what I missed that could’ve been worse than organic basement mushrooms. “Sorry, Vinnie. She’s got plans.”

“My mushrooms only take a minute,” he says. “Gonna change your life though.”

“That’s what they all say,” Parker mutters.

I squeeze her hand and pull her closer to the door, adding a soft apology to her on Vinnie’s behalf. “His wife’s made a lot of progress with him, but even she can’t fix everything.”

“Is Abigail opening all of those presents?” she asks with a dubious eyeball aimed at the pile of gifts making the table in the corner groan.

“They only have this place for another fifteen minutes, so probably not. You have band practice tonight?”

“I was going to head into the office to get a jump start on Monday.”

“I could show you my jungle call impersonation instead. Back at your place.”

She laughs and leans into me. “I could be convinced.”

“Hey, are you the Crunchy chick?” A guy who might be one of the dads from Abigail’s preschool class stops next to us and angles a glance at Parker’s cleavage. I clear my throat and give him a death glare, which he doesn’t see because his eyes are trained at nipple level.

“Her boobs aren’t,” I say before she can answer for herself.

He starts and glances up at me.

I wrap both arms around her shoulders and rest my chin on her head, and that’s right, buddy. Now you know I’m glaring at you. Quit fucking disrespecting my fiancée. Asshole.

“If you’re going to make an orgasmic organic joke, I’ve heard them all, and they weren’t funny the first time,” Parker says with an impressive amount of venom leaking through her smile.

He opens his mouth, then ducks his head. “Coming, honey.”

His wife whips her head around from her spot beside twin girls at the cake table, eyes creasing in confusion while he heads in the opposite direction.

The jackass was totally going to make an orgasmic organic joke.

“I thought Troy had better friends,” I say.

“It’s not your brother. It’s me. Maybe it’s something I eat. Maybe my pores exude some kind of primal loser magnet.”

“I have a distinct memory of a storage closet that says you’re wrong.”

I get a real smile this time. “Do you?”

“I do. And I’m on rainbow overload.”

“So we shouldn’t take some of the streamers back to my place and see all the interesting things we can do with them?”

And that, folks, is how we go from rational and semi-relaxed to raging hard and desperate in an instant. “Yeah, we can grab some streamers.”

“And the unicorn blanket? Or is that too weird?”

“Troy.” I flex my fingers at my brother. “Toss that blanket here.”

He shrugs and tosses it over. I drape it over my head. “We’re taking off. Great party. Hug the birthday girl for us when she comes down off her sugar high.”

“You’re disgusting,” Troy says, but he’s grinning.

“Quit giving him ideas,” Steph tells me. “This baby factory is C-L-O-S-E-D.”

We head to the elevator. The doors close behind us, and when I turn to grab her by the waist and take advantage of elevator time, she just sighs. “How is it that you’re wearing a pink unicorn blanket, and I’m the one who feels like a dorky loser-magnet?”

“Parker Parker Elliott, you realize you were hit on by fourteen men this afternoon?”

“I was not.”

“At least ten.”

“There weren’t ten single men there. And the only reason they were all staring at my chest is because they’d forgotten what unmilked breasts look like. Or—oh, shit. Did I drop something on my shirt?” She tilts her head down to inspect her tank top.

I can’t answer.

Because I’m suddenly laughing so hard I can’t stay upright.

“What?”

“Unmilked breasts?”

She glares at me.

I open my mouth to defend myself, but I snort through my nose instead and hold up a finger.

“If I wanted this kind of treatment, I could’ve just gone next door with the mushroom man,” she grumbles.

My cheeks are aching like a son of a bitch, but fuck, she’s funny. “The visual on that—all those women munching on grass, hooked up to milking machines, passing around tacos and unicorn poop…” I can’t stop snickering. “Can you picture Nana in that lineup?”

Her lips wobble. “You are a terrible, evil, wrong man.”

“I am,” I agree. “I’m a bad, bad boy. I need my punishment now.”

Her eyes go wide, pupils dilate, and she gnaws on her lower lip as though she’s considering how to best punish me.

The elevator stops on the first floor. She shifts, and an adorable little fart noise escapes from somewhere behind her.

Her eyes are still wide, but that’s not lust in them now. “Can I confess something?” she whispers.

“Yep.”

“I might’ve had one too many tacos.”

I shouldn’t laugh.

I’m thirty years old, not twelve. And her cheeks are getting pinker than the unicorn tail Riley pinned on my knee just before the unicorn cake sacrifice.

But I can’t quite keep it in. Not after the unmilked breasts too.

“Shut up.” She points to the door, gesturing me to go first, and farts again. “Not. One. Word.”

I swear, I try really hard to not snicker. “Make you feel better if I ate too many tacos too?” I ask. “Because I could—”

“Do it and die.” She pushes me out of the elevator. “I’m going to the office. And when I’m done with my little taco problem, I’ll call you.”

“This doesn’t bother me,” I tell her, but I can see I’ve lost.

This round.

There’s always later tonight.