Love's Paradox

Chapter 8: The Certifiable Green-Eyed Monster

We don't talk about the kiss, though my lips still tingle from Parker's searing lips. I keep picturing him yanking my body to his, supplying me with a deluge of pornographic images that'll last me for months to come. I cock my head to the side as he bends over to pick up his keyboard, imagining him naked, my hands in his hair, my body pressed against his. . . .

Moving on.

I shake off my mental musings and ask, "Now that Carlson's a free man, what are you going to do?"

Parker dumps destroyed computer parts into the trash. "Honestly? I don't know." He shrugs, though beneath the casual motion is barely concealed contempt.

We're silent as we continue to clean the debris from his helter-skelter rampage. Various items are in pieces, and most of his organized paperwork is now rumpled or torn. After much reasoning with myself, and many naughty images of Parker and me doing the naked tango, the part of me that was petrified earlier has melted away. I can understand his frustration over the release of his sister's killer. Besides, it's not like I have the best record of keeping my cool. I once slapped a waterbed when I was upset. For the record, it hurts like a son of a bitch. Definitely more pain than it's worth.

"Why did you run away from me?" Parker asks, refusing to meet my eyes. It's a touchy subject, and he's naturally picked up on that fact.

For several seconds, I don't answer, not sure what to say that won't make me sound like a terrified little puppy or a traumatized woman.

"It's because of Ass Face, isn't it?" he asks. "Does it always boil down to that dickwad?"

I bob my head, even though he's turned away from me to unload more stuff into the trash. "He, um, held me captive in our home when I told him I was leaving him."

Parker pivots, his face a mask of nauseating and veritable horror. "You want to talk about it?" he offers.

"Not really."

He looks utterly torn, his eyes full of anguish. "I know it must've seemed like I'd lost my mind, but your reaction was quite . . . extreme."

"You want to know the truth? My ex had bona fide temper issues. It wouldn't surprise me if he was bipolar. Whenever he got angry with me, he'd take it out on things around me. He punched doors, walls, anything that was near me. Once, he backed into my car with his Jeep Wrangler that had these huge thirty-three inch tires. He nearly ran over my car. Not even kidding." I grimace, wishing Parker wouldn't push the subject.

"So when you saw me toss the contents of my desk onto the floor, you pictured him."

"Yeah. Can we not talk about this anymore?" My cell phone rings before Parker can respond. Goodbye Earl plays, and I scramble to silence the device.

"You can answer it," Parker says sourly.

"I don't want to."

We stare at each other for several seconds.

"Are you going to tell me what happened to your sister?" I ask. "Janie, right?"

"I already told you: she was murdered by her abusive boyfriend."

"Right," I murmur. We relapse into silence.

Eventually we finish cleaning his office, and then it's time for lunch, though neither of us are up to eating.

Around 2:00 P.M., the phone for Livingston Oil rings. I snatch it up with glee. Finally: work!

"Thank you for calling Livingston Oil, how may I assist you?" I ask politely.

"Put Mr. Livingston on the line," the voice demands.

"Can I have your name, please?" I ask just as Parker comes out of his office, frowning at the phone in my hand.