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Right about then, Paige would slap herself and look away, force herself to think of something else. They were friends.Justfriends.
Other girls picked up on the “just friends” vibes between them, too.Thatwas annoying. They could be sitting close together at a high-top table at a bar – usually a universal sign that two people were together – but that didn’t stop women from hitting on Parker. Paige really couldn’t fault them; he was ridiculously hot, and his personality just drew people. But still. She could be mid-sentence and some trashy bar-skank would step up next to him and interrupt, flirt with him, drape their hands on him. She wanted to strangle all of them.
But what made her really see red was that he didn’t discourage it – heflirted back. He would lean back in his chair, stare into their eyes, smiling, encouraging their touches. She knew she shouldn’t care and that she had no claim on him, but what was Paige, chopped liver? There were times when she definitely knew she was better looking than whatever piece of garbage was hitting on him, but there he would sit, ignoring her, chatting up the bar-trash. It made her blood boil.
When it first started happening, Paige tried to get revenge by leaving the table and finding a cute guy to go flirt with – Paige did know how to actually flirt. She knew she was attractive, and with the amount of leg she usually showed and maybe a flash of cleavage, picking up guys wasn’t a problem.
The problem was Parker didn’t seem to care in the least. The first time she'd brought a guy back to their table, Parker had simply shook the guy’s hand and half an hour later, the two guys were playing a friendly game of pool. Paige had been ready to commit murder.
The last time she'd tried to make him jealous, she'd dragged some absurdly good looking frat-guy back to the table, only to discover that the girl who'd been standing there was now sitting in Parker’s lap. She gave up after that incident. From then on, when a girl came to hit on Parker, Paige would either wander off or scare the girl off, depending on her mood.
Parker never seemed to care either way. If she bitched out whatever strange girl had approached him, he let her do it and then usually congratulated her on whatever new colorful metaphor for “whore” she'd come up with; if she wandered off, he never acted upset at her for ditching him.
Except for one time, when she'd left him at a restaurant with some chick hanging all over him, without telling him she was leaving. His anger when he'd finally come to their room, after searching all over downtown St. Louis for her, had ensured she wouldn’t do it again. Usually she hated it when someone tried to tell her what to do, tried to control her, but seeing the obvious worry – not to mention the anger – on his face had squashed any defiance. They hadn't known each other long, but they were friends – Parker pointed out that friends didn't treat each other that way. It was then she realized Parker really cared about her, and the warm feeling was back in her chest.
They'd finally moved on to Oklahoma. Paige got to see her first rodeo and Parker even bought her a cowboy hat. She bought herself a second-hand pair of cowboy boots and for another week, they trailed across Oklahoma, stopping in at more rodeos – Paige got a kick out of the cowboy lifestyle. They finally stopped on the panhandle, in a small town called Hooker. Parker never stopped seeing the funny in it.
“I still can’t believe they named a town after your mom, Paige,” he snickered, slamming the trunk closed. She crossed her eyes at him.
“Har dee har har, and here I thought you picked it because hookers seem to be your favorite kind of women,” she replied, heading into the motel room they'd been staying in for the last three days.
“Jealous, Paige? I’m sure we could find a nice male escort for you,” he pointed out. She jutted her hip out in a mockingly sexy stance and pouted her lips.
“Some of us don’t need to pay to get dates, Parker,” she said in a husky voice, and he laughed, pushing past her.
“Whatever you say, honey,” he snorted, throwing a bag of laundry onto his bed. She kicked his ankle and shut the door.
“Be nice to me or I’ll change my mind about tonight.”
There was a band playing in the neighboring town of Goodwell, at the agricultural college there. Paige wondered how good a band could be if they were playing at an agricultural school in a town of less than 1,500 people, but Parker insisted he'd heard them before and that they were good. Said it would be something fun to do.
Paige had been looking forward to heading into Texas finally. She'd been getting the feeling Parker was purposefully avoiding going there. He'd been the one to delay their leaving St. Louis, and he'd suggested following the rodeos across Oklahoma. Paige had begun to wonder if maybe he'd lied about the beach house in Galveston, but since he'd been so generous, she didn’t press him. She agreed to go see his band – on the condition they could at least cross over into Texas by the end of the week. He agreed.
“No way! We shook on it, that’s a binding agreement between gentlemen,” he told her. She threw a rolled up sock at his face.
“I'm not a gentleman!” she yelled, pelting him with another sock before he'd time to defend himself.
“Whoa there, calm down! Okay, you’re not a gentleman, you’re a regular scoundrel,” he laughed. She groaned.
“Shut up. What am I supposed to wear to this thing? Is it like fancy? Or just some band in a shitty bar?” she asked, picking through the rest of her laundry.
“The flyer said it was in a building near the campus. I’m gonna guess it’s not too fancy, so wear whatever you want. Do you actually have anything fancy in that bag?” he asked, gesturing to her beat up backpack. He got another sock in the face.
“Eat it, Parker. I’m gonna shower, I’ll be ready to go by eight o’clock.”
And with that, she stomped into the bathroom and slammed the door.
*
THE BAND WAS OKAY,Paige decided. The crowd was not. Agricultural students apparently liked topar. ty. The music was punk and it was late and the crowd was getting rowdy. She was getting shoved around more than she was actually dancing. She stumbled back and forth in her ankle boots, holding onto her beer for dear life while trying to get her skirt back into place over her butt.
“Trying to put on a show!?” Parker’s voice yelled in her ear. She whirled around and glared at him. In her boots, she was about six foot tall and didn’t have to look up at him as much.
“Where have you been!? I’ve almost gotten trampled!” she yelled back. He held up two beers.
“The bar is packed! I decided to order two, this way I don’t have to go back up there when you finish yours!” he explained.
“Thanks! It's crazy in here!” she yelled over a guitar riff.
