Outmatched

That was it. No boyfriend or date. Just Rhys.

My lips went numb as I stood there. A big, dumb ox.

Vida smiled at me, sly as fuck. “And does Rhys have a last name?”

She didn’t give a shit about my name. She was digging. We all knew it.

I smiled wide and stuck out my hand. “Rent boy.” My smile grew teeth. “It’s more of a title.”

Parker gasped, and Vida tittered.

“How marvelous, Parker.” She sounded truly impressed.

Parker, on the other hand, was bright pink. Good. I rolled my tight shoulders. “If you’ll excuse us, I need a beer.”

I took hold of Parker’s elbow and guided her away as gently as I could. I was pissed, which meant I had to be extra careful with my strength. Yeah, Parker had acted like I was garbage at her side, but I wasn’t about to manhandle her.

“Rhys,” she hissed, stomping along at my side. “What the heck was that?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” I shot back. Several bars were set up on the various terraces. I went to the closest. “Beer. Just give me the bottle.”

Parker tried her best to glare a hole through my face, as I grabbed the bottle of offered beer and took a long pull.

“You didn’t want that woman to know who I was,” I said. “Why?”

Biting her lower lip, she looked away. “She’s a friend of my parents.”

The words were a kick in the balls. “Ah.”

Parker glanced back with eyes that were wide and pensive. “That’s it?”

“What’s there to say?” I shrugged, gripping the beer tight.

“Well, obviously, there is something to say because you’re clearly in a mood.”

God, for a smart woman, she was fucking blind sometimes. “Whatever, princess. It’s nothing.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Very mature.”

“About as mature as hiring a fake boyfriend because you can’t tell your asshat boss to fuck off with his misogynistic bullshit.”

She blinked, pausing for a beat before starting up again. “I’m really angry with you, and truly want to tell you where you can stuff that comment, but I find myself compelled to give you credit for your use of ‘misogynistic.’”

God, this girl. I liked her, damn it. I couldn’t let myself. A good fighter protected his weak points.

“Five whole syllables in that word too,” I said dryly.

With a huff, her eyes narrowed and the fire returned. “I was more impressed by the usage than the length.”

Too easy. I tipped my beer bottle toward her in salute. “Sweetheart, with me, you’ll get both.”

“What …?” A blush shot across her cheeks. “Oh, you …you …”

I leaned in. “Come on, Tink. Say it … asshole, dickhead… You know you want to really tell me off. Let me have it.”

I could almost see the words floating around in her head, dancing on the tip of that sweet tongue. I wanted to suck it off, lick into her mouth and taste her anger. Jesus, I was hard. Fucking turned on, panting. Her mouth would be pillow soft, her rage hard and swift.

When I noticed she was panting too, my arms jerked. I clenched my fist to keep from reaching for her. But it hurt to hold back.

A sound escaped her. Not a whimper but something close. Needy. Confused.

I’ll make it better, honey.

I took a step closer. She smelled so good. Looked so fine.

But we were interrupted again.

“Parker?” A man this time.

Seriously, fuck this party.

If Parker had been panicked before, she appeared downright appalled now. Her mouth fell open in horror, as we turned in unison toward the man standing a few feet away. Salt-and-pepper hair, steel-rimmed glasses, tailored gray slacks and an ivory silk shirt. He looked like a New Yorker slumming it for the weekend.

Parker had his eyes. I didn’t know why I noticed. But I did. And I knew exactly who he was. They shared the same smile too.

Parker’s voice came out in a strangled squeak. “Dad.”

Here we go …

Parker’s dad smiled. “Peanut.”

“Peanut?” I whispered to Parker, expecting a glare or maybe an elbow to the gut. She remained stone still.

Her dad leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I didn’t realize you’d be here.”

Parker swallowed audibly. “I was thinking the same thing.”

He was a few inches taller than she was, but wiry where Parker was delicate.

Unlike Vida, Parker’s dad immediately zeroed in on me and thrust out a hand to shake. “Charles Brown. No relation to the little bald guy, I’m afraid.”

Charles Brown? Realization hit, and I grinned as I shook his hand. “I take it you don’t go by Charlie?”

He laughed shortly. “Not if I can help it. Childhood was enough hell for me.”

Despite his easy-going manner, power flowed off Charles Brown. Some guys thought they had to be biggest or the tallest guy in the room to be the strongest. That was bullshit. Physical strength rarely mattered as much as mental toughness and confidence.