Blurred Lines (Love Unexpectedly 1)

I’m pissed at myself, too.

Wasn’t I just thinking this afternoon that something was off between them?

Could I have spared her this?

I could have. Or at least, I could have warned her.

Fuck.

Her tears seem to have eased up slightly, and mostly she’s just curled in a ball with her head under my chin as she hiccups into a Kleenex. I pull back slightly, but I stop when her fingers clench my shirt.

I put my hand over hers, rubbing my thumb against her palm. I want to tell her that the jackass isn’t worth the tears. No relationship is, but that’s not what she needs to hear right now.

Still, I squeeze her hand, and start to set her aside again.

“You’re leaving?” she asks.

“Just for a few minutes.” I plant a spontaneous kiss on the side of her head.

She watches me with swollen, bloodshot eyes. “I’m ruining your night. You should go out.”

I squeeze her knee. “Don’t make me make a house rule about you not being an idiot.”

“I make the house rules. Not you.” She gives me a weepy smile.

I smile back. There’s my girl.

“Give me ten minutes,” I say, squeezing her knee again.

I grab my wallet off the counter before dashing to my car. I make it back in an impressive eight minutes, armed with supplies.

A quick peek in the living room shows she’s still on the couch, although she’s curled up on her side now.

I rummage around in our cupboards, but I can’t find any champagne flutes. I swear we used to have, like, ten, but then, this is a twenty-something house. Fine stemware doesn’t last long. I settle for a clunky wineglass-type thing and, after popping the cork, fill the glass nearly to the brim.

I return to the living room where Parker’s pulled herself into a sitting position. “Sorry I was lame,” she says, looking embarrassed.

“Aw, Parks. I’ve known you for six years. I love your lame.”

I hand her the glass, noting the way her eyes light up at the sight of the contents.

“Champagne?” she asks.

“Cheap prosecco. I had to make do with the corner store since it was close.”

“Worried I’d slit my wrists if you left me any longer?” she calls after me as I go to the kitchen to get myself a beer.

“More like worried you’d be singing Celine Dion while eating mayo out of the jar.”

“The night is young!” she calls back.

I smile, because she’s sounding more like her usual self, and as I pop the top off my beer, I pull out my phone and send a quick text message to Andie, the girl I’d hooked up with last weekend. I’d been hoping for a repeat, but…

Hey babe, can’t make it out tonight. Next weekend?

I start to put the phone back in my pocket when it buzzes. Andie is a fast texter.

Did u just blow me off?