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Authors: Lisa Suzanne

Vintage Volume One (5 page)

BOOK: Vintage Volume One
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nine

 

The day lagged in a jagged haze of nothingness. I spent more time trying to figure out what I really wanted to do with my life than I did anything else that day.

Normally I loved my job. I’d never really aspired to anything else.

But some strange thought crept into my head that there had to be more out there for me than working at Vintage for the rest of my life. I couldn’t seem to push out Parker’s words from the night we’d met when he had asked me why I worked there. I didn’t need to work. Surely my talents could be used somewhere else. I’d been complimented on my singing talent. I had my mother’s flair for fashion.

But I didn’t want to be my father or follow in his footsteps. And Lord knows I wanted nothing to do with my mother’s footsteps.

I think the reason why I couldn’t settle on any single ambition was that my God-given talents were those of my parents. I wanted my own life built my own way. I just wasn’t sure what that looked like anymore. And even as I thought it, I knew I’d use the money my father had given me to get to the ultimate end goal. Wherever that was.

But as I stood in the break room of Vintage, staring down at that old, grooved kitchen table, I had a feeling my future wouldn’t be folding t-shirts for much longer.

My personality and my family background made me more of an employer than an employee. I didn’t have the credentials to own a business, but I had the money to. I’d just never wanted to before.  

Was it Parker that was doing this to me?

I wasn’t sure, but I was definitely thinking in a new way and feeling a lot of new things.

Things I’d never felt before.

It was actually 7:52 when I felt his presence in the store again. Ordinarily my days at Vintage passed in a whirl because I enjoyed it, but I was anticipating this meeting. Every passing tick of the clock felt longer than the last.

I felt him first, and then I saw him before he saw me this time. I’d been checking out a customer at the register when he’d slipped into the store, and I saw him looking around for me. I took a moment to drink him in while the man I was helping ran his debit card through the reader.

Every part of him screamed that he was a musician. Strong arms that looked like they could shred the shit out of a guitar. Hands that worked hard strumming strings and caressing microphones. He was dressed in all black again, except he was missing his trademark backwards hat. My guess was because he wanted the one he’d left with me. He was hoping he’d get it back. I saw the tattoos peeking out from his short-sleeved shirt again. I was curious about his selection of ink. I’d seen it courtesy of my Google searches, but I wondered why he’d chosen the images he had.

I had a feeling I’d find out someday.

“You’re early,” I called from behind the register. His head whipped around in my direction.

A smile tipped up the corners of his mouth. “And you’re gorgeous.”

I felt heat creep up my neck, an unfamiliar sensation. I wasn’t used to feeling out of my element, but Parker managed to constantly do that to me.

I put the man’s purchase into a bag and handed him his receipt. “I thought so, too,” the man said to Parker. “But I’m guessing you’ve got a better shot than me.”

I stood mortified, shuffling some paperwork on the counter behind me to gain my bearings. The man was absolutely right. He had no chance. Not when Parker was looking at me with all of that heat in his eyes.

They said more words to each other, but I tuned them out. I couldn’t hear over the roaring embarrassment in my ears, anyway.

“Seven minutes.” His voice was low and close to my ear. I wasn’t sure when he’d moved in so close behind me, but I could feel his heat.

And fuck did it turn me on.

I’d known the guy for all of a couple of hours with six long weeks peppered in, but he seemed like the kind of guy who would walk into a place and my clothes would supernaturally fall off.

In fact, I was sort of surprised I still had clothes on.

“Until what?” I finally asked, turning around to face him.

Big mistake.

Because I almost took my clothes off in the middle of Vintage.

His eyes were full of lust. That’s all this was. This was a game of desire, and he was winning.

“Until we get the fuck out of here.”

“And then what?”

“I think we both know where this is going.” His voice was sinful. Dangerous.

But so fucking warm.

“I’d love it if you could spell it out for me.”

“I’m going to do things to you that I’ve thought about doing for six endless weeks.”

