Blurred Lines (Love Unexpectedly 1)

My chest feels tight.

“Parks?”

I knock with one knuckle.

Nothing.

I pound the door louder, this time with my palm, telling myself that maybe she can’t hear over the still-thumping music.

Still nothing.

Well…fine.

I’m not a younger brother for nothing. I know just how to handle a locked door.

I head toward my own room, yank a shirt off a wire hanger, and then unbend the hanger into proper lock-picking position as I head back to her room.

Only to find that the door’s open by the time I get there.

Parker’s standing there, dressed only in lingerie—wow lingerie—as she stares down at the hanger in my hand.

“Really?” she asks, when her eyes come back to mine.

But all I can think is…thank God.

I don’t know thank God for what, whether it’s the fact that she’s not crying like I thought she might be, or that she’s looking really fucking amazing, or if it’s just pure gratitude that she opened the door to me.

I don’t ever want her to shut the door to me.

“You locked me out,” I say.

“I didn’t lock you out,” she says. But her eyes shift away and I’m not entirely sure I believe her. “Your friend Joe was giving me weird looks.”

“So you dressed in your laciest, skimpiest bra and panties?” I ask, unable to tear my eyes away from her perfect figure.

“That wasn’t for Joe.

Or you,” she’s quick to add. “I thought—”

“Brandon,” I say, crossing my arms.

Parker bites her lip, then looks over my shoulder toward the stairs. “What are you doing up here? Did you need something?”

I’m a little stung by what seems to be a dismissal. “You seemed upset. I came to check on you.”

“Seems to me like you were looking to invade my privacy,” she says, with a chin nod at the hanger still in my hand.

Her voice is even, but her words are a little snippy, and it dawns on me that I should leave her to her bad mood and go back downstairs, where at least one girl will actually be happy to see me.

She starts to shut the door again, and I hold up a single finger. “Parker Blanton, do not close that door in my face.”

“But—”

I run back into my room, dig through my dresser until I find a T-shirt, do a quick sniff test to make sure it’s clean, then run back to where she’s still standing in the doorway.

“What are you—”

Her words are muffled as I unceremoniously yank the T-shirt over her head, not bothering with the armholes, but tugging it downward until she’s covered to upper thigh.