Blurred Lines (Love Unexpectedly #1)(24)

I assume based on her quiet mood that she’s going to retreat to her bedroom, but instead she sits at our small kitchen table, tapping her fingernails and staring at a random spot on the wall.

I roll my eyes, pour her a glass of water and sit across from her. “Spill.”

Her eyes flick to mine and her lips purse, and I can tell she’s debating whether or not to follow my instructions.

“Fine.” I hold up my hands. “I’ve done my best-friend duty. I’m not going to beg you to talk. Call Lori or Casey if you want to be coaxed into it.”

I’m a good friend. But I have limits.

She grabs my wrist as I pass. “I want to talk to you about something.”

“Oh my God,” I mutter, fully annoyed with this girly fit. “Like I haven’t been trying to get you to talk for the past twenty minutes.”

She licks her lips and looks away as her fingers release my wrist.

I cross my arms and stare her down. She has about six seconds to spit out whatever has her all knotted up—

“Do you ever talk to the girls you sleep with?” Parker blurts out.

I lift an eyebrow. “You mean, do I remove their gag and allow them to speak? Only when they please me.”

Her foot sneaks out and nearly connects with my shin, but I dodge. “You know what I mean,” she says. “After you’re done saying whatever you need to to get in their pants, but before you begin your usual Get them out of here routine, do you talk to them?”

“Sure,” I say, completely unclear on where the heck she’s going with this.

“No, I mean do you really? Do you enjoy them?”

“I enjoy their—”

Parker holds up a hand. “No, I mean them as people. Do you like them?”

I scratch my cheek. “Why do I get the feeling I’m walking into a conversation in which I’ll inevitably look like an *?”

“So you don’t like them,” she concludes.

“Jeez, I don’t know, Parks. I don’t dislike them; otherwise, I wouldn’t bring them home or go back to their place or whatever. But it’s not like I—”

I scratch my cheek again, not really sure what she wants me to say. I’m a bit of a womanizer. I get that. But I never give anyone the wrong impression. I never imply that I’m interested in anything other than the one night.

I’ve never really felt bad about my relationship habits (although relationship feels like a strong word), but the way Parker is positioning these questions makes me feel like she’s setting me up for something.

“Are you having second thoughts about this whole casual sex thing?” I ask.

“Yes.”

Thank God.

Still, I’m surprised. Not so much that she’s changed her mind—she’s really not a one-night-stand kind of girl—but that she’s changing her mind before she’s even tried it.

Because as far as I know, despite our nearly nightly outings to various bars, she hasn’t hooked up with anyone since she and Lance split a couple weeks ago.

“I’ve been going about it all wrong,” she says.

“Well, yeah,” I say, folding my arms and leaning back against the counter. “But only because you seem to have a knack for finding the biggest douchebag in every bar we go into.”

“Exactly!” Her eyes light up, her voice excited. “I can’t even carry on a conversation with these bozos for more than a minute without wanting to blow my brains out.”

“Ah, and you want to know how I manage to carry on conversations with girls that I’m not really interested in,” I say, finally catching on. Or so I think.

“Um, no,” she says. “I don’t really give a crap.”

God help me, I might strangle her. “Do I even need to be here for this conversation?” I ask. “Seems to me like you can talk yourself into a circle all by yourself.”

She stands. “When I said I’m giving up on the casual sex thing, I meant I’m going to give up on doing the casual sex thing your way. Haven’t you ever wanted to enjoy the person you sleep with? To finish up doing, you know, and then not want to shove them out of bed?”

“Um, sure, but…”

“Don’t you wonder if it would be better with someone who didn’t drive you nuts? Someone you cared about?”

Warning bells sound in my head. I’d take a step back if I weren’t already backed against the counter. “Please tell me you aren’t going to set me up with one of your friends. I thought you were against that kind of cross pollination.”

“Oh, I am,” she says with an easy smile. “And don’t worry, what I’m proposing won’t end in you having to give anyone Valentine’s Day flowers or remember one-month anniversaries”

“That’s great, but I still don’t understand what this proposal is?”

And since when have she and I had such a hard time understanding each other?

Parker holds her hands out to the sides, then lets them drop. “I think we should hook up.”

I would just like to state—for the record—that I should win a goddamn medal for not laughing, fainting, or straight up walking out of the room.

“How much wine did you have?” I ask, even though I know she didn’t have more than two glasses, and stopped early in the evening since she was driving us home.