“And what might that be?”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as if he was trying to hold himself back from something. He glanced up at the clock. “Six minutes. You’ll find out in six minutes.”

My heart stuttered a bit on his quote about “six minutes.” It reminded me of my thoughts earlier that day about six minutes feeling longer than the six weeks he’d been gone.

And this six minutes was going to be the death of me.

“Who says I’m going to let you do those things to me?”

“You do. With the way you’re eye-fucking me.”

I laughed. I couldn’t really argue that. He seemed to instinctively know that we were on the same page.

A customer came up to the register to check out. She set a Madonna record in front of me, a collector’s item, and her friend looked at Parker the same way I did.

She was eye-fucking him, too.

And I didn’t like it.

His eyes were still on me, watching my every move as I rang up the purchase.

“Excuse me,” the friend of my customer said. She was looking at Parker, but he was still staring intently at me.

“Are you Parker James?” she asked.

I glanced over at him, and he slowly turned to look at the girl. “I am.”

“Oh my God! I’m such a huge fan!” She was gushing. Annoyingly. Obnoxiously.

“Thank you.” It was a simple statement, and he turned his attention back to me. My hands shook slightly as I bagged the record.

“Can I get a picture with you?”

He sighed and leaned in close to me, touching his lips to my temple. A shudder ran the length of my body at his touch and the implication of it. He was showing this fan that he wasn’t interested in anything more than a picture. I respected that. It made me actually believe his words about his lack of action during his tour. He’d given me no reason to think he had lied, but I was a disbeliever by nature.

“Sure,” he said, stepping around the counter to fulfill his duties as the lead guitarist in an up-and-coming band.

A smile tipped my lips watching him. He maintained his distance even though she didn’t. He was respectful but direct, making it clear from the way his eyes kept moving in my direction that he only had eyes for one woman in the store that night.

It lit something inside of me that I’d never felt before. It made me feel cherished, treasured.

I’d never been treasured before. I’d been used, neglected, ignored, recycled, mistreated, possessed, obsessed, infatuated. But I’d never felt that special value of someone revering me. Wanting me. Loving me.

Parker gave me that, and he didn’t even know me. In some ways, he’d given me more in the couple of minutes we’d interacted than Damien had given me the entire time we’d been together.

Damien and I met in high school. He was a year older than me, a senior when I was a junior. He’d transferred in from another school, and we passed each other in the hallway on his first day. His piercing blue eyes had met mine, and I’d felt a strong pull to him like nothing I’d ever felt before him.

That’s how I knew that this connection to Parker was real.

I’d felt a pull at first sight before with Damien. But it was different. With him, it was all about friendship first. Feelings came later. Addiction came later.

But with Parker, the emotions I’d been missing for so long came first. They came before I’d ever even seen his face. They surged through me when I’d heard his voice in the alley defending me, and they’d implanted in my blood the moment our eyes met across the room.

My first words to him had been sexual, so it didn’t surprise me that he had certain expectations. I wanted it, too. I wanted to give myself over to him—eventually—even though I knew we would be bad for each other.

I’d be honest with him, and if he decided to risk it anyway, there wouldn’t be anything I could do to stop him.

I wished I was stronger than I was. I wished I could protect him.

But I was only human. My humanity had no chance against his sex appeal.

“Time’s up, Jimi.”

I glanced over at the clock. Eight o’clock on the dot.

“Let me just run in back and punch out. I’ll meet you back here in a minute.”

He nodded, allowing me to do my thing.

I headed to the break room and stamped my timecard through the machine. I yelled a hasty goodbye to Tim.

Poor Tim. He looked longingly in my direction. He had no idea that he just wasn’t cut out for me. He had no idea that I was leaving with another man and that I wanted to let Parker fuck me for the rest of the night.

I grabbed my purse and my keys out of the drawer where I stored them in the back room and headed toward the front to meet Parker.

“Where do you want to go?” I asked when we walked out the front door together. I felt his hand on the small of my back, and more unfamiliar emotions rocketed through me.

