Cross the Line (Boston Love Story #2) (19 page)

“That’s it!” The voice calls from the hallway. “I’m coming in!”

The smile falls off my face. Nate hurries toward the door, flips the deadbolt, and yanks it open.

“Dude!” The man in the hallway is grinning ear to ear. His dark blond hair is disheveled from travel, his hazel eyes are warm but tired, and he’s got a messenger bag slung over one shoulder. “What took you so long? Don’t tell me you’re banging some chick in there…”

Holy frack
.

Parker is here.

I used to think it would be cool to read other people’s minds.

Then I joined Facebook.

Phoebe West, defending her techno-phobic life choices.

“Sweet P!” Parker’s voice is a mixture of concern and glee as he sweeps me up in a hug. “Little sis, you look like shit.”

“Thanks, bro. Nice to see you too.” I hug him back until my ribs start to ache.

“God, it must be six months since I’ve been back here.”

“Eight,” I correct, trying not to infuse my voice with accusation.

He pulls back to look at me, a guilty expression twisting his features. “Missed you, kiddo.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m not a kiddo.”

“You’ll always be my kid sister. Even when you’re old and fat and wrinkly.”

“I’m not going to get fat!” I whack him on the arm playfully. “You, on the other hand…” I grimace. “I see a beer belly in your future.”

He makes an outraged sound and pulls up his shirt. “Washboard, baby. You could crack an egg on these.”

“Ew.”

He grins, a boyish smile lighting up his whole face. “The ladies don’t complain.”

I feign gagging noises. “Sorry, I just threw up in my mouth.”

“Sweet P, don’t make me give you a noogie.”

I roll my eyes at his childish threat. “Oh no! What’s next? An Indian sunburn? I’m
so
scared.”

He laughs, then turns to Nate for some kind of weird man-hug ritual, which involves unintelligible grunting and backslapping.

Ah, bromance
.

I watch their reunion, a happy smile stretching my cheeks wide. It’s great to have Parker home, even if he spends the whole visit calling me names and giving me a hard time.

Sweet P.

The old nickname hits me with a wave of nostalgia.

When I was two, I couldn’t for the life of me pronounce
Phoebe
— the closest I could get was
Pee-Bee
. So Parker, loving big brother that he is, took to calling me
Pee-Pee
— insert six-year-old boy giggles here — which was eventually shortened to
P
and finally, transformed into
Sweet P
when we were old enough to stop fighting over LEGOs and blaming each other for pilfering the last Hostess cupcake from our nanny’s secret stash above the fridge.

“Knox, you got a kitten and didn’t tell me?” His voice is teasing as he bends to scratch Boo behind one tiny white ear. The poor thing has been running circles around his legs, seeking his attention since the moment he arrived.

“Shut up,” I say sweetly. “You remember Boo, your nephew-in-paw. You met last time you were home.”

“Must’ve blocked him from my memory.” Parker grins wide as he greets the small Pom. He’s so full of shit. He may act like a macho man who only likes dogs over a hundred pounds, but last time he came to visit I caught him napping on my couch with Boo snoring on his chest. They’re best buds.

“I didn’t know you were coming home,” I say, scooping up the Pomeranian. He licks my cheek, then proceeds to squirm until I release him.
So
affectionate, my demon-dog. “You could’ve called.”

“You know who could’ve called?
You
. When you were kidnapped by the fucking mob.” Parker crosses his arms over his broad chest and levels me with a look that probably strikes fear into the hearts of cheating bimbos worldwide. “Did you really think I’d stay away, when I heard?”

I drop my eyes from his, watching as Boo hops onto Nate’s couch and settles in like he owns the place. “I didn’t want to bug you.”

“You’re my sister. Your life was in danger.” He glares at me, hazel eyes serious. “You think I give a shit if you
bug me
?”

My mouth opens as I try to think of a good response. A morose “sorry” is all I can come up with.

Parker nods. “You need me, I’m on a plane home. No questions asked. You should know that.”

