Somebody to Love (Gideon's Cove #3)(75)
She hadn’t been in here since Day One. It contained almost nothing: bed, night table, battered old bureau, the glass tank containing her father’s beloved. Had she mentioned the bed? A sudden image of James’s tanned skin against the white sheets made her mouth dry. Down, girl. On the night table was a battered paperback by Harlan Coben. A clock.
The room was as neat as a pin; neater than her room, which always seemed to have a towel or a pair of shoes lying around somewhere, no matter how she tried to keep it tidy. His room was like a monk’s quarters. No p**n o stash anywhere that she could see. She got a towel from the bathroom and draped it over Apollo’s tank so she wouldn’t have to see the creature.
There was a single framed photo on the bureau. Parker went over and picked it up. It was of James hugging a woman with dark hair. The woman’s face was buried in his shoulder, but Parker could see enough of her face to tell that the woman was laughing. James was smiling, his chin resting on the woman’s head, his eyes crinkling. A happy, happy picture.
Had James ever been married? The thought lanced Parker with an abrupt arrow of shame. She’d never asked. Was he divorced? A widower? Or was this laughing woman his sister? He had mentioned a sister, as well as three brothers, but Parker couldn’t see enough of her face to tell if they looked like each other.
But she could see that the woman had curly hair, beautiful skin and that she loved James. And he loved her back.
Very carefully, she put the picture back and started on the taping. When she was done with that, she pulled the bed away from the wall. There was hardly enough room to get past, as James’s room was significantly smaller than her own. A thought occurred to her. “Hey, James?” she called, going back into the hallway. He was right there, and she jumped back. “Oh. You’re in. I thought you were, um, still outside.”
“I’m gonna shower and head for Dewey’s,” he said.
“Oh.”
“It’s Malone’s bachelor party,” he added.
“Right. I knew that.” Too bad they couldn’t shower together. Save time and all. Wet, naked, soapy James and her own wet, na**d self—holy halos, Batman. Her knees softened, then thunked into place, locked. Great. She was staggering without even taking a step. “Well, have fun, Thing One.” Her voice was brisk. “Don’t drink and drive, of course.”
“I never do.” He leaned against the wall and looked at her. He hadn’t shaved today. He was still fairly baby-faced, in fact, not one of those men who could grow a beard in a couple days, like Malone or, um, what’s-his-name. Ethan.
“What did you need?” he murmured.
What indeed. She felt her cheeks warm. God, this was just not her, all this swooniness and blushing! “Well, if I start painting tonight, the fumes might bother you. So maybe you should sleep at your uncle’s house. Or on the couch. Or something.” Your bed is pretty big, Parker, the Holy Rollers pointed out. Great. Now her angels were becoming pimps.
“Okay. Want me to move Apollo while you’re painting?”
“Sure. Your call. Whatever. It’s all good.” You babble when you’re nervous, the HRs noted. “Thanks,” Parker added, then closed her eyes. “So who’s the woman in the picture?” She inclined her head toward his bureau.
“My sister.”
Oh, goody. Sister. Not wife. “You guys are close?”
“Yes.” His mouth pulled up on one side, and her knees wobbled again.
“Well. You have fun tonight, James.”
He smiled and went past her, and the brush of his arm against hers was enough to make her entire side tingle.
Fling.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
JAMES WAS POSSIBLY a little bit drunk.
The thing was, he never really could hold his liquor. His father and brothers, man, those guys could pound beers like coal miners or teamsters or some other group who drank a lot of beers. And these lobstermen, damn, they were drinkers, too. But James had been working in the hot sun all day; he hadn’t slept much the night before because of that kiss, and he might’ve been pretty dehydrated and fairly exhausted before those beers hit his system. Three beers, one cheeseburger, a very loud bachelor party with guys making toasts to things like “not being a priest” and “Maggie’s desserts” and stuff like that.
Jonah, the brother of the bride and Chantal’s husband, lucky bastard, was sitting next to him, talking about nothing the way men do—why Boston could beat the Yankees in practically every game this season yet still be in third place. Guy stuff. Same sort of nothing James talked about with his buddies in Providence.
All in all, James felt slightly dizzy, pretty foggy and generally happy. “I got a question for you, Jonah,” he said, watching as Malone won another game of pool. “How’d you get Chantal to marry you?”
“Got her pregnant,” he said. “Then I kept bugging her till she said yes. Why? Oh, hang on a sec. Georgie’s calling me.”
“Here’s the deal,” James said, possibly slurring a little, “I have a thing for this woman, right? A big thing. But it’s like her heart is…I dunno. Made outta Plexiglas. Stuff bounces off Plexiglas, right? And that shit’s hard to break, know what I mean?”
“Dude, you are whipped,” a female voice said. James blinked. He thought he’d been talking to Jonah, but this was not Jonah next to him. No. It was a woman. A very, very, veryveryvery beautiful woman who could even give Perfect Parker a run for her money. If you liked black-haired, blue-eyed Liv Tyler type of princesses, that was. Which guys did.