What's Left of Me

I don’t want to bring up Bryn, but I can’t stop the words from leaving my mouth.

“Is there something going on with you and Bryn?”

Parker nearly chokes on his beer, coughing. “Excuse me?”

“Bryn. She just seems to always be where you are, laughing at everything you say. She sits with you at lunch, walks in with you in the mornings. I’m just curious if there is something there.”

“No,” he says, looking directly at me. He repeats it a second time, moving closer to me.

I must not look convinced because he sets his beer down. “Listen, Bryn and I went on a couple of dates when I first started my internship. I didn’t know anyone. I was new to the city, and she took me under her wing; showed me around. We had fun, but it wasn’t anything serious. Once my internship was coming to an end and I got more serious about working with Jason, as partner, I told her we could only be friends. She took it well. It was amicable.”

“Did you sleep together?” Do I want to know this? Do I care? Yes.

He runs his hands through his hair. I’m beginning to think this is his nervous tell sign. “No.”

At least she didn’t get all of him.

“Okay.” I pause, searching for more to say. I don’t have a right to discuss his sex life prior to me. “I just don’t think she really believes your friends status. She’s always drooling over you.”

“Is someone jealous?” he teases.

“No.”

“Are you sure? Because I know women. They say they’re not, but secretly they’re planning some way to take the bitch down.”

I laugh. Not just a small laugh, but a full-on, stomach-clenching, throw-your-head-back laugh. “I’m serious! I’m not jealous.”

He laughs as he gets up to clear our plates. “You want another beer?”

“Sure.” Discussion closed.

He gets comfortable on the floor with his back against the couch. He pulls on my arm, bringing me closer to him. Sliding a leg around my body, he brings me flat against his chest, so I’m sitting between his legs. Reaching over to his right, he picks up the two beer bottles, handing me one. “Here you are, my lady.”

“Why thank you, kind sir.”

We clink the bottles together and I take a sip. I’m not a big beer fan, but I do like the taste every now and then. This is my third, and I’m already feeling it go to my head. My doctor says it’s okay to have a few drinks now and again during chemo, but with my low blood counts it may affect me differently. I mostly stay away from alcohol altogether, but being here with him makes it easy to forget about everything else going on.

“Aundrea?”

“Hmm?”

“There really is nothing going on between Bryn and me. I just want you to know that.”

“I believe you.”

“Good, because it’s only you I want.”

I stiffen.

He brings my hand to his lips, giving it a small kiss. “You don’t have to say anything, but I know you feel it too, as much as you try to fight it. But, just so you know, I will be right here waiting when you’re ready.”

I can only give a slight nod. Any words that I want to form are lodged in the back of my throat. My heart is pounding. I know this would be a good time to tell him about my cancer, but I chicken out.

Parker’s MP3 player is on, and I’m thankful when a loud song blasts through the speakers. It’s some rock song and I can’t make out anything the singer is saying. The words blend together and the loud guitar drowns out his voice.

“Who is this?”

“Who is this? It’s one of the best bands ever. Death Line.”

“One of the best? They sound like some high school garage band.”

“You’re joking.” He moves so that he can get a decent look at my face. His eyes are wide with shock.

“No! I’m not. You can’t make out anything he’s saying—or, rather, screaming.” I laugh.

“You can’t be serious. That’s what they do. They rock. They make actual music. They’re legends.”

I take this as a good opportunity to bring up the concert tickets Jean got for this Saturday night. I haven’t asked Parker yet. I’ve been waiting for the right time.

“As much as I find all this talk about Death Line fascinating, I have a question for you.”

“Uh oh!” He sets his beer down. “Okay, I’m ready. What do you have for me?”

“Well, my friend Jean got these tickets to see a local rock band on Saturday night. I’m not sure who they are, or if they’re any good. And maybe you already have plans because it’s short notice and all, but I thought … maybe, you know … if you wanted to, that maybe …”

Since when did I start sounding like a loser fumbling her words?

“Aundrea, are you trying to ask me on a date?” he asks teasingly.

“No. Not a date. Just maybe, you know … a night out.”

I stop talking. Who am I kidding? I am trembling with nerves. I don’t understand why he makes me so nervous, and all I’m doing is making this sound a lot worse than it needs to. How did I ever pick this man up in a bar? Or, better question: why did he let me?

“Yes. I am asking you on a date.”

“Then ask me.”

“I did.”

“No. You just mumbled and stumbled your way through it.”

Taking in a deep breath, I start again, “Parker, I would very much like it if you would go to a rock show with me this Saturday with my friend Jean, and possibly have dinner prior. I know it’s short notice, but if you’re free, I’d like you to come with me.”

“See. Was it that hard?”

“Yes.”

