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“I want to know where my client was last night.”
“Your client?” I asked, genuinely confused. “Me?”
“Yes. You, Gemma.”
“I’m not your client.” I said confused, but the chilled feeling around my neck sent shivers down my back. What the hell was he implying?
“You might be, and if push comes to shove, I’ll be here for you, just like always.” He pulled his glasses off, “Gemma…” he tensed, sliding the newspaper across the table, causing me to jump, “What the hell is this?” He scolded as I clutched my robe, staring down at the front page.
“Oh my god.” I gasped, “It’s me!” I shouted, lifting the paper into my hands. The headline was printed with thick black letters, reading:Bad Boy, Alex Rivers, Spotted With a Sexy Accomplice Near Last Night’s Museum Vandalism. Below was a photo of Alejandro and I, not at the met, but below the canopy, his hands wrapped around my wrists, lifted in the air.
“Gem, what the actual fuck?” Parker pulled the paper from my hand, reading the caption below out loud, “Forty-year-old playboy, Alex Rivers, is still looking like a work of art, seen near The Met last night, accompanied by his yet to be known mystery date.” Parker’s eyes widen as he read the lines, raising his voice. “Police reported finding a photograph tattered to pieces at one of the exhibits. There is no evidence at this time to place Alex Rivers as the art murderer.”
“Park, I can explain.” I stuttered, not from fear, but complete shock.
“Explain what? How this piece of shit is going to get you into trouble? Am I going to have to you bail you out of the fucking precinct?” Parker shut his eyes as his fingers massaged the bridge of his nose with utter distaste. “Goddamn it, do you know how many lawsuits this guy has, how much trouble he’s in? The guy can’t even fucking act like an adult, instead he’s dragged you into his shit. Gemma, this is not ok. It’s going to catch up to him; I’ll make sure of it.” Parker raked his hair back, his voice fuming. “Were you at The Met? Yes or no.”
“Yes, I was, but I thought everything was ok, he made it sound like it was taken care of.”
“Of course, he did, he’s a liar. He can’t even take care of himself. How dare he!”
“But I can!” I defended.
“Can you? You can’t even be honest with me.” He pointed to the photo, “This is not himkeepinghis hands to himself.” He reached out so quickly, with gentle ease that took my breath away. He snatched my hand, observing my wrists, “Did he fucking hurt you?” His large thumb grazed my palm. This move alone, paired with his aggressive protection, made my nipples pebble. He gripped harder than Alejandro did, as if I’d slip through and disappear. No one’s touch could make me feel more like the center of the universe, than the security of Parker’s alone. This was the lawyer, my Rattlesnake, his fangs exposed when provoked. I clutched my robe, concealing his effect.
“I am honest. I just didn't want you to worry, and if you're asking if he hurt me, then no. He certainly didn't scratch my neck, at least.” I tossed my hand into the air, but Parker ignored the quip, the acknowledgment that I knew of his sexual prowess.
“He’s dangerous, and not just because of the guy he beat up in Bushwick.”
“That doesn't count. That man was hurting a girl. Alejandro defended her.”
“Alejandro?” He asked, his accent perfect this time, unlike with the tamales. “You call him Alejandro now?”
“Well it’s his name! Celebrities do it all the time, and actually it’s really upsetting why he had change it. It’s not all black and white, Parker.” I wasn’t sure if I was defending Alejandro or my decision-making skills, but both felt close together. “He was at the theatre last night, honestly, one thing lead to another. The Met was for an assignment, to better understand him for the suit I’m designing.” It sounded weird coming out of my mouth, but not as weird as how Parker’s face turned.
“The theatre?” He questioned, his voice almost lost, confused but not angry. “Are you dating this guy?” His accusation made me squint. Why would he even ask such a ridiculous thing? Yes, last night was fucked up, and yes, I was upset about it, but Alejandro wasn’t everything the papers wanted him to be. As much as I hated his reaction at The Met, I knew there was something more to him, something complicated, and just because we were photographed together in the way we were didn’t mean we were somehow a couple. Regardless, I hated that Parker even asked, considering he shouldn’t even care who I did or didn’t date.
“Why would that even matter to you?” I asked. “You’re not my dad, you’re not my lawyer, and you’re certainly far from a boyfriend. I don’t need to explain my personal life to you or the assumptions you have!”
As fast as the words spilled out of my mouth, Parker replied. “You’re right,” he scoffed. “I’m none of those, I’m more than that. Don’t think for a second I’m not the person who would lay his life down for you. This is me, my role, the thing I feel called to be. And by the way, fuck him, if he cared about you, he would protect you, not compromise you.”
“If he cared? Well ifyoucared you would have been at the theatre with me!” I shouted. His otherwise beautiful lips frowned, soured not by oysters or salmon, but the taste of my own words. He possibly hated this more, and his eyes proved it with the shimmer of disappointment. I regretted it as soon as I said it. It wasn’t fair to put that on Parker, regardless of how hurt it made me feel. He tried to still come to the theater, and despite his willingness, I assured him it was ok.
Parker stepped closer, “This guy is all wrong for you, and I’m not just talking about business anymore. You can do so much better, and I won’t let him hurt you.”
“He won’t! And honestly, maybe he’s not as bad as you think, just complicated.”
“Why, Gemma?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you have to go and choose him?” He asked.
Choose? The question was as strange as the implication. But more so than that, it was a question so open to interpretation that I didn't know where to start.Why?Because you rejected me, because I laid out my truth and it cost me my heart. I picked you, and for some reason I’m your little sister. I felt completely foolish, scolded while wearing my childish robe.
“I didn’t choose anyone,” I shouted, poking his chest. “You don’t get to pick and choose people in my life, Parker, and you certainly don’t get to lecture me about bad company.” I turned away, adjusting my robe, “You don’t see me yelling at you for hanging out with Camila. Who—by the way—is totally wrong for you.”
“I just want to protect you, Gem!” He shouted, “Don’t you see that?”
