One Tiny Secret

Chapter Seven

I blink open my eyes and everything seems distorted because my vision won’t focus. Groggy doesn’t even begin to describe how I’m feeling right now. Blinking my eyes again, I see things a little clearer, but still can’t make out specific details. I try to raise my head, but can’t due to the massive migraine beating me back down. I feel my forehead. There’s a cool, damp rag resting there. It seems like my head is being supported by a pillow, and it feels like I’m lying in a bed, but it doesn’t feel like mine. It’s definitely firmer than my mattress at home.

A sense of wooziness hits me. I feel like I’ve taken several doses of NyQuil all at once or something. I slide the cool rag down from my forehead to rest over my eyes, hoping it will ease some of the strain.

A door opens and closes in the near vicinity. I begin to stir in the bed, but my muscles ache with every movement, so I remain lying still.

“Hello?” I croak. “Is someone there?”

I feel something caress my face, followed by a voice I know very well.

“You’re awake, I see,” Parker says.

“Where am I?”

“My dorm room,” he replies.

“Why am I in your dorm room?”

Deep down, I’m kind of happy I’m here. When we were together, Parker was always so attentive, and even though I didn’t necessarily need him to, he would take care of me. I guess that was one of the many reasons I liked him so much. He was always so caring…at least up until the day he left.

He lets out a small chuckle. “You passed out last night and I couldn’t find Janice. So, I decided to take you back here to rest. I figured your dad would kill both of us if I brought you home.”

“Smart move,” I say and then try to laugh, but only succeed in aggravating my headache even more. “Wait…you couldn’t find Janice?”

“Nope. I did find Phoebe, though, and she said something about her leaving with a guy named Gunnar. I didn’t really get the details,” he replies.

“She left…with Gunnar?” I murmur.

“Huh?”

“Oh, nothing. Just thinking out loud.”

“Exactly how much did you have to drink last night?” he asks while moving the cloth to rest back on my forehead.

“I only remember having like, two drinks…the shot at the entrance, and the one beer I got myself.”

“Ha, lightweight,” he teases.

“I don’t feel hung over, though. I kind of feel drugged—like someone might have slipped something in my drink.”

Did Parker put something in my drink? No, he couldn’t have. He was in my sights the whole time last night.

“Was your drink ever unattended?” he asks. I hear a hint of concern in his voice.

“I can’t really remember.”

“Do you by any chance remember any of our conversation last night?”

“Bits and pieces.”

He lets out what sounds like a disappointed sigh. “Huh. Well, can you open your eyes at least?”

“I can try,” I reply, slowly blinking them open. Everything’s still blurry, but as I attempt to focus on just Parker’s face, he comes into view. A smile lights up his baby blues as our eyes meet.

“Good morning. Well, actually it’s after noon.”

“Ah, crap. What time is it?” I ask, feeling my stomach sink at the thought of my dad sending out a search party with him leading the way, decked out in full riot gear.

“It’s about one, why?”

“Ugh, my dad’s why. Where’s my phone?” I ask, feeling around me to see if it’s anywhere near.

“Oh, it’s on my desk. I’ll get it,” he says. He rises from the bed. The first thing I notice is that he’s not wearing a shirt. The second thing: He’s wearing green-and-blue flannel pajama bottoms, and they’re dangerously low. As he turns around, my eyes go directly to the definition just around his hips. Oh my God, his V is ridiculous. Seriously, when did Parker get this hot? I mean, he was hot before, but now, holy shit. And from the looks of it, he may not be wearing any boxers under those pajama pants.

I feel embarrassed for staring and avert my eyes. “You’re killing me with your V,” I blurt out.

“My what?” he asks.

“Your V. You know, the highly-defined hip and pelvic area. Your V,” I reply, taking my phone from his hands.

“Oh, that. Yeah, I’ve been working out a little lately.”

“A little?” I mutter under my breath. He just laughs.

I look down at the shirt I have on and it’s definitely not mine. It suddenly dawns on me I’m wearing one of his.

Tugging on it, I say, “Uh, why am I wearing your shirt? We didn’t—”

“No, nothing happened,” he replies quickly. “You threw up all over your Little Red outfit, and that’s all I had for you to wear.”

“Really? Why on Earth would you tell me I did that? Please don’t say it’s ruined,” I ask, hoping it isn’t. I really love that costume.

“No, I washed it for you.”

