WILL MY BESTIE CALL ME MOTHER?

5. THE OLD FEELINGS

Sadie hesitated for a moment but eventually slid into the car, her body immediately engulfed by the warmth, though she couldn't shake the icy feeling from the situation. As she fastened her seatbelt, her eyes flickered to Parker, and she realized something odd—he was drenched too. His normally perfect, polished exterior was gone. His auburn hair was a wet mess, clinging to his forehead, and his white shirt was plastered to his skin, revealing a glimpse of his toned chest underneath. For a moment, Sadie forgot how to breathe.

"Why are you wet?" she blurted out before she could stop herself.

Parker's gaze snapped toward her, his eyes darkening with irritation. "Mind your business, young lady," he barked. "I didn’t ask you why you’re soaked, did I?"

Sadie bit her lip, shutting herself up as she stared at the dashboard. He was right, and she didn't want to provoke him further.

But she couldn’t help herself from sneaking glances at him, her heart racing faster each time. He looked so good, too good. Despite being in his early forties, his well-maintained physique and sharp features made him appear closer to thirty. And the way the wet fabric clung to his broad shoulders and chest- it was almost unfair how attractive he was.

"Is something on my face?" Parker's voice cut through her thoughts, and Sadie nearly jumped in her seat, realizing he’d caught her staring.

"No, nothing," she muttered quickly, looking out the window to avoid further embarrassment.

The tension between them was suffocating. Neither said a word for the rest of the drive.

Sitting next to him in the car, her mind couldn’t help but wander back to all the fantasies she once fabricated.

The car finally pulled up in front of her apartment building, the rain still pouring outside. Parker didn’t say a word as he parked, turning off the engine. For a moment, neither of them moved, the quiet of the car filling with the sound of raindrops hitting the roof.

"Thanks for the ride," Sadie said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Parker didn’t respond right away. His hand lingered on the steering wheel as he glanced at her. His eyes softened for the briefest second, before he leaned back in his seat.

"Next time, don’t be so stubborn," he muttered. "I’m not your enemy, Sadie."

With that, she nodded and quickly got out of the car, her heart pounding harder than it had all night. As she walked away, she couldn’t help but feel that the tension between them was far from over. It was only just beginning.

A few days later, during a show in Jersey as Sadie stepped backstage, her heart sank. The chaotic scene was far worse than she imagined. Models were everywhere, half-dressed, rushing to get ready as stylists scrambled around them. It was a whirlwind of activity, and Sadie was standing in the eye of the storm, paralyzed. She was late—too late. All the stylists were occupied, every hand preoccupied with someone else’s outfit, makeup, or hair.

Her eyes darted around, searching for help, but no one even glanced her way. Panic rose in her chest as she realized the show was minutes away from starting, and she was nowhere near ready. Her hands shook as she fumbled through the racks of designer clothes, trying to find something—anything—to salvage the situation.

Just as she was about to break, a deep voice called out behind her. "Sadie."

She turned sharply, finding Parker standing there, his piercing gaze locked onto her. He was calm, composed, but she could see the subtle flicker of annoyance in his eyes. Without a word, he strode over, his presence overwhelming in the chaos.

"You’re not ready," he stated, more an observation than a question. There was no judgment in his voice, but the weight of his words hit her like a tidal wave.

"I—there were no stylists available, and—" she began, her voice trembling, but he held up a hand, silencing her.

"We don’t have time for excuses."

Before she could say another word, Parker grabbed a few items off the rack, tossing them onto the chair beside her. Without waiting for permission, he stepped closer, his towering frame closing the distance between them. The air around them seemed to thicken, and Sadie’s pulse quickened as he took control of the situation.

"Arms up," he commanded, his tone firm but not unkind.

Sadie hesitated for a second, her mind spinning, but she obeyed, lifting her arms as he began dressing her with swift, precise movements. His hands, large and sure, brushed against her bare skin as he pulled the intricate dress over her head. She could feel his fingers ghosting over her shoulders, her sides, and the nape of her neck as he adjusted the fabric with practiced ease.

But it wasn’t just his touch—it was the intensity in his gaze. He didn’t break eye contact, even as he pulled the straps of the dress over her, his hands steady, authoritative. His focus was unwavering, as though this moment was the only thing that mattered, and Sadie felt like she was under a spell. The world outside seemed to vanish.

"Turn around," he said, his voice a low growl. She could feel the heat from his body as she spun slowly, facing away from him.

Her breath hitched as she felt his fingers on her back, pulling up the zipper. His touch was deliberate, lingering for a second longer than necessary.

Her skin prickled under the heat of his fingers, and her mind raced with a thousand unspoken thoughts. She wasn’t sure if it was the pressure of the moment, the vulnerability of being dressed by him, or the way his presence made her feel exposed in more ways than one.

As he finished zipping her up, he leaned in closer, his breath grazing the back of her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. "You’re ready," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, but it carried an undeniable weight.

Sadie turned back to face him, her cheeks flushed, heart hammering in her chest. Their eyes locked for a beat longer than it should have.

The tension between them was thick, almost suffocating, yet neither of them moved. It was a silent battle of wills, a shared understanding that this was more than just a professional moment.

"You’ll do great," Parker finally said, his voice softened. His eyes lingered on her for a split second longer before he stepped back, allowing her to breathe again.

But the tension remained, heavy in the air. As she walked out toward the runway, the echo of his touch still burned on her skin. She knew this was far from over. Whatever had ignited between them backstage was only the beginning, and the fire that sparked in that moment wasn’t going out anytime soon.