Parker
Irejoin my friends on the dance floor, but my heart isn’t in it anymore. I keep replaying the way Lukas grabbed that guy and shook him. All because the guy winked at me and licked his lips. I mean, the guy was revolting, sure, but I’m still shocked that Lukas stood up for me. I can’t remember anyone standing up for me… well, ever. I’m sure he only did it because I’m here with his sisters. I know he watches out for them too.
But even more surprising than witnessing him lunge at that guy was the way my body reacted. I grabbed him so he wouldn’t hit the guy and get in trouble, but part of me loved seeing him get aggressive like that. The downstairs parts of me particularly loved it and I know I’m going to be replaying that all night even if it sends me straight to hell. He is insanely good at fulfilling my motorcycle bad boy fantasy. And even though I know that blow up wasn’t really about me, I can pretend it was. Possessive Lukas is better vibrator fodder than any romance novel. I shiver just remembering the way his arm muscles flexed as he grabbed that guy’s jacket.
Wow. There is something seriously wrong with me.
Lukas is still at the bar an hour later. He’s sitting sideways, nursing a beer, and it looks like he’s beating himself up. When he drops his chin like that, his hair falls in his eyes and I want to brush it back. Never mind the fact that I’m not his type, he doesn’t like my freckles, and I’m probably too curvy for his taste. It’s a cruel twist of fate that I’m so drawn to him. What is it? Pheromones? Daddy issues? Long-neglected lady bits? Whatever it is, it’s a total dick, has terrible taste, and doesn’t care about my fragile ego at all.
But he looks so down on himself… Ugh. Fine.
I cross to the bar and sit next to him. The bartender practically trips in his hurry to take my drink order. See? I think to myself. At least some guys find me attractive. I’ve already had plenty to drink, so I order water and return the bartender’s smile half-heartedly.
“This is a bar, you know,” Lukas says, staring down at the beer in his hand. He holds it precariously between a couple of fingers, fidgeting with the label as the bartender drops my water off.
“Yes, I know. But look! They serve water too! Amazing,” I say sarcastically. I sip the water through a metal straw and close my eyes as the pleasure of the icy coolness slides down my parched throat.
Lukas eyes my mouth for a second before looking back at his beer.
“You’re kind of mouthy for such a sweet girl.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You don’t know anything about me.”
He laughs mirthlessly. “Oh, I bet I know more than you think.” He stares straight ahead, a small smile tugging up the corner of his lips. It’s all I can manage not to stare at them. I’m finding his attitude incredibly annoying… even if I grudgingly admit that I enjoy sitting next to him. Even so, he’s spent all of ten minutes in my shop and he thinks he knows me? Bull crap. He knows nothing.
“Try me,” I challenge him, the tequila making me braver than usual. This is all part of New Spontaneous Parker.
Lukas sets his beer down on the bar, turning his body towards me and straightening on his stool. His fingers trace the curve of the beer bottle as he looks me up and down, assessing me and I’m forcibly reminded of the first night we met; his eyes hot as he took in every inch of me and then declared me “not his type.”
“Let’s see. You’re out on your own for the first time. Just got out from under Mommy and Daddy’s thumb and you’re riding that wave of newfound freedom. How am I doing so far?” he asks with a smirk.
My mouth hangs open because, while he’s not wrong, his tone of voice is so condescending. He makes me sound like some pathetic backwoods girl, too naïve to take care of herself. I open my mouth to tell him he’s way off, but he interrupts me.
“You know what I think, Parker? I think the preacher’s daughter wants to break bad and slum it with a biker. I think you’ve heard just enough to know I’ve got a bad reputation. Or, rather, an excellent reputation from where you’re sitting because I think you want to see what it’s like to get fucked before you inevitably settle down with a Ken Doll. How am I doing here?”
Heat races over my face and down my chest, the blush spreading over my entire body. The sheer nerve of talking to me like that! I sputter, too angry to make coherent sentences, but I hold his eyes, refusing to look away. That’s what he wants, right? To make me feel like less?
“How dare you,” I reply with quiet anger. My breath heaves as I grip the water glass so hard my fingers hurt. “You don’t know a flipping thing about me. I just came to sit next to you because you looked unhappy and I thought you’d like the company. That’s what I get for being nice to you, huh? Insulted? Made fun of? You just proved how little you know about me.”
I lean closer, anger and tequila making me extra ‘mouthy,’ as he puts it. “And for your information, I’ve been fucked, not that it’s really any of your business.”
He doesn’t quell when I whisper-yell in his face. He stands and leans over me, one forearm propped on the bar, casual as can be. I’m so… aware of Lukas. I hate this physical pull I feel towards him. He’s big and thick, and I bet he’d be amazing if he wasn’t such a raging asshole.
He puts his face right down next to mine, his green eyes piercing me, as he says, “Nah, baby girl. I bet men make love to you. Slowly, sweetly, in missionary position, with the lights off.”
Furious, I turn on my stool and hop off. “I guess that’s what you’d expect. I mean, you might need the lights off just to get it up since I’m so not your type.”
I try not to take extra joy in the shocked expression on his face when I walk away. Let him choke on that. New Parker kicks ass.
* * *
Work dragsby the next day. The only bright spot is the group of Canadian grandmas who clean out my historical section. I have way too much time to replay my conversation with Lukas. I guess it was more of a fight. Whatever you call it, he struck a nerve in a big way.
Despite his obnoxious attitude and tone of voice, he wasn’t completely wrong about me, which is probably the thing I hate most. I am definitely enjoying my newfound freedom, but what’s so bad about that? He didn’t grow up in a cold, ultra-religious house with parents that didn’t love each other or their kid. He didn’t live in a pressure cooker, shut off from his peers. If he’d had a life like mine, he’d embrace the freedom too.
And the sex thing. He didn’t have to be such a bastard about it, did he? Maybe I don’t have a ton of experience, but honestly, sex is overrated. I’d rather read a book and take care of myself, anyway.
And what’s wrong with having the lights off? That’s normal, isn’t it? I don’t know. I mean, I’ve read plenty, but that’s not the same as genuine experience, is it? I’ve had sex exactly once, and it was so awful, so disappointing, that I never wanted a repeat.