I freeze at the sound of a fist against his door.
“No… fucking… way.” His words are a grunt against my neck.
“Don’t answer,” I beg, arching up into him. “I don’t care who it is.”
He seems to agree, because his mouth returns to mine an instant later, the kiss just as intense as before.
“Knox! Sweet P!” A male voice calls through the thick wood, filled with concern. “Are you there?”
We both go completely still.
“Lemme in, or I’m using my key.”
“Frack!” I hiss, pushing Nate off me. He practically falls off the counter, for once not in total control of himself. I’d smile, if I weren’t about to pee my pants in utter panic.
“Fuck!” he curses, scrambling to find my shirt. “Here.” He tosses it in the general direction of my head. I pull it on without looking.
“Inside out,” he says, watching me. His eyes are crinkled in amusement but his lips are set in a serious frown.
“Huh?” I ask dumbly.
He reaches out, whips the shirt up over my head, and puts it on correctly. “There.”
I nod, feeling off-balance. “You have flour on your nose,” I inform him quietly.
He scrubs at it, then looks at me in question.
“Gone,” I confirm, lips twisting at the sight of him so thrown from his normal, tightly controlled equilibrium.
“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.
Chapter Eighteen
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.”