A Beautiful Lie (Playing with Fire #1)(25)

And his “wife”.

Parker was grateful that being at a Caribbean resort meant access to the gym at any hour and she had it all to herself. With her iPod plugged in to the gym's docking station and her "Kick Some Ass" playlist pulled up, Bayside's "Sick, Sick, Sick" thumped through the sound system and set the tone for her pissed off mood.

She punched, hit, and kicked out her frustrations for forty minutes, working up a good amount of sweat and unfortunately, even more irritation.

She threw jabs at the Everlast heavy bag that hung from the ceiling as she bounced back and forth on the balls of her feet.

"Fucking childish ass," she muttered, punctuating each word with a blow to the bag.

"Who the f*ck are you?" she said, imitating Garrett's horrified voice as she brought her leg up to the side of the bag and kicked her ankle against it three times.

The song ended and went right into Godsmack's "Whatever", making Parker smile for the first time that day as she pictured Garrett's face on the bag while she sang along and beat the shit out of it.

"And I don't need your shit today," Parker sang as she spun around, placing her back to the bag so she could kick out behind her, letting her foot connect with "Garrett's" nuts.

Garrett crossed his arms, leaned against the doorjamb of the gym, and watched Parker.

Her skin tight, black capri workout pants hung low on her hips and ended right below her knees. Garrett wondered if he had ever seen a more perfect body than the one before him right then. He forced his eyes up the length of her, taking in her sweat-glistened skin and the sorry excuse for a top she wore. The red sports bra she had on made his eyes focus on how well-endowed she was.

Parker had always been in good shape and whenever asked, thanked the good genes she had been born with. Watching how easily she worked the bag and how quickly she went from one boxing move to the next, Garrett knew that was yet another lie she had told that he could add to the list. Obviously she knew her way around a heavy bag and had probably received years of training to get her to that point.

As he stood there watching the muscles in her arms and abs tighten and strain, he kind of forgot to care.

Over the music Garrett heard her repeated use of the word "f*ck" and "ass" and knew there was only one person she could be referring to.

"You're pathetic in your own way," Parker yelled along with the music as she upper-cut the bag, dropped low to the ground, swept one leg under it, popped up, and spun, ending with an elbow jab and a slam of her forearm to the bag.

Garrett felt his dick twitch.

The music continued to wail as Parker stood there with her hands on her hips trying to catch her breath.

Her pose reminded him of one night a year ago—minus her pants and with the addition of entirely too much alcohol on her part.



Garrett had answered the knock on his door at two in the morning wearing just a pair of drawstring pajama bottoms. A loud crack of thunder had boomed overhead as he opened the door to find his friend standing on his front stoop sopping wet. It hadn't come as a surprise to see her standing there. His house, and back when they all lived together, his room, was always where Parker or Milo would show up when they got into a fight.

Garrett sighed and pushed his door open wider so she could duck under his arm and come inside. As she breezed by him, the smell of tequila assaulted his nose. He backed out of the doorway and shut the door, taking a minute to rub the sleep from his eyes. Garrett had a feeling he'd need to be wide awake for the discussion that was going to follow. He heard the rustling of clothing behind him and turned to help Parker with her coat, only to find her standing in the middle of his living room in nothing but a black lace bra and matching boy shorts. Her hands were on her hips and light from the street lamp outside the window reflected off of her rain soaked skin, droplets of water catching the light when she moved and reminding him of expensive jewels.

Garrett shifted his feet and adjusted his hips in an effort to hide the raging hard on that sprung up at the site of her spilling out of her bra. It could have been a shadow or a trick of the light, but he had sworn he could see the tiniest sliver of nipple peeking out at the edge of the lace.

He licked his lips and fought to keep his mouth to himself and not wrapped around her wet, lace covered nipple.

"Milo doesn't want me," Parker whispered in the dark room.

"Parker, I-"

"We've both been working overtime and haven't spent much time together in ages. So I put this on and stood in the living room with candles lit and waited for him to come home," she rambled.

Thinking about Parker silhouetted by candle light made his dick harder. Thinking about Parker waiting for him to come home from work so he could f*ck her senseless made him almost come in his pants.

"He came in the door, took one look at me, and said, 'Not tonight, Parker,' and then went in our room and shut the door."

Garrett's feet were cemented in place as he watched a tear fall down her cheek.

"You'd never do that to me, would you, Garrett?" she asked with a sniffle and a hiccup from all the tequila she'd most likely consumed. "If I was yours..." she trailed off.

As Garrett's heart beat frantically in his chest and he stared into Parker's watery green eyes across the room, he knew this lover's spat wouldn't be easily fixed with a hug from him and a promise that her and Milo would be fine like all the other times. It wasn't because he didn't think they'd be fine.