“I thought you liked me,” I say, and now I’m wondering if I might cry, too.
“I do,” he whispers, glancing back at me, his pretty hair falling across his forehead. I can’t stop thinking of his eyes as he looked down at me, burying his fingers in my heat. It felt so good, too, so magical. Why is this happening? Why, why, why? “I really do.” He turns around to look at me, his expression stark and exposed, intimately vulnerable. “I was attracted to you from the first moment I saw you.”
I laugh, but the sound’s a little sniffly.
“I thought my fuckability rating was a three?” I ask, trying to make light of the situation. Parrish gives me this sad, awful smile in exchange.
“I gave Chasm a two; it’s all bullshit, Dakota. Everything is bullshit. You’re the only real thing that I have.”
“Please don’t say that,” I whisper, because it feels like I’m being told goodbye somehow, or like I’m being broken up with.
“You’re an eleven, you know? At least for me.” He looks away, toward the window above the desktop computer. I wonder if that, too, belonged to his grandfather? “But I love Tess. She’s always been there for me. All my best memories are when we’re together. My dad is …” He lets out a sharp, angry laugh. “My dad just doesn’t get it. Tess always has. Tess has always taken care of me. This would kill her, absolutely kill her.”
“She doesn’t have to know,” I continue, taking a step forward. “We could just keep it to ourselves …”
“Forever?” Parrish finishes for me. “Because once I let myself have you, really have you, I’ll never be able to stop. And it wouldn’t matter if we were thirty: if Tess found out, she would disown us both. I don’t want to lose her; I already lost my mom once.”
I just keep staring at him in complete disbelief. What have we even been doing for all these months? This careful love-hate dance. What was our talk about in the ATV? What did we just do?
“Is this what you do with all your girlfriends?” I whisper, wishing a hole would just open up and swallow me. Parrish gives me a soft, sad sort of look that’s actually a million times worse than his scowling or his eye narrowing or those times he curses me out when we bump into each other in the kitchen.
“I don’t have girlfriends, Dakota. I hate people. I hate everyone except for you, and Chasm, and Tess.” He pauses for a second and then sighs. “Oh, and Maxx. Sometimes. When he isn’t annoying me.”
“This was your first time …?” I trail off, leaving the question hanging in the air between us.
He just keeps fucking staring at me.
“Does it matter?” he asks, but then, as if he can sense that I’m on the verge of a meltdown, decides to add, “yes. I don’t just mess around with people. I’ve never liked anyone before the way I like you.”
Ugh.
I feel like I’ve just had Cupid’s arrow shoved right up my ass. This conversation is equal parts enlightening and devastating.
“It was just easier for me to pretend,” he continues, moving toward me again. As soon as he’s within grabbing distance, I dig my fingers into his shirt and press my forehead against his chest. He stiffens up briefly before wrapping me in his arms. “It was easier to pretend, Dakota.”
“So now what?” I whisper as he strokes my back, and I wish we were still half-naked in my room.
“Chasm really likes you,” he tells me, but even though I also sort of like Chasm, all I can think about is Parrish. “Maybe …”
“Don’t. Don’t say it. I don’t want to talk about Chasm right now.”
We stand there for a long time, too long probably.
Eventually, I pull back and so does Parrish.
“So now what?” I ask, wondering how it’s possible for life to go from ‘greatest moment of my existence’ to ‘steaming pile of dog shit’ in an instant. “You don’t even want to try?”
He looks away for a moment before running a tattooed hand over his face.
“I didn’t say that. I just need time to think.” Parrish looks back at me, the edge of his mouth quirking up in a slight smile. “Do you need my help cleaning up?” he asks, and I nod, because I’m not about to clean up the mess from his orgasm. I didn’t exactly get one myself.
We head back to the room together, and he collects both his hoodie and my bralette from the floor, snatching the top blanket off the bed and throwing all the items in the washer. Luckily, there are two laundry rooms in this house: one on the top floor and one down here.
“Leave your door open?” he suggests as he turns around, parking his ass against the side of the machine and crossing his arms over his chest. I nod and start to turn away when he reaches out and grabs my wrist; our gazes clash with a rush of heat. “For what it’s worth, I don’t like the way she treats you. I don’t know why she’s doing it, why she’s being so mean to you when she’s always been so affectionate toward me.”
