Blurred Lines (Love Unexpectedly 1)

“Um, beer?” he says.

I hide a grimace. Whitehorse Tavern has more than twenty beers on tap, some of them pretty damn good microbrews. Beer doesn’t quite cut it as far as descriptors go. I’m about to ask if he wants to be a bit more specific, but the scent of familiar perfume catches my attention. Parker wears Chanel Chance. I know this because I buy it for her every Christmas. It’s expensive, but it’s a win-win, because she squeals in delight every time, and I don’t have to do any thinking.

I turn around to find her looking at me in exasperation. She points at the glasses in front of me. “You forgot our drinks.”

“I didn’t forget,” I say, giving her a meaningful look.

She tilts her head in confusion, clearly understanding that I’m trying to tell her something, but not comprehending what.

Good lord. I glance around for Lori, and find her back at the booth where I left her, engaged in

conversation with a hipster type. Some wingwoman. I’m on my own.

“Parker, this is…”

I turn toward the redhead, using the opportunity to get her name.

“Terri,” she says warily, her eyes doing a not-so-subtle once-over of Parker. This is why I don’t usually try to pick up chicks when my best friend’s in tow. She scares everyone away. Tonight in particular, she looks good, dressed in tight-as-sin jeans and a plain white T-shirt that should be harmless but fits her sort of perfectly. Her hair is in a ponytail, but not a messy gym ponytail; it’s one of those careful, preppy ones that girls do.

“Parker,” she says, extending a hand. I hope Parker’s friendly smile will put Terri at ease, but Terri’s eyes merely narrow, and I mentally sigh.

“My cousin,” I say to Terri.

I don’t look at Parker, but I can feel her disapproval. She hates when I lie, and I’m not a fan of it myself. But it’s a necessity tonight, because Redhead is definitely thinking that Parker is competition.

Terri smiles at my new (false) revelation, which is good, but what’s even better is that the dopey beer guy in the black T-shirt also seems to jump to attention. His eyes move over Parker, his gaze as assessing as Terri’s was, but with a wholly different agenda. He smirks a little, and it sets my teeth on edge, but if this is what Parks wants…

I clear my throat meaningfully at Parker before turning back toward the bar, this time going all out in my effort to get the bartender’s attention. I need a drink. Stat.

Five minutes later, everyone’s drinks are full and Parker’s apparently figured out my game plan, because she’s leaning back against the bar, elbows propped up on the wood, and she’s laughing at something Black T-shirt is saying. I have to think her laugh’s fake; the dude seems like a bore to me, but this doesn’t seem like her fake laugh. I’m pretty familiar with Parker’s fake laugh, because I’ve heard it turned more than once on some of my ditzier sleepover buddies.

For my part, I’ve been trying to engage in conversation with Terri the redhead. She’s not one of the ditzy ones, which, I guess, is refreshing, but I’m not really feeling it because she’s kind of…mean. I can overlook plenty of personality flaws in the name of extreme hotness, at least for a one-night stand, but the edge on this girl is exhausting.

“I just don’t get what they expect me to do,” she’s saying. “Like, use one of my vacation days so I can shuttle my grandpa back and forth between his nine million doctors’ appointments? But if I say no, I’m a bitch, right? My mom almost bit my head off when I suggested a cab.”

“Uh-huh,” I say, noncommittally, even though I barely know what she’s talking about. Something about her grandfather being diagnosed with some degenerative disease and everyone in the family taking turns getting him to various appointments.

A setup that Terri’s apparently not a fan of.

I can’t help but think back to when Parker’s mom was diagnosed with breast cancer, and Parker dropped everything to help out with the chemo appointments and the devastating aftermath of the appointments.

Hell, so did I.

Mrs. Blanton all but became a surrogate mother during my college years when my own family was on the other side of the country. I’d have moved heaven and earth to be there for her on those afternoons when she lay weak and nauseous on the couch as we watched nonstop reruns of Gilligan’s Island, or whatever show she felt like binge watching.

My attention skips away from Terri once again as I watch Black T-shirt, whose name is Tad—seriously?—touch Parker’s hip.

Atta girl.

She may need a little help with the setup, but clearly she’s got enough moves to reel him in. Still, she can’t possibly be thinking—

I meet her eyes, and, sure enough, she’s glancing at me as often as she can without being obvious, and when our gazes lock, she widens her eyes slightly.

I hide a smile. Okay, so obviously we’re going to have to coach her on the setup and the gracious exit. I’m mentally running through my long list of fail-proof excuses when Lori appears in front of us.

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Blanton, but it’s eleven,” Lori says, hitching a thumb over her shoulder toward the door.

“So?” Terri asks bitchily, giving Lori the same once-over she gave Parker.