Blurred Lines (Love Unexpectedly 1)

My eyes flick to her lips just for a second, and, strangely enough, it’s temporarily really easy to forget that she’s Parker because her mouth is…appealing.

“Scared?” I ask.

Parker rolls her eyes. “Oh, now who’s playing games?”

But she’s not scampering away, and I lean forward. “One kiss. If you still think it’s gross, I’ll do your laundry for a week.”

“Like I’d let you touch my laundry.”

“Fine, then first dibs on the shower for a week,” I counter. “And I won’t even complain if there’s no hot water left.”

Her eyes light with interest. Parker does like herself a long hot shower. “How about a month?”

“Done.” I say. “But if you like the kiss…even a little…I get control of the remote for a month. No Bachelor unless I approve it. No watching that boring home-makeover show, and no damn cooking shows.”

She bites her lip, and I know she’s nervous, because this girl could happily spend hours watching people on TV make cupcakes.

The stakes are high.

But she must be pretty damn confident that kissing me will be a disaster, because she finally shrugs. “All right. I guess if you’re really sure you won’t mind the ice-cold showers for a month.”

I cross my arms. “You’re that sure I’m a bad kisser.”

“No, I’m sure you’re fine,” she says, with a little wave of her hand. “It’s just that I can’t…I don’t think I’ll like it. You’re too much like a brother.”

Brother?

Brother?

What. The. Fuck.

Yes, Parker and I are platonic, and, yes, I love her as if she were— No. No. I can’t even put the word Parker and sister in the same sentence.

Right now my cock’s all too aware that she’s not my sister, and that she’s insulted my kissing skills.

Time to set the record straight. I haven’t spent years cultivating my seduction techniques for nothing.

I pluck the beer bottle out of her hands and put it aside, moving to stand in front of her.

For the first time since the start of this insane conversation, the laughter fades from her eyes and she looks nervous. But she recovers immediately, giving me a mocking grin.

“Just tell me at what point I’m supposed to start swooning,” she says sweetly.

“Oh, you’ll know,” I say.

I take a step toward her and she steps back. I frown. “This isn’t going to work if you back away.”

“Sorry,” she says, holding up her hands, then dropping them. “It’s just that this is weird.”

It is weird. Horribly so. And yet I’m determined to make it happen. Because I’ll admit it: I really want control of that remote. The thought of no ditzy reality TV, the possibility of unlimited sports, all the time…

I move toward her again and I reach out my hands, suddenly feeling a little unsure of where to put them. Waist? Face? Hips?

Don’t overthink it.

I settle for resting them gently on her upper arms, since this is only going to be a quick, prove-my-point kind of kiss. And, yes, I can prove my point with a brief kiss. I’m that good.

Her hands stay where they are, although she licks her lips nervously, and my eyes follow the motion of her small pink tongue.