I sigh.

“Hey, you thirsty?” Nate asks Parker, walking toward the kitchen. “Want a beer?”

I try not to blush as I turn and catch sight of the counter. If I’m not mistaken, there’s a faint outline of my body in the flour still scattered there.

“I’m on Australia time.” Parker grins. “How ‘bout some caffeine instead?”

Nate reaches for the filters. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Very seriously.” Parker’s voice is solemn.

“I see your jokes haven’t improved,” I say, trying to shove him and nearly falling on my face when he dodges at the last second.

“I see your aim hasn’t improved.” He darts away nimbly when I take another swipe at him.

Nate watches us from across the kitchen, eyebrows raised.

“Jesus, Knox, it’s a mess in here.” Parker surveys the disaster on the counter, snatching up a cookie off the cooling rack as soon as he spots them. “Since when do you cook?”

“I’m not the one who stress-bakes.” Nate meets Parker’s eyes, then tilts his head in my general direction.

“Ahhh, I should’ve known.” Parker laughs. “Remember how many brownies she made when we put her paper maché volcano on the roof and filled it with fireworks?”

“That was my science fair project!” I hiss. “I got a zero, because of your little stunt! If any time has ever called for double-fudge brownies, it was that day.”

Nate’s mouth twitches. “What about the time we covered all her bedroom furniture in wrapping paper over the holiday break?”

“It looked like the Christmas Tree Shop threw up on my walls. It took me days to get all the tape off!” I glare at them both. “I needed cookies to recover. And I donated most of them to the church bake sale, anyway.”

Parker grins wider. “Wait, what about—”

“Enough!” I snap. “So, I bake when I’m nervous. It’s not like I do hard drugs, or have crazy monkey sex, or jump out of airplanes.”

“Monkey sex?” Nate asks, voice thick with amusement.

“Sweet P, you gotta come skydiving with me next time. You haven’t lived till you’ve felt the air at 12,000 feet.”

“I hate you both.”

They grin in unison and, for a brief second, it’s like we’re all kids again. Eating cookies and joking around, back in the days when everything was fun and there weren’t things like mobsters or broken hearts or brothers who only visit twice a year. 

“You’ve got flour in your hair,” Parker says, leaning forward to tug on a tendril. “But these cookies are damn good, I’ll give you that.”

I roll my eyes as he shoves another into his mouth.

“What?” he asks, unapologetic. “I’m hungry. The plane food sucked ass. Milo’s gotta look into a new catering company for the jet.”

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t use the jet.”

He sighs. “Your loss, sis.”

“Speaking of Daddy dearest… did you tell him you were coming home?”

“Nope.” Parker shrugs. “If I did that, we’d have to have a ‘talk about my future.’ And I already know exactly what he’d say.”

My brows lift.

“That I have
obligations
here with WestTech.” Parker pulls out a barstool and straddles it, elbows on the butcher-block. “That I should stay for good.”

Would that be so terrible?
I think but don’t say, hopping up to sit on the counter. My bare legs dangle — I catch Nate staring at them for a brief second before he turns to pour coffee into three black mugs.

“What are you wearing?” Parker asks abruptly, seeming to notice my outfit for the first time. I tug at the hem of Nate’s too-big t-shirt, fighting off a blush.

“Um. I borrowed a shirt from Nate.” I strive for a casual tone. “He’s been holding me captive since the whole kidnapping thing. He says it’s to keep me safe, but I’m pretty sure he’s just trying to annoy me to death.”

“Oh.” Parker’s gaze moves from me to his best friend and back.

“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “I can’t wait till this is all over, and I can get back to my place.”

Nate slides a mug across the counter to Parker, then passes one to me. I take a sip so I’ll stop talking and am surprised to find he’s made it exactly how I like it — dash of cream, no sugar.

How did he know? How does he
always
know?

I glance at him, surprised and grateful, but he’s not looking at me. His eyes are on Parker.

“You want milk?” he asks my brother.

