Blurred Lines (Love Unexpectedly 1)

It’s been a long time since Parker and I have shared a meal like this.

I mean, we share meals all the time.

Random lunches if we’re out running errands, or taco Tuesdays with friends at our place, or waffles on Sundays, since they’re about the only thing I know how to make.

But tonight is different.

Tonight there’s a white tablecloth, and a gorgeous view of the city, candles, and, yes, champagne. Of course.

And for just the briefest of seconds, when we first sit down and are arguing over which appetizer to start with, I have a moment of panic.

Panic because this looks like a date.

No, not looks like a date. Feels like a date.

But the panic recedes almost immediately, because dates are all about sweaty palms and painful small talk and that slight nagging stress over whether there’s going to be another date to follow.

There’s none of that with Parker.

It’s just dinner with your best friend, my brain soothes. Chill.

And for the most part, my brain does settle down, except for one nagging, tiny seed of annoyance that I can’t stop thinking about:

Parker’s planning on calling that guy from the karaoke bar.

I mean, I told her to. I had to tell her that.

I meant what I’d said about her needing to get over Lance, and while she hasn’t been moping, I know her. I know she can’t possibly be as healed as she pretends to be. Not after that moron dropped her like it was no big thing.

But it bothers me that she’s thinking about other guys while she and I are still…you know. Doing it.

I mean it doesn’t bother me.

It bothers my ego. Because from my side of the bed, and the shower, and the couch, and the kitchen counter, things have been pretty damn exceptional.

So exceptional, in fact, that I haven’t even looked at another girl since that first night.

Whoa.

I sit back in my chair at that whopper of a realization, totally tuning out the inquisition Parker is giving our server over the preparation of the fish special.

Two weeks, and I’ve only been having sex with one girl.

Not just any girl. Parker.

Huh.

And, I know, I know, two weeks isn’t a big deal. Except to me it is.

The last relationship I had was in my sophomore year at college, and that lasted all of four semi-miserable months. Since then I’ve been happily cruising along in the no-commitment lane.

Sure, I’ve had plenty of repeat hookups with a few girls, but it’s generally been the once-and-done thing.

I run a hand over my face as I look across the table at Parks.

She’s wearing some sort of navy sweater dress, which shouldn’t be all that sexy since it’s a long-sleeved turtleneck kind of deal and shows almost no skin—especially since she’s paired it with knee-high boots—but it hugs her just right.

Her dark hair’s down today, flowing around her shoulders, and with the stupid candlelight, she looks…pretty.