What's Left of Me (21 page)

“Uh oh!”
 
He sets his beer down.
 
“Okay, I’m ready.
 
What do you have for me?”

“Well, my friend Jean got these tickets to see a local rock band on Saturday night.
 
I’m not sure who they are, or if they’re any good.
 
And maybe you already have plans because it’s short notice and all, but I thought … maybe, you know … if you wanted to, that maybe …”

Since when did I start sounding like a loser fumbling her words?

“Aundrea, are you trying to ask me on a date?” he asks teasingly.

“No.
 
Not a date.
 
Just maybe, you know … a night out.”

I stop talking.
 
Who am I kidding?
 
I am trembling with nerves.
 
I don’t understand why he makes me so nervous, and all I’m doing is making this sound a lot worse than it needs to.
 
How did I ever pick this man up in a bar?
 
Or, better question: why did he let me?

“Yes.
 
I am asking you on a date.”

“Then ask me.”

“I did.”

“No.
 
You just mumbled and stumbled your way through it.”

Taking in a deep breath, I start again, “Parker, I would very much like it if you would go to a rock show with me this Saturday with my friend Jean, and possibly have dinner prior.
 
I know it’s short notice, but if you’re free, I’d like you to come with me.”

“See.
 
Was it that hard?”

“Yes.”

He gives me a grin, shaking his head slightly and holding a laugh back.
 
“Thank you for the invite.
 
I’m not sure what I have going on Saturday night, but I’ll let you know.”
 
I watch as he takes a swig of his beer, as if the words he just said were no big deal.
 
My mouth gapes open and I just stare at him in shock.
 
Is he kidding me?

“Are you kidding me?”

“What?” he asks with a hint of amusement.
 
I can see the smile forming, but he’s trying desperately to hide it.

“You just made me ask you that so you could tell me you’ll have to let me know? Really?”

“Yes.”
 
His mouth falls back into a straight line.

I shake my head in disbelief.
 
I have a feeling he is kidding, but I’m not totally sure.
 
I make my way to a standing position, but before I can stand all the way, Parker grabs my arm and pulls me back down so that I land on his lap.
 
I fall right into his crossed legs, fitting perfectly in the small space.

Laughing, I try to pull out of his hold.
 
“What?”

His head lowers to my neck, lingering for a few seconds, and I go still.
 
Most women in this situation would be begging for him to kiss them, or to feel his lips brush their neck, but I’m not your typical woman.
 
As much as I wish I were thinking about him touching his lips to my skin, I’m too concerned that he’ll notice my hair has a different texture than before.
 
Or worse, that it’s longer on one side than the other from sliding down with the sudden pull into his lap.

Closing my eyes, I take in his irresistible
scent.
 
He smells divine, and for just one minute I get lost in his scent, letting all other thoughts leave my head.

He does exactly what I thought he would do.
 
He brings his lips to the top of my shoulder and lightly brushes my skin.
 
“So soft,” he whispers against my collarbone.

“Hmmm?”

“Your skin.
 
It’s so soft.
 
I love how soft you feel.
 
How good you smell.”
 
I hear him breathe in my scent, trailing his nose gently along my neck and up to the back of my ear.
 
Goosebumps cover my body, and suddenly any thought or care I may have had about my hair is out the window for good.
 
My arms go limp, and I relax into him.

“Pears.
 
It’s always the damn pears.”
 
His tongue comes out, barely licking me, and I swear I just turned into a puddle.

I sigh.
 
I can’t respond.
 
Not even if I tried.

His hand traces the scar on the right side of my neck with a feather light touch.
 
“What happened here?” he asks as his lips brush against it.

“An unfortunate event when I was a teenager.”

His lips reach out and touch the bottom of my ear lobe.
 
“I’m sorry,” he breathes into my ear.
 
He barely touches me with his mouth, and his voice sends tingles down my body.
 
I can feel his warm breath down my neck.
 
I know if I just turn my head slightly to the left, my lips will meet his and then it will be all over.

“You know I would go anywhere you asked me to, right?
 
I was just messing with you earlier.”

“Huh?” I breathe out.

“The show.
 
Even if I had plans, I’d cancel them to be with you.”

My heart drops to the pit of my stomach.
 
Bringing my left arm up, I wrap it around the back of his neck to hold his head in place.
 
I don’t want to ruin this moment.

“Please come with me, Parker.”

“You don’t need to ask twice, babe.”
 
He shifts just enough so his head turns, bringing his lips to mine.
 
The kiss starts out slow and gentle, but not being able to take any more, I pull on his neck tighter, bringing his lips harder onto mine.
 
He obliges, opening his mouth to me.
 
The second it’s open, I slip my tongue inside, meeting his.
 
He tastes sweet from the fruit we ate with our dinner, and I can’t help but want more.

Parker turns, shifting my legs over his.
 
I like this position.
 
Straddling him.
 
It makes me feel in control, like I can determine what he does or doesn’t do to me.
 
It’s unusual for me to have control in life and, with him, I get it.
 
He’s the one thing I have control over, and I embrace it.

His hands move up and down my back until they rest at the edge of my shirt.
 
He doesn’t move the fabric further up, but instead draws small circles on the bit of skin that is exposed, sending me over the edge into pure bliss.

