Somebody to Love(106)

Well. Time to see James and say goodbye.

The thought hurt so much it pushed the air from her lungs. She didn’t want to say goodbye to James. She didn’t want him to go to Manhattan and become a Harry. He was better than that.

Besides, she loved him. The incident with Nicky—she was past that. They could both get past that, hopefully. In her pocket was Nicky’s note: a drawing of Beauty holding Apollo in her mouth—it looked as if Beauty was eating the python, but no, Nicky had informed her Apollo was simply getting a ride—and the words I’m sorry James from Nicholas Giacomo Mirabelli.

She went onto the porch of the two-family house where he was staying and paused, looking in the window of the first floor; the little old lady who lived on the bottom floor of the house was sleeping in front of her huge TV, where a slasher flick was playing in gruesome detail. Parker smiled a little, then went up the stairs to James’s apartment.

She knocked, albeit very quietly. Her heart was pounding rather erratically in her chest. Crikey, it was terrifying, this…this vulnerability. But he’d said he loved her. That had to count for something.

There was no answer to her knock, and she couldn’t see anything through the little window. Maybe he’d already left town. The thought made her mouth dry.

The door was unlocked. Parker went in, biting her lip. “James?” she said quietly, setting Nicky’s drawing on the counter.

The bedroom door was closed, but light shone from under the door, and she could catch a few strains of music. Okay, great, he was here. She ran a hand over her hair, swallowed, then knocked and opened the door at the same time.

“Hi, baby!” said a voice.

A woman’s voice.

A woman was in the bed. Naked. A very surprised-looking, very well-endowed, very perky young woman. Wow. No cellulite there—or anywhere—that was for sure. Candles flickering on the windowsill. Harp music coming from an iPod speaker.

James had left. He was gone.

The two women stared at each other, frozen for a horrible second. Then Boobalicious jerked the sheet up to her chin. “Oh, my gosh! I’m so, so sorry!” she spluttered. “I thought you were someone else!”

“Oh, no, me, too,” Parker said. “I’m really, really sorry.”

He’d moved out. She’d missed her chance. Her throat tightened as if Apollo was wrapped around it.

“I—I’ll go,” Parker said. “My friend used to live here. I didn’t realize he already… I’ll— I’m so embarrassed. And so sorry.”

The woman smiled sheepishly. “No, no, I should’ve locked the door. My bad, totally. I’m waiting for my boyfriend. Obviously. Duh, right?”

“Well.” Parker half grimaced, half smiled. “You have a good night.”

“Thanks.” Beautiful girl. Woman. Whatever.

Parker turned to leave, then froze.

Apollo’s glass tank was in the corner, complete with the python curled up inside.

Then the bedroom door opened, and there was James, a six-pack of beer under one arm.

“James,” Parker breathed.

“James!” the na**d woman said at the same time, albeit much more enthusiastically. “Hi, baby!”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

THIS COULDN’T BE HAPPENING. His luck wasn’t this bad. A guy goes to Jason’s for supper, comes home to find…this?

James’s eyes ricocheted from one woman to the other. Nope, his luck really, really sucked, apparently. And what do you say in a situation like this?

“Hi,” he ventured.

“Surprise!” Leah said. “Um, this nice lady came to see her friend, who, like, lived here before and just moved. Awkward! Right?”

Oh, indeed. James seemed to be paralyzed. Speak, idiot, his brain commanded. But Leah was in his bed—Leah, for God’s sake. How the hell had she found him, even, let alone wound up in his apartment, in his bed, naked? Because yeah, there was her left breast, and while it was a completely excellent breast, he could’ve sworn they broke up, and she and her fabulous rack really had no business being here.

But here she was. Her pretty red hair was curled, she was all made up, there were candles burning—he didn’t even have candles…hell, she must’ve brought them herself—and it was clear what Leah had in mind.

And in this corner, there was Parker, wearing jeans and a Joe’s T-shirt and flip-flops, her hair in a ponytail. And if—just if—she’d come over to offer the proverbial olive branch, James sensed his odds were falling. That instead of a branch, she might whip out a chain saw and cut off his arm. Or another body part.

He was so screwed. “Uh…Parker, this is a friend from home. Leah, this is Parker.” Yes. What was the etiquette in a situation like this? Last names? No?

Leah sat up straighter, finally pulling the sheet over her breast. “Parker? Parker, like, Welles? I’m so happy to meet you! You’re Harry’s daughter, right? Cool! James has told me a lot about you! You’re an author, right? Really cool.”

“A pleasure to meet you, too, Leah,” Parker said, her rich-girl drawl in full glory. “I gather you’re James’s girlfriend.”

If looks could castrate…

“Well, yeah.” Leah’s voice was charmingly sheepish. “We’ve been together since, oh, man, that wedding on New Year’s, right, James?”