“I know a place. It’s a little bit of a dive.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“You drive a Porsche?” he asked as we approached my car.

I nodded. “What do you drive?”

He nodded in the direction of the car parked directly next to mine. A GMC Jimmy. It looked like it had to be twenty years old.

“Ironic,” I said, a hint of a smile turning up my lips.

He moved in close to me, so close that his body was flush against mine while my entire back side pressed against the door of my Porsche. His eyes never left mine.

“Quite ironic, Jimi,” he said, his voice soft and his breath whispering against my lips. His eyes flicked for one second down to my lips, and he moved in even closer.

“Where are we going?” I asked, breaking the spell between us.

Parker cleared his throat and backed away from me. “Follow me. It’s not far. A little Mexican place in Culver City. You know where Washington is?”

I nodded. I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of Culver City, but chances were slim that I’d run into the only man I knew who lived there.

I followed Parker’s old SUV through the streets of LA until we wound up in front of a taco shop. We both managed to find spots in the small lot behind the building. He met me just behind my car and pulled my hand into his as we walked toward the entrance.

A little shiver pierced my torso.

I should avoid him at all costs. I knew that. I’d only end up hurt again in the end.

Even his goddamn warm hand in mine was comforting.

There was no way I’d be able to stay away.

ten

 

“Who gets a cheeseburger at a taco place?”

Parker glared up at me over the top of his Coors Light. “I do.”

“Strange.”

“Best burgers in LA. But I guess you’ll never know since you’re a walking cliché with your tacos.”

I held up my drink. “Don’t forget my margarita.”

He smiled.

I was biting into the best shrimp taco I’d ever tasted in my life when the chimes over the door jingled. I glanced in that direction.

An immediate chill floated through the air despite the warmth Parker made me feel.

Three men walked through the doorway. They were all big, burly men. Individually, they would have been intimidating. But together, the three men walking through that door scared the hell out of me.

Mostly because I recognized one of them.

I shifted my gaze down to my plate. I felt my hands trembling, so I placed them on either side of me.

Please don’t see me. Please don’t see me. Please don’t see me.

“What’s wrong?” Parker asked, alarm in his voice as he set down his cheeseburger. I felt his eyes on me from across the table, but I knew if I looked up, if I made any movement at all, I’d draw attention to myself. So I stayed still as I felt the eyes of the three men at the door roam around the restaurant.

What the fuck were the chances that I’d run into the one person I didn’t want to see who I knew lived in Culver City?

Please don’t see me. Please don’t see me. Please don’t see me.

I kept repeating my mantra, hoping for its effectiveness.

Unfortunately, it didn’t work.

“Roxanna Price!” My name boomed out of his slimy mouth. He walked over to our table. I kept my eyes lowered. “How’s little CC doing?”

“Fine,” I said, my voice quiet.

“And how’s the old man?”

“Fine.”

“Fine. Fine? You got anything else to say, girl?”

I shrugged.

“You need anything else?” Parker asked, eyeing the man hovering over our table.

Fuck.

“Parker, don’t.” My voice was sharp.

He didn’t know what Randy was capable of. I wasn’t sure I even fully understood it, but I knew that pissing him off was the worst route to take.

“Look at the macho man defending his little girl.” He looked at me. “You dating this pussy?” He jerked a thumb toward Parker.

I took a deep breath and looked up at him. Randy Marino was a heavy-set, middle-aged asshole who happened to be a bookie.

He and my dad had grown up together. I didn’t know what sort of illegal business dealings they’d had together, but Randy had been around a lot when I was a kid.

He’d always been a dick, but one of the “highlights” of our history was when he hit on me when I was seventeen fucking years old.

My dad had been in town, and I didn’t want to stay with my mom. My dad had a few friends over, Randy included. They’d been playing cards in the basement. My dad had converted the entire basement into a gaming area, complete with a bar. He had asked me to stay upstairs. I knew there were women down there. Even though I hadn’t seen them come in, I’d heard the noises. I knew they were gambling high stakes, drinking, and smoking something that didn’t smell like a cigarette. I wasn’t naïve.

