Blurred Lines (Love Unexpectedly 1)

She clutches a T-shirt to her chest excitedly, her eyes wide and girlish. “You mean it? I get to tag along and watch you put the moves on eighteen-year-olds?”

“Hey, you were eighteen once, and I didn’t put the moves on you,” I say.

I don’t add that for the life of me, I still don’t know why I didn’t put the moves on her. Because some

times when I look back at all those years, I’ll have a split second of regret that I didn’t act fast—that I didn’t snatch up the best girl I’ve ever met when I had the chance. Because I can’t now. She’s someone else’s girl. That, and I’m too afraid I’d mess up the best thing that ever happened to me.

“Good thing, too,” she replies. “If we were dating, I wouldn’t be caught dead folding your shirts.”

“You don’t help Lance do his laundry?”

I’d meant it as an off-the-cuff comment, but her fingers falter a little, and I wonder if I’ve inadvertently struck a nerve. Maybe I should ask if everything’s okay with them.

But she recovers.

“Nah,” she says, with an easy smile. “He’s almost as good a folder as me. It’s part of why I love him.”

I fan myself. “What, he’s a fantastic folder? Shit, you better put a ring on it, Parks!”

She makes a face and flings the last T-shirt at me. “That one should go. It has holes.”

“It’s comfortable,” I say, glancing down at the faded Boston Red Sox shirt. I can’t even remember where I got it; I’m a Chicago White Sox guy.

“It’s a rag,” she says, snatching it out of my hands and tossing it into a bucket under the sink where we keep the cleaning stuff.

“Do I get to do that It’s a rag routine with your underwear next time you do laundry?” I ask. “Because I’ve seen some of your panties. You may as well stitch death to boner across the front.”

She takes a sip of her water. “New house rule: No talking about Parker’s panties. Actually, no using the word panties at all.”

I’m actually pretty sure that’s not a new house rule. It sounds familiar, but I’m not about to remind her of this.

“Oh, come on,” I argue. “You help my color-blind self pick out shirts, so why not let me return the favor by telling you which panties are going to depress the hell out of Lance?”

“Pass.”

I tell her anyway. “Those big bunchy ones that are light brown.”

“Those are my PMS panties. They stay.”

I point a finger at her. “House rule infraction. We’re not allowed to say panties.”

She rolls her eyes and heads toward the stairs. “I need to go finish that presentation for Monday’s meeting.”

I forget if I’ve mentioned it already, but Parks is a total workaholic.

“Fine,” I call after her. “Go nerd it up, but at least think about the party.”

Parker pauses. “You know I have girlfriends, right? I’m not so pathetic that when Lance cancels on me I’m going to be stuck home alone?”

“Yeah, I know, I just thought…I dunno. You looked bummed earlier today. Wanted to make sure you weren’t going to stay home tonight listening to Bonnie Tyler.”

She fluttered her eyelashes. “You worried about me, Olsen?”

“Nah. Just wary of coming home to you on the couch with Häagen-Dazs all over your face while reeking of estrogen.”

She’s already moving up the stairs. “Suddenly that D you got in biology is making total sense. You apparently missed the entire section on how hormones work.”

“It just so happens that biology is a specialty of mine,” I call up the stairs.