I scratch my chin. “You want me to give up my room.”

“You’re the one who said upstairs was better anyway,” she retorts, motioning at the door. “Do you mind?”

I pad down the stairs. “I guess I should get used to this.”

I add a dramatic sigh for good measure, but the truth is inside, I’m pumping my fist. Let her boss me around and nag me until I have a headache. I fucking love it.

Leaning against the doorframe, I watch her step into my bedroom. And like the night at the club, I’m teetering between our now and then.

Then, as a teenager, I had to force away any and all fantasies I had about Parker being in my bedroom, which she almost always entered late at night and through the window. Honey never cared, or she at least trusted Parker enough, but my mom certainly did. I remember three separate times when she knocked and Parker had to scramble beneath the bed, hiding as if we’d been doing something illicit when we were either pretending to do homework or playing Uno.

But no matter what we were doing, I always had to make it not too obvious when I scooted closer to her on the bed. The warmth radiating off Parker, the way she smelled… Those things combined were lethal to my teenage hormones.

And now, I’m standing here watching her at the foot of my bed, fantasizing about how Parker would look in it… naked, with the sheet up to her waist. Or better yet, with the blankets tangled at her feet and the thing covering the rest of her body? Me.

“This will do.”

“Oh.” I shake off the thoughts. “Does it, princess?”

“Stop.” She scoffs. I watch her take a deep breath, her shoulders relaxing. “It’s very you in here. I mean in a good way. Clean. Warm. A little preppy.” She pauses, pointing to the black-and-white photo on the wall of Manhasset’s harbor that was our shared childhood backyard. “Just very you. Kind of feels like home. It feels good.”

I furrow my brow. “You sound surprised. Shouldn’t home always feel good?”

“I guess.”

“Since you’re taking it, you can help me pack up,” I tell her.

Parker moves and opens the door of the walk-in closet. “You really don’t seem all that upset about it. Besides, there isn’t much in here anyway.”

“I’m a simple guy. You won’t find me wearing a sparkly pink cowboy hat to the stadium before a game.”

Parker shuts the closet door. “Pity. You’d look cute in pink. You still don’t seem so upset though.”

“Maybe I’m just happier you’re here than I am annoyed I need to move my shit.”

The cutest, nervous laugh sneaks from Parker’s mouth. I’m about to try and pull out another when a voice booms.