“Nah.” Parker sips his mug, watching Nate carefully. “I like it black as my soul.”

I snort, to cover my nervousness.

Parker’s gaze flips to me. “You’re never going to catch a man if you keep snorting. I’ll have to call you Miss Piggy instead of Sweet P.”

I shoot him a death glare. “How’s the parade of Victoria’s Secret models treating you, Parker? Have you figured out that happiness does not reside at the end of the bimbo rainbow?”

His grin is shameless. “You know what they say about that rainbow, kiddo?”

My eyebrows lift.

“
Taste
it.”

I gag again. “I think that pertains to Skittles, not slut-bags.”

Nate chuckles under his breath.

“Tom-a-to, tom-ah-to.” Parker takes another sip of coffee. “At least I
have
a love life.”

“Love?” I scoff. “
Lust
, maybe.”

“That’s quite a high horse you’re riding, P.” His eyes narrow. “Are you still dating that guy? Diego, is it?”

I sense Nate go suddenly tense. Just a tiny shift — his fingers curling a little tighter around his mug, his stance widening a fraction of an inch. If I weren’t so attuned to his presence, I wouldn’t notice it at all.

Swallowing hard, I try to keep my voice steady. “Not really.”

“What does that mean?
Not really
? You’re either dating the guy or you aren’t.” Parker’s eyes are fixed on my face, searching for signs that I’m lying.

Crap on whole wheat, extra pickles.

Truth is, everything about Diego is a lie. There never
was
an Diego. Not one that I dated, anyway.

See, Parker called me one night last spring from whatever tropical island he was exploring, and I happened to be in class at the time. Naturally, I told him I couldn’t talk because I was with Diego, but that I’d call him back later.

It’s not
my fault
that Parker assumed Diego was my boyfriend instead of, uh, the TA of my Senior Design class.

It may or may not be my fault that I’ve failed to correct his assumption for the past year, though — which, let me tell you, was pretty freaking tricky when Parker flew in for the MIT graduation and wanted to meet my imaginary boyfriend. (Unfortunately for Parker, my beloved Diego joined Doctors Without Borders and shipped out just days before the ceremonies.
Shame
.)

I know, I know — I’m a dirty rotten liar. But I was tired of listening to Parker make those concerned big-brother noises every time he called and asked if I was dating anyone. There’s only so many times you can lie and say, “No one serious!” before people start to wonder if you’re asexual.

“Well?” Parker prompts.

“We broke up,” I say, trying not to fidget.

Both men stare at me for a moment, expressions unreadable.

“Do I have to beat him up?” Parker asks, entirely serious. “Because if he hurt my baby sister, I will kick his ass.”

“No! No.” I swallow a nervous sip of coffee. “Definitely not necessary. We parted amicably.”

Amicably
?

What am I, a cast member of Downton Abbey? 

“Amicably,” Parker repeats slowly, like he doesn’t quite believe me.

Probably because I’m lying through my teeth.

“Uh, yeah.” I take another sip, mind racing. “He, uh, left. For Doctors Without Borders!” I exclaim, latching onto the thread of my previous lie in desperation. “I’m here and Diego, well, he’s off… saving people… and stuff.” Are my cheeks on fire? I think they’re on fire. “So… we had to break up. But it was…”

“Amicable,” Parker finishes for me. 

“Yeah,” I confirm weakly.

Nate’s grip tightens even more on his mug. I wish I knew what that meant.

Parker stares at me like I’ve gone mad. “O-
kay
. Now that that’s all cleared up…” He turns to Nate. “What about you, my friend? Still flying solo? Last time I was here, you were basically celibate.”

I choke on my coffee. I’m so surprised, the sip in my mouth shoots straight up my nasal passages and out my nose. I sit there, spluttering like a fool, and Parker bursts out laughing, the bastard.

“Need a sippy cup, sis?” He slaps me on the back.

Nate silently hands me a napkin, mouth twitching in a dangerous approximation of a smile as I continue to cough.