One Good Reason (Boston Love #3)(49)

I snort whiskey through my nose. “What?”

“You said the guy over there and pointed…” Gemma’s voice drops to an amused whisper. “That would be our brother.”

My gaze flies toward the place I just pointed and, sure enough, I see Parker’s familiar broad shoulders striding through the archway from the kitchen, a Christmas sweater even uglier than Phoebe’s covering his muscular chest — emerald green with two red embroidered ornaments on the front, accompanied by the word BALLS in elaborate, glittery cursive.

Where the hell do they find these sweaters?

I’m still spluttering like a fool, the alcohol stinging my sinuses, so Shelby smacks me on the back in a helpful show of support.

“You okay, Zoe?” She hits me straight between the shoulder blades. “You’re white as a ghost.”

“I’d be better—” I gasp. “—if you’d stop—” I wheeze. “—f*cking hitting me.”

“She’s fine,” Shelby announces, grinning. “Just having difficulty breathing over your hot-as-shit brother.”

“Ew!” Gemma and Phoebe whine simultaneously.

Finally catching my breath, I look up in time to see something that makes my throat feel a bit too tight. Parker’s leggy receptionist, Patricia, enters the room just after him, grabs hold of his arm, and pulls him to a stop beneath the mistletoe hanging in the wide archway. Before he can react, she pops up onto her tiptoes and lays a kiss on his cheek.

An ugly feeling stirs inside me.

“What?” Shelby shakes her head at her friends. “He’s sex on a stick, without all the alpha-male damage. What more could a girl ask for?”

“Maybe someone who doesn’t get more ass than a toilet bowl at Fenway Park?” I grumble under my breath, my tone murderous.

Four sets of eyes snap to my face and I realize perhaps I voiced my thoughts too loudly.

Gemma’s blue eyes get sharp. “Why would you say that?”

“Wait… do you know Parker?” Phoebe asks, head tilting.

I don’t answer, because suddenly there’s another set of eyes on my face. Eyes I can feel burning into mine even from across the room. Hazel, hot, and maybe, if I let myself believe it… hopeful.

Like maybe he wants me here.

Like maybe he’s happy to see me.

Except he brought a date. A tall, perfectly proportioned brunette who looks like Adriana Freaking Lima.

The thought has barely formed when I watch her sidle up to Parker’s side again and wrap her arm around his. He doesn’t pay her any attention — he’s still looking at me, frozen in place like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. And I’m looking at her, pressing so close her boobs are laying on his arm.

They’re a perfect fit. He’s funny and charming. She’s perky and preppy. There’s not a single jaded, cynical, damaged bone in either of their bodies.

I don’t belong here. I was a fool to come.

“I have to go,” I say instantly, turning to thrust my empty glass onto the closest table. “Thanks for the whiskey.”

“Wait!” Phoebe cries. “Zoe! You can’t leave, you just got here!”

“We still have to play pin-the-balls-on-the-reindeer,” Shelby says somberly. “A time-honored tradition.”

“I’m sorry.” I turn and head for the archway by the front door, as far from Parker as I can get, cursing Luca for dragging me here and cursing myself for actually having hope that maybe I could open up to someone.

As soon as I turn to run, Parker finds his voice.

“Zoe!” He shouts, starting after me. “Zoe, wait!”

I keep moving, leaving the living room behind and rounding the archway into the front parlor. I hear angry words break out behind me.

“Get out of my way,” Parker growls at someone.

“Free tip — when they run away like that, it means they don’t want to talk to you.” Luca’s voice is threatening. “She doesn’t want you near her, you’re not going near her.”

“Step back.” Parker sounds pissed.

“You have a death wish, rich boy?”

“You have a hearing problem, Blaze?”

I picture them up in each other’s faces, ready to do battle at a f*cking Christmas party for god’s sake, and my feet falter. My hand drops away from the doorknob and I hurry back into the living room.

“Stop it!” I bark at the two idiots, drawing all fifty sets of eyes at the party to me. “Luca, back off him. Now.”

He does — grudgingly. He looks about has happy as a One Direction fan when news of the band’s split broke.

Parker’s eyes are on me as he steps around Luca and closes the gap between us. I backpedal as he approaches, out of the living room, through the archway, until I’m practically pressed against the front door in the foyer. He keeps coming until there’s a tiny sliver of space remaining between our bodies.

My eyes hold his. He’s breathing too hard, looking down at me with so many emotions it’s hard to know what he’s feeling.

“I should probably go,” I say after a minute, trying to catch my breath. “I’ve done enough damage here. I ruined Phoebe’s party – apologize to her for me, please.”