He gives me a grin, shaking his head slightly and holding a laugh back. “Thank you for the invite. I’m not sure what I have going on Saturday night, but I’ll let you know.” I watch as he takes a swig of his beer, as if the words he just said were no big deal. My mouth gapes open and I just stare at him in shock. Is he kidding me?

“Are you kidding me?”

“What?” he asks with a hint of amusement. I can see the smile forming, but he’s trying desperately to hide it.

“You just made me ask you that so you could tell me you’ll have to let me know? Really?”

“Yes.” His mouth falls back into a straight line.

I shake my head in disbelief. I have a feeling he is kidding, but I’m not totally sure. I make my way to a standing position, but before I can stand all the way, Parker grabs my arm and pulls me back down so that I land on his lap. I fall right into his crossed legs, fitting perfectly in the small space.

Laughing, I try to pull out of his hold. “What?”

His head lowers to my neck, lingering for a few seconds, and I go still. Most women in this situation would be begging for him to kiss them, or to feel his lips brush their neck, but I’m not your typical woman. As much as I wish I were thinking about him touching his lips to my skin, I’m too concerned that he’ll notice my hair has a different texture than before. Or worse, that it’s longer on one side than the other from sliding down with the sudden pull into his lap.

Closing my eyes, I take in his irresistible scent. He smells divine, and for just one minute I get lost in his scent, letting all other thoughts leave my head.

He does exactly what I thought he would do. He brings his lips to the top of my shoulder and lightly brushes my skin. “So soft,” he whispers against my collarbone.

“Hmmm?”

“Your skin. It’s so soft. I love how soft you feel. How good you smell.” I hear him breathe in my scent, trailing his nose gently along my neck and up to the back of my ear. Goosebumps cover my body, and suddenly any thought or care I may have had about my hair is out the window for good. My arms go limp, and I relax into him.

“Pears. It’s always the damn pears.” His tongue comes out, barely licking me, and I swear I just turned into a puddle.

I sigh. I can’t respond. Not even if I tried.

His hand traces the scar on the right side of my neck with a feather light touch. “What happened here?” he asks as his lips brush against it.

“An unfortunate event when I was a teenager.”

His lips reach out and touch the bottom of my ear lobe. “I’m sorry,” he breathes into my ear. He barely touches me with his mouth, and his voice sends tingles down my body. I can feel his warm breath down my neck. I know if I just turn my head slightly to the left, my lips will meet his and then it will be all over.

“You know I would go anywhere you asked me to, right? I was just messing with you earlier.”

“Huh?” I breathe out.

“The show. Even if I had plans, I’d cancel them to be with you.”

My heart drops to the pit of my stomach. Bringing my left arm up, I wrap it around the back of his neck to hold his head in place. I don’t want to ruin this moment.

“Please come with me, Parker.”

“You don’t need to ask twice, babe.” He shifts just enough so his head turns, bringing his lips to mine. The kiss starts out slow and gentle, but not being able to take any more, I pull on his neck tighter, bringing his lips harder onto mine. He obliges, opening his mouth to me. The second it’s open, I slip my tongue inside, meeting his. He tastes sweet from the fruit we ate with our dinner, and I can’t help but want more.

Parker turns, shifting my legs over his. I like this position. Straddling him. It makes me feel in control, like I can determine what he does or doesn’t do to me. It’s unusual for me to have control in life and, with him, I get it. He’s the one thing I have control over, and I embrace it.

His hands move up and down my back until they rest at the edge of my shirt. He doesn’t move the fabric further up, but instead draws small circles on the bit of skin that is exposed, sending me over the edge into pure bliss.

I wiggle, bringing myself closer to him, and feel the hardness in his jeans press into me. He moans into my mouth and, with no control over my body, I begin to rock harder against him.

Immediately, one hand goes to my hip, helping me rock against him, while the other moves up the bottom edge of my hairline. His hips begin to move with mine in a synchronized rhythm.

“Aundrea.” Just the way he says my name can send me over the edge. It’s rough and raspy. He says it again between kisses while pulling me closer. I can feel the wetness and pressure between my thighs build and, no matter what, I don’t want to stop.

I don’t think I can stop.

Until I feel his hand move into my hair.

He grips my wig, tugging slightly, causing my eyes to pop open.

“Parker! Wait!” I shriek.

I freeze, stopping all friction that was forming between us. I don’t recall bringing my hands to his chest, but they’re there, pushing back on him. “Please, we have to stop.”

His hold loosens as I slump down. I can’t be sure if my heart is pounding from him, or the fact that he almost pulled my wig off.

I watch as he throws his head back in frustration. Rubbing his face with both his hands, he mumbles, “You’re right. I’m sorry. I got carried away.”