Plus the distinctive smell of pot had wafted upstairs.

I’d stayed out of the way. My dad and his friends had been busy in the basement, so I figured I was in the clear. I’d wanted a beer, and I knew my dad kept it in the refrigerator, so I checked the hall, found it empty, and darted to the kitchen to grab a couple of bottles for myself.

After I’d procured two bottles and turned around, Randy stood behind me. He was fucked up. He reeked of alcohol and marijuana, and his eyes were bloodshot and unfocused. The look in his eyes told me that he was probably high on something other than pot.

A frisson of fear had run through me, but he was harmless. He had to be. I had to believe he was, because believing the alternative was too scary.

“Pretty CC, pretty CC,” he had sung to me.

I’d wanted to puke in his face.

He had been standing close to me. Too close. I’d been uncomfortable and scared, but I wasn’t sure what to do. So I held the bottles in my hands, staring daggers at him.

“So pretty in your little black tank top and shorts. You shouldn’t be wearing shorts that short with all of these men here. They might think you’re putting that pretty little body on display for them.”

He’d taken an unsteady step toward me and reached out to run his fat fingers down my cheek. “Are you putting that pretty little body on display?”

I’d closed my eyes as the blood pounded in my ears. In that moment, I had feared for my life, for my safety.

He’d never hurt me.

My dad would kill him if he hurt me.

Literally.

Deep down I knew he couldn’t be serious.

It was the drugs combined with the alcohol. It had to be.

Instead of responding, I’d darted around him. His reactions had been too slow to stop me. I’d leapt up the stairs. I’d slammed my door and locked it, throwing the bottles on the floor and crying into my pillow, shaken and scared for the rest of the night.

I hadn’t been fine.

I still wasn’t fine.

But at this point in my life, Randy hitting on me in my dad’s kitchen while he was fucked beyond recognition was just one more shitty experience stacked on so many others. I wondered if he even remembered what he’d said to me that night.

It didn’t matter if he remembered.

I did.

And seeing Randy here in this taco shop with Parker put the fear of that night right back into me.

“Well?” Randy pressed. I was snapped out of the traumatic events of the past.

“We’re not dating,” I said. It wasn’t really a lie, even if it wasn’t exactly the truth. And if nothing else, it would protect Parker from the asshole in front of me. If I couldn’t save him from me, at least I could attempt saving him from Randy.

Parker shot me a look. “Yes we are,” Parker said to Randy. 

Randy’s eyes bored into me. “Tell your dad I said hello.”

I wished I had the guts to tell him to say hello his damn self. Or to tell him to go to hell.

But I didn’t. I ignored him and prayed he’d go away.

He gave me one last lascivious gaze, his eyes wandering down to my chest, before he turned and joined the other two men he was with at a booth not far from ours.

I was silent.

I knew if I spoke, Randy would hear. I didn’t want my getting-to-know-you dinner with Parker to be blemished by the traumatic secrets of my past.

“Who is that guy?” Parker asked softly.

I shook my head. I’d fill him in later.

“Are you okay?”

I glanced up at him, not sure he’d actually spoken the words since his voice was so quiet.

I shrugged. I wasn’t sure.

We finished our meal quickly and quietly. I felt Randy’s eyes on me the entire time. I couldn’t figure out if he was harmless or if he wanted something. The prickling of my nerves told me it was the latter, but I was putting on a show in front of Parker. And Randy, if I was being honest.

The second we were back outside, the inquisition began.

“Who the fuck was that?” Parker asked.

“Someone my dad knows.”

“I gathered that when he told you to say hi to him.” His voice was dry and humorless.

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

Parker ran a hand over the scruff on his cheek, clearly annoyed. I cleared my throat and tucked some hair behind my ear, also annoyed.

It got awkward. I blamed Randy.

“How does your dad know him?” he asked, trying another tact.

“They grew up together. Randy’s a bookie and an asshole.”

