Ligo. Skata.
I bounce up behind him, the people coming down the opposite side give us bewildered looks. Parker spills onto the patio and starts to shoulder his way through the mingling guests. I cross over the last step and knock into a body. I almost go falling back, right down the staircase, to my death. But the person reaches out and pulls me back.
“If it isn’t Stephanie Andwell.”
Oh, fuck me with me a pogo stick.
“Daniel Decker.”
“Having fun, are we?”
I shake out of his grip, “I’m in a rush, Decker.”
“Decker? Seems like those guys are rubbing off on you, Andwell.”
Running off on me is more like it. I scan the crowd and spot Parker’s stark hair disappearing inside the house. Shit, I’m going to lose him.
“Seriously, I need to go.”
He steps aside and gestures in front of him. I eye him warily, surprised at how quickly he relented.
“Thanks,” I mutter, stepping past him and then breaking into a jog. I try to move through the crowd as gracefully as possible. The last thing I need to do is bowl over some state judge or CEO.
I make it inside and see Parker through the archway, standing in the foyer. He gives one of his sisters a kiss on the cheek before slipping out the double doors.
He is not seriously trying to leave, is he?
I jog after him, hiking my dress even higher. There’s barely anyone in this part of the house anymore. I speed down the staircase just as a black Tesla Model X pulls up. I push myself faster. Parker hasn’t seen me yet; he probably thinks he lost me back on the staircase.
He waits for his driver to step out and lift the door open for him. The delay gives me the edge I need. Parker slides into the car, and I push past his driver, shouting a quick sorry as I dive in after him.
This was not my best idea.
I don’t make it fully inside. My body gets caught on Parker, my knees smashing on his thighs. The top half of my body jerks and slams onto the floor between the two seats. My heels kick up in the air, and my purse goes flying somewhere into the third row of seats in the back.
“Owww,” I moan.
“Bloody hell, Stevie. Are you mad?”
I scramble my legs forward and off his body, squishing myself on the floor. Pushing up, I corner myself onto the white leather seat next to his. My heart feels like it is beating in my head. I smooth the tendrils of loose hair back from my face as I attempt to catch my breath.
“Sir?”
Parker’s driver is looking at him with concern, probably wondering if he needs to call security to get the crazy lady out of the car. Parker leans forward, looking past his driver before snapping his body up. He tries to crush himself flat against the seat.
“Close the door now, Francis, and get us out of here quick.”
Another puzzle piece slots into place at the name of the driver.
Francis stands back, the door automatically lowering as he walks to the driver’s side. I lean forward to peer out Parker’s window, trying to see what spooked him more than me flinging myself into his car.
Decker stands in the entrance chatting with Parker’s sister. I have no doubt in my mind that he is going to go back into that party and let everyone know we left together. Gossiping jerk.
The car rumbles to life, and we drive in silence for a few minutes, soft music trickling from the speakers.
It’s a Friday night, so the streets are packed with cars. I’m not sure what time it is, but it has to be before nine since we never did get to eat dinner. Dammit, the food and booze are the only good reasons to go to these events.
The car windows are a deep black, probably tinted. I stare out at the moving cars, blurs of light against the dark night. We get stuck in a pocket of traffic, and I slip from my seat, reaching around in the back until I locate my purse. Settling back against the soft leather of my chair, I take out my phone and swipe it open, eyes dipping briefly to the broody man next to me.
Parker’s giving me the silent treatment.
Parker is also driving me god knows where.
I pull open the streaming app; a little red circle shows Blade is still live. I click on the search bar and type in EnglishCoffee. I tap on the account, opening his page. The most recent stream was yesterday. I press my volume all the way up and click on the stream recording. It takes a second to load before the crisp accent blares out from my phone.
“Hello, hello, hello. How are we doing, my little Coffee Makers?”
Parker jumps in my periphery.
“We just got a new patch update for Legends of Destiny, so I figured we would give it another shot since the buggy release. Then, we will jump on with the lads and play a little FrozeLine later, how does that sound?”
We stare at each other before he lunges over, ripping the phone from my hands and shutting the screen. The voice cuts out.
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
He folds his arms and stares forward.
If he wants to deny it, he isn’t doing a good job. At all.
“You know, the silent treatment just incriminates yourself further.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Seriously?”
This is like pulling teeth.
I can’t blame him. If I’m right, and I’m pretty damn sure I’m right, I’ve just discovered something no one is supposed to know. The information I’m sitting on is worth thousands of dollars. Maybe even hundreds of thousands to the right bidder.
Not that I would sell this information. I don’t care about that. I don’t care if Parker is English or if English is Parker. It’s all the same to me. What does make a difference is the little seedling that has been growing in my stomach ever since that night at the club. This niggling sensation that maybe there is something more to Alek’s job than he has been letting on.
My cell phone rings. Parker stares at the foreign sound in his hand. He tosses the phone back to me, and I see a call from my mother.
I send it to voicemail.
Parker’s phone rings, but he answers it.
“Sorry, I had to leave, something came up. Yes, I know. I know. I know. It is an emergency. No, she—Alright, I’ll be home Sunday night.” He hangs up with a sigh.
“Fuck. Me.” Parker runs his hands down his face.
“Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Covington, but I need to know where I’m headed.”
Parker peeks out from between his fingers and groans, mumbling his words.
“The apartment.”
I see the driver’s eyes widen in the rearview mirror.
“The apartment?”
“Yes, Francis. The apartment.”
“Are you sure?”
“Unfortunately, yes. I have to do some damage control.”
Pretty sure I’m the damage.
“Alright, it’ll take a bit longer, probably an hour from now. We have a tail.”
“Of course, we do.”
Parker reaches under the seat in front of him, rummaging for a minute until he pulls out a silver flask. He opens it, taking a large gulp before holding it out to me.
“You’re going to need it for the night we have ahead.” His laugh is bitter.
I accept the flask and take a small sip, the heat of whiskey burning my throat.
For the first time since I took off running after Parker, worry filters into my system, and I begin to wonder if I made a mistake. I don’t think I’m wrong about Parker secretly being one of the biggest streamers of our generation, but I do think I might have made a mistake in confirming it. Because it seems like whatever is waiting at the apartment is not going to be good.