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She's cuddly as fuck and it wasn't terrible. In fact, I fucking loved every second of it. I felt more at peace with her in my arms than I have in…ever, actually. It felt right, natural, as if she were exactly where she was meant to be.
"What are you doing tonight?"
"I should probably go home." Her nose scrunches. Fuck, that face is adorable. She makes it every time she's thinking about something that's even slightly unpleasant. "I can't avoid Jonas forever."
"He worries about you."
"I know." She sighs. "But he can't try to run my life or tell me what I can and can't do. And he can't just threaten to send me back to Canada every time I do something he doesn't like. I'm an adult. He has to give me room to make my own choices, even if he doesn't like them."
"You may want to be just Parker, but to him, you'll always be his baby sister."
She glares are me. "Whose side are you on?"
"I'm not taking a side," I promise, holding up my hands. "I'm just saying, he isn't overprotective just because. You're new to the city. There are a lot of shady people out there." I arch a brow at her. "You followed one into a fetish room, Rebel. Alone."
Her glare slips as a grimace overtakes her expression. "I thought the club was supposed to be safe," she mutters. "He seemed nice when he was showing me around downstairs."
"He showed you around the club?"
"I thought he was just being helpful."
Jesus Christ. She's a lamb to the slaughter in this city. "Parker. Little one." I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Anytime a man approaches you in a club, the answer is no. Doesn't matter if they ask for the fucking time. The answer is no."
"That's a tad extreme."
"No, it isn't. You're tiny and gorgeous and men are assholes. Don't give them the time of day."
Her lips curve into an amused smile, the irritation bleeding from her expression. "You think I'm pretty?"
"No."
She flinches like I hit her.
"The sunset is pretty. The beach is pretty. The corset you were wearing at the club was pretty. You are drop dead gorgeous."
A pretty blush climbs up her cheeks, staining them pink. Her eyes light up.
I groan, shaking my head. She has no idea how fucking beautiful she is, or how crazy that makes me. Gordon didn't pick her out of the crowd for the hell of it. He picked her because she's exactly his type—blonde and beautiful. She's got a wildness to her that's unmistakable. It's alluring as hell.
That's why Jonas worries so fucking much. This city is full of assholes who will see it and decide they should be the ones to conquer it. They'll fall at her feet trying. But she isn't meant to be tamed or conquered. She isn't meant to be muted or subdued. This little rebel was meant to remain unbridled and unbroken. Jonas knows it. So do I.
"Go home and work things out with your brother, little one. I'll see you at the game tomorrow." I stride forward, pressing my lips to her forehead. "Tell Jonas you're staying with your friend afterward."
"You want me to come to the game tomorrow?" Her eyes meet mine, her expression soft and worried. "Are you sure?"
"Positive. I won't even try to talk to you if you don't want me, but I want to see you in the stands."
"Okay," she whispers.
Chapter Six
Parker
I'm pacing the living room with one of Jonas's dogs following behind me when he finally arrives home. I guess something happened at practice today that required him to stay late. Kellan called to give me a heads up, but was vague on the details.
He did invite me to stay with him again tonight, though. As much as I wanted to say yes, I declined. I think I need to be here tonight. Even if Jonas and I aren't seeing eye to eye at the moment, he's still my brother. I still love him. I don't want to fight with him, and I hate lying to him.
"You're la..." I trail off, blinking wide eyes at the curvy woman coming through the front door with my brother. I know her. At least, I know of her. Jonas watches her segment on the sports channel every time it airs. Jamie McGuire, the gossip reporter. "Um, hi."
"Hi." She gives me a nervous smile. Why does she look like she's been crying?
"You're home," Jonas says, seeming relieved. His gray eyes run over me, his expression wary. "You still mad at me?"
"No." I wasn't mad at him in the first place. I was annoyed that he thinks he can run my life and tell me what to do. He means well, but he has to let me grow up and make my own choices, even when he doesn't agree with them.