“Sounds like a gem. Want me to kick his ass?”

“Yes. More than anything. But he’s not worth your time.”

“You were scared when he walked in.”

I nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“Why? What did he do to you?”

I shrugged. He reached out for me, pulling me against him. He wrapped his arms around me, and it felt good. I just stood there unmoving. I liked being in his arms. And not hugging back felt like less of a commitment. Like this wasn’t going to turn into something more than I could handle.

Even though just the way he held me told me otherwise.

My cheek met his heart. He just continued to hold me, and right when it got to be too much, right when I was about to lift my arms to wrap them around him too, he let go.

His hands found my biceps, and he pushed me back away from him, but not before pressing his lips softly to my temple. It wasn’t the first time he’d done that, but last time it had been in front of someone else, a way to show that he wasn’t available in the way some girl had wanted him to be.

This time was just for me. Just for us.

“Where do you want to go?” he asked, his eyes dark and heated.

I shrugged. “I don’t care.”

Truthfully I didn’t. I just wanted to get away from Randy.

“I live with three other guys. So not my place.”

I could tell from the way he was looking at me that he wanted to come to my place. But I wasn’t ready for that quite yet. I was intensely private, and I wasn’t ready to share something as personal as my home with someone I hardly knew.

Plus I still didn’t completely trust his intentions.

I didn’t know why he wanted me.

I had to admit that we had an intense attraction to one another. My soul was bound to his because he’d made me feel again after so much time spent in oblivion.

But that didn’t mean I could trust him.

I had to look out for myself, especially when it came to a musician. I had to ensure that he wanted
me
, not my father.

“Not my place, either,” I finally said.

“Where do you live?”

“Beverly Hills.”

“Fancy.”

I rolled my eyes. “My dad bought my place.”

“Of course he did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Let’s be realistic here, Jimi. You work retail in a record store. You think you could afford a place in the Hills with that paycheck?”

I shrugged as I clicked the unlock button on my key fob.

He had a point, but I’d never really had any true concept of the worth of a dollar. I’d never had to. I’d been given anything I ever asked for because money clearly bought my love.

“I know a place between here and Beverly Hills. Sound okay?”

I nodded before getting into the car to follow him. He drove safely, slowly, ensuring I was behind him the entire time.

We were ten minutes from my place when he pulled off the highway. I knew exactly where we were, and he pulled in front of a strip mall.

I parked in the spot right next to his, and just like when we’d gotten out of our cars earlier, he grabbed my hand and led me.

We walked up to a frozen yogurt shop. Going to a place like this seemed so out of character, so out of context for whatever was starting between us.

We were on an actual, typical, regular date.

And despite the rocky start of Randy’s presence at the taco place, I was enjoying my time with Parker.

“Fro-yo flavors can tell a lot about a person, so choose wisely,” Parker said as he held the door open for me.

“Like what?”

“I’ll tell you once you pick.”

The place was empty, which was comforting after our run-in with Randy at dinner.

I inspected my selections. There were ten flavors, and I had it narrowed down to Double Dutch Chocolate and Red Velvet.

I decided on both.

“Interesting selection,” he murmured with a smirk. He walked over to the Graham Cracker flavor and filled his bowl.

We headed to the toppings bar. Parker loaded his bowl with cookie dough, and I sprinkled on a few walnuts and gummy bears.

“Gummy bears?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Yet another fascinating choice.” He doused his bowl with chocolate hot fudge, and I opted for a small squirt of marshmallow topping.

We set our desserts on the scale by the register, and Parker paid.

We settled into a table outside. He took a seat in the chair directly to my left even though he could have chosen to sit across from me. He put his feet up on the chair across from him, and I settled my feet next to him on the same chair. We were both relaxed, at ease with one another and with our desserts.

“So what does chocolate plus red velvet say about me?”

He shrugged, a little smile lighting up his face. “Who knows? I just thought it was fascinating watching you think so hard about what flavor you wanted.”

BOOK: Vintage Volume One
3.84Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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