“Thank you,” I say with a sigh of relief. “At least that’s one less thing my dad’s going to kill me for.”

When I turn on my phone, there’s the missed call icon at the top of the screen with a number seven next to it. “Dammit, I’ve missed seven calls today. And they’re all from my dad…great. Wait! My car…it’s still parked in the woods! We have to go get it,” I exclaim.

“Okay, calm down. Go get dressed and then I’ll drive you out there. You’ll have to wear your costume again though, you know that, right?” he says, taking a seat next to me on the bed.

“Yeah, I don’t care. I just need to get my car.”

“Well, your Little Red outfit’s in the bathroom hanging up,” he says, motioning to the open door off to the side.

As I go to push myself off the bed, I stumble and fall into Parker’s arms. He steadies me until I’m able to regain my balance. “This is quite the compromising position, huh?” he asks smoothly, and I notice my hips are positioned right in between his legs. Our faces are so close together that I feel the caress of his breath on the tip of my nose when he speaks. “So, about our little chat last night…I didn’t get a chance to ask you something before you passed out.”

“Oh, really? And what was that?” I ask, ignoring my inner voice that’s yelling at me for not pushing away from him.

A smile shows across his face, and the sight of his picture-perfect dimples brings one to mine. “I wanted to know if you’d be willing to forgive me and possibly take a chance on us again. I’ve missed you like crazy and—”

“I’ll need some time to think about this, okay? I can’t just jump back into the thought of us together,” I reply, pulling away from his arms and standing on my own. “I’m sorry. That’s probably not what you wanted to hear.”

He grins. “Actually, the simple facts that you didn’t punch me in the face just now, and you’re considering us again, are all I need to hear,” he says while moving to be right in front of me.

I nervously brush my hair back, dodging his intent gaze. The moment he reaches up to touch my face, I interrupt the action by backing up. “So, you said my costume’s in the bathroom?”

He drops his hand to his side, clearly picking up that I need some space. “Yeah,” he answers, sounding let-down as he nods toward the bathroom door.

Entering the bathroom, I close myself in and remove the costume from the hanger that rests on the shower curtain rod. I slip into the garment after removing Parker’s shirt, and then study myself critically in the mirror. The first thing I notice is that the costume still has a lingering vomit smell. The second thing is how ridiculous I’m going to look while walking around outside in broad daylight in this getup.

Parker is standing right there to meet me when I open the bathroom door. He’s wearing a sleek, black leather jacket, and has two motorcycle helmets tucked under his arms. “Ready to go?” he asks, handing me one of them.

“You have a motorcycle?”

“Uh-huh.”

“How did you get me home last night if I was passed out?”

He laughs. “It was quite the challenge, that’s for sure.”

“I can’t believe you,” I say, giving him a playful slap on the shoulder. “You risked my unconscious life on your death machine?”

“Relax. I drove my friend’s car to the party last night.”

“Oh.”

“So, do you want head out? Or not?” he asks, motioning with his thumb to the front door.

I nod. “Sure,” I respond, and then follow him out of the room.

When we reach Parker’s motorcycle, he puts on his helmet and proceeds to straddle the bike. After positioning himself, he taps the back part of the seat and waits for me to join him. This should be interesting since I’m wearing a short, puffy skirt. At least I’ll be able to hide my face behind the helmet.

I ease a leg over the bike, trying my damnedest not to flash possible onlookers. I have to adjust a bit to find a comfortable position with all the dress’s tulle getting in the way. Putting a little space between Parker and me, I grip the handle on the back seat rest to keep myself stable. This is my first time ever riding on one of these things, so I’m not quite sure what to expect.

Parker turns his head to look at me and flips up the helmet’s face shield. “You might want to hang on tight,” he says, and I can tell he’s grinning by the look in his eyes.

He starts the ignition and I feel the entire motorcycle rumble between my legs. The vibration feels both awkward and exhilarating at the same time. The vehicle suddenly rocks forward, sending me crashing into Parker’s firm back. I hear the clank of our helmets bumping into each other before I lock my arms around him in a tight grip, to keep from falling off.

There was definitely nothing that could’ve prepared me for the sensation of riding on a motorcycle. The closest thing I can compare it to is being on a roller coaster, but with no restraints. With Parker driving, though, I feel safe the entire time because he’s patient and knows that I’m not much of a thrill-seeker. I won’t lie…I could really get used to this.