“You weren’t wearing one.”
“Oh yeah.” Clearly also unable to find her dress—which he happened to know was on the kitchen floor—she grabbed his sweats and yanked them up. And then grabbed one of his shirts and pulled it on over her head.
She looked so sexy-adorable he gave her a finger crook. “C’mere.”
“Oh no,” she said. “I have rug burns on my knees because of that very smile—”
The doorbell rang again.
“Ohmigod,” she whispered, waving her hands at him. “Get up, get up! Put some clothes on!”
He laughed at her but got to his feet. “Babe, you’re wearing my clothes.”
She looked down at herself, made a sound of frustration, and gave him a shove toward the stairs. “What if it’s one of my nosy-ass siblings?” she hissed. “They have a key!”
“Then they would’ve already walked in on us.”
When her mouth fell open in horror at the thought, he shook his head. “It’s probably Kaylie again. With the kittens.”
“Oh yeah.” She put a hand to her heart and let out a big breath. “Right.” She gave him the once-over, her gaze stuttering to a stop at his groin area.
He flashed another smile. “Say the word,” he murmured, reaching for her.
“Word,” she whispered, and then sagged against him like he made her knees weak. Liking that way too much, he pulled her in.
“Wait, no,” she gasped, pulling back. “Oh my God, all my brain cells are gone. Go get some more clothes!”
Holding eye contact, he cupped her head and kissed her. He’d meant it to be a light kiss, a thank-you for the most amazing evening kiss, but the wires got crossed in his brain and before he knew it he was in deep and completely lost.
She pulled back first, eyes glazed. She blinked a few times. “Um. Where were we?”
He had no idea.
She shook her head and suddenly her eyes were solemn. She touched her kiss-swollen lips. “That felt . . . serious.”
Yeah. It had.
“Did you mean it to be serious?” she asked.
Did he? Christ, he was confused. Not a comfortable state for him. When he didn’t answer, couldn’t because he had no idea what to say, she blew out a breath and held up a hand. “Never mind. Strike that from the record. In the moment, right?”
He looked into her eyes, saw how much she regretted her question, saw so many, many things, all of which pinched his heart. “Zoe—”
“Right, then,” she said.
He opened his mouth, undoubtedly to say something stupid, but she tilted her chin up, nodded once like her decision was final, and . . . headed toward the front door without another word.
Which reminded him he was bare-assed. He took the stairs at a quick clip, and at the top he glanced back down at her.
She had one hand on the door handle but was watching him move with just the slightest bit of a smirk on her face.
And that was when he knew. She’d been okay before him, and she would be okay after him. She was a survivor. And hell, maybe he’d overthought his impact on her life or his importance to her.
Maybe it was him who was going to get hurt.
On that uncomfortable note, he went to his bedroom and met his reflection’s gaze in the mirror over the dresser. Yeah. He was the one who was going to get hurt. “You’re an idiot,” he said.
His reflection didn’t disagree.
He hit the shower, the entire time thinking of the tough, beautiful Zoe, looking at him, waiting for him to say they could make a go of this, her gaze filled with what he knew was a rare vulnerability.
Because of him.
And then how easily she’d seemed to decide to move on. That thought was so deeply disturbing, he started to go find her, but his phone buzzed. A text from Amory.
You’re not here yet.
With a sigh, he called her.
“Parker!” she yelled in his ear. “Are you on your way?”
“No,” he said regretfully. “Listen, it’s not going to be soon.”
“But it has to be. You said a week and I got everything ready so you have to come.”