I wiggle, bringing myself closer to him, and feel the hardness in his jeans press into me.
 
He moans into my mouth and, with no control over my body, I begin to rock harder against him.

Immediately, one hand goes to my hip, helping me rock against him, while the other moves up the bottom edge of my hairline.
 
His hips begin to move with mine in a synchronized rhythm.

“Aundrea.”
 
Just the way he says my name can send me over the edge.
 
It’s rough and raspy.
 
He says it again between kisses while pulling me closer.
 
I can feel the wetness and pressure between my thighs build and, no matter what, I don’t want to stop.

I don’t think I can stop.

Until I feel his hand move into my hair.

He grips my wig, tugging slightly, causing my eyes to pop open.

“Parker!
 
Wait!” I shriek.

I freeze, stopping all friction that was forming between us.
 
I don’t recall bringing my hands to his chest, but they’re there, pushing back on him.
 
“Please, we have to stop.”
 

His hold loosens as I slump down.
 
I can’t be sure if my heart is pounding from him, or the fact that he almost pulled my wig off.

I watch as he throws his head back in frustration.
 
Rubbing his face with both his hands, he mumbles, “You’re right.
 
I’m sorry.
 
I got carried away.”

Sliding off his lap, I scoot away from him, putting a good distance between us.
 
With his hands still covering his face, I take the time to run my hands over my hair, making sure it’s not falling to one side.

Just as I’m sure it’s where it should be, Parker looks at me with a sly grin.
 
“You’re just too damn tempting, woman.
 
You have no idea.”

I blush.
 
I never thought of myself as tempting, but it sounds good coming from him.

“I think I should go.
 
Can you drive me home?”

“Sure.”
 
He stands up, adjusting himself as he does.
 
I can’t help but smile, knowing he’s still hard from me.

“Hey, baby?”

“Yes?”
 
Since when did I start answering to the pet names?

“About the date, to the show?”

“Yeah?”

“There’s only one condition.”

He helps me to a standing position before continuing.

“What’s that?”

“You have to go on another date with me.
 
My choice.”

“When?”

“When I ask.
 
You can’t think or question it.”

“I don’t know, Parker.”
 
I can’t make commitments.
 
With my treatments it’s hard to make any plans, let alone follow through on them.

“Please?”

“I’ll try.”

“I’ll take that.”
 
He grabs my hand, bringing my knuckles to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to each of them.

“What did you have in mind?”

“It’s a surprise,” he says, releasing my hand back into my lap.

“I don’t like surprises.”

“Life is full of surprises.”
 
No shit.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like them.”

“How fun is it to go through life knowing what’s going to happen?”

His words are true.
 
The average person doesn’t want to go through life knowing everything that is going to happen to them.
 
They like spontaneity.
 
That’s hard for me, though.
 
The last four years of my life have been nothing but surprises, and not welcome ones.

Surprise, you have cancer!
 
Surprise, you need surgery!
 
Surprise, your chemo didn’t work!
 
Surprise, your cancer came back!
 
Surprise, you have to be admitted to the hospital … again.
 
Surprise, second round failed.
 
Surprise, you need a bone marrow transplant!
 
Oh, wait, surprise!
 
That means you need more chemo!

Yeah, fucking surprises.
 
They’re great.

“I just hate not knowing.
 
The waiting.
 
The anticipation.”
 
It’s always the waiting for that
surprise!
that kills me.
 
Literally.

“The anticipation is worth the wait, babe.”

Chapter Eleven

I tell Jean that Parker and I will be at her place around six, but she insists on meeting at the restaurant instead, saying something about her place looking more like a male strip club than your typical innocent sorority house.
 
Without hesitation, I agree.
 
I’m not a prude, but I don’t need to see women grinding on men in the living room as if it’s their personal stage.

Two weeks after moving into her dorm, Jean got asked to move into her sorority house.
 
She would have been silly to turn it down.
 
The only problem, from what she’s told me, is that there are parties there every day, no matter the time.
 
And not the kind of parties you’d invite your parents to.

Just before Parker picks me up, she sends me a text reminding me to wear something sexy.
 
In her eyes, this means as short a dress as possible.
 
In
my
eyes, it means dark skinny jeans, a black tank top with a jeweled skull on the front that I borrowed from Genna, black ballerina flats, silver hoops, and a long, black, studded necklace.

I offered to drive to the twin cities, but in true gentleman form, Parker wouldn’t have anything of the sort.

Parker and I spend the evening prior talking on the phone.
 
I feel like I’m sixteen again, having butterflies and the excitement of something new.
 
I didn’t think I could be that girl again:
 
the girl who lies on her stomach with her feet in the air, kicking back and forth while she giggles into the phone.

He tells me a little bit about his family, and I tell him even less about mine.
 
He knows just the questions to ask and the ones to stay away from.
 
When he brings up my true passion, reading, he can’t get me to shut up, and he laughs at my enthusiasm.
 
I can’t pick a favorite book, explaining that it’s not about what or who is the best, but rather the story itself.
 
Each book is different and unique, bringing out the best emotions in me.
 
I love getting pulled out of reality—away from the reminders of my pain.