The Best

Chapter 2-2

Now in his junior year, Parrish was dating Marty Mahon, the hottest guy on campus. They’d met at financial aid, because as it turned out, Parrish’s “full ride” didn’t include room and board and textbooks, and he had to reapply each year for a student loan to cover those expenses. Marty had commiserated with him, joined him at McDonalds for a burger and fries, and asked him to go out the following Saturday night. And that was the start. The guy who could have anyone he wanted, wanted him. Marty was Parrish’s boyfriend. He said Parrish had a sinful mouth and his ass was to die for, and even agreed when Parrish insisted on using condoms.

Things were looking up, and this year, he’d finally have someone to go with to the Christmas dance. Their college was relaxed regarding same s*x couples, and they’d be able to dance together without worrying about being bashed.

Most importantly, for the first time in forever, he wasn’t going to be spending Christmas Day alone.

Of course he had to get Marty something worthy of such hotness. Not an ornament, this time, though. He didn’t have much money, but he had enough to buy a chain with Marty’s zodiac sign, the Scorpion, for the charm.

Marty was tutoring some sophomore to earn extra cash himself, but as soon as he was done, they were going to grab a bite, go to the dance, and then return to Marty’s dorm room, where Parrish would give his boyfriend his Christmas gift.

Oh, the heck with it! He couldn’t wait until later. He was going to give Marty his gift now. Marty would be so thrilled. He’d send the sophomore away, and they’d spend the rest of the afternoon on Marty’s bed. Maybe he’d even let Parrish top for a change. And before heading to the dance, instead of Burger King or McDonald’s for dinner, Parrish would take him somewhere special, like Red Lobster.

Although…Maybe they’d skip the dance altogether.

Parrish bounced down the stairs to Marty’s dorm room on the second floor, tapped on the door, and flung it open. “Merry—”

Marty was on the bed, and under him was the sophomore. Parrish felt as if he’d taken a blow to his gut.

He swallowed. “Sorry,” he said. Was this what Marty had been doing when he said he was tutoring other students? Parrish closed the door and started walking toward the stairs. All he wanted was the shelter of his room.

“Parrish! Wait!”

He turned to hear what his former boyfriend had to say.

Marty stood in the doorway, the condom—thank God he’d at least worn one—slipping off his deflated d**k. He grabbed for it, at the same time yanking up a pair of shorts obviously not his because they were on the snug side. “You’ve got it all wrong.” Marty smiled at him, flashing his pearly whites.

“Do I?” Only five minutes ago Parrish had considered that smile the be-all and end-all of his world, the epitome of sexy. God, he felt like such a fool. “I guess we’re through.”

“Why would you think that? This doesn’t mean anything.”

“To you, maybe. But to me?” How could this happen again? Was there something wrong with him—that his boyfriends had no problem cheating on him because it didn’t mean anything? And how would that sophomore react to learn he meant nothing to Marty?

“You’re breaking up with me?” How could Marty look surprised? “You can’t…Come on, babe.”

God, he was so disappointed. He’d built up such dreams…

Marty must have realized Parrish was serious when he said they were through, because he lost that coy expression, replacing it with a stark, uncaring look. “Y’know what? We’re done. I was gonna break up with you today anyway.” He sneered at him. “You’re not worth spending Christmas with.”

“No, I guess not.” Parrish turned away.

“Wait! You’re just gonna walk away from me?”

“Yes.”

“But…” And then Marty muttered, “Okay, fine. As if I’d ever let you top me.”

Parrish sighed and climbed the stairs to his room. He knew his world wasn’t coming to an end—it hadn’t when Robbie had enlisted or when Arnie cheated on him—but it hurt like hell.

His palm hurt, too, and he realized he’d been squeezing his fingers shut on something. He opened them and looked down at the charm he held in his hand.

This wasn’t something he could hold on to. He never intended to date another Scorpio—selfish bastards. Maybe the jeweler would give him his money back.

* * * *

Five months after the most god-awful Christmas he’d ever spent—and that was saying something. When it became obvious he and Marty were no longer a couple, why had everyone persisted in asking what happened between them, and then insisting he should forgive the jerk and take him back?—Parrish found trying to avoid his former boyfriend was the least of his worries.

That was when he learned his junior year at college would be his last year. Things had gone seriously south: tuition had gone up and grants had dried up.

He had to get a job.

* * * *

The next eight months were rough—no one was looking to hire an almost BBA, and so he worked out of a temp agency, doing whatever job they could find for him. Data entry, mailroom, operations rep, customer service rep, he wasn’t proud. He needed money for the rent on the small apartment he’d managed to find in Charlotte and for groceries and to make payments on his Pell Grant and the secondhand Nissan Versa which had actually had three previous owners, so he was willing to take whatever they offered him.

* * * *

It was a lonely Christmas, since he had no one to spend it with—he’d drifted away from his college friends after he’d left K-S. Even if he wanted to visit the foster family who had been so nice to him when he’d lived with them, he couldn’t afford the airline tickets.

Added to that, it rained.

Of course he had the traditional holiday dinner: turkey with stuffing and gravy, green beans with cranberries, mashed potatoes, and an apple crumb cobbler, but it was all courtesy of the ladies in his freezer, Marie Callender and Mrs. Smith…

But then he got the best Christmas present ever, although it was a little belated. Four days after Christmas, the agency told him they were placing him with Burke, Burke, and Hammett at the start of the New Year.

“This is temporary,” they warned him, and he wanted to laugh. After all, wasn’t that what working for a temp agency was all about?

So on January third, he reported to Human Resources, where he was given his badge, a parking sticker, and a crash course in the use of their phone system, and sent up to the fortieth floor, where he was assigned to Mrs. Campbell, a woman in her late thirties or early forties. She was the executive assistant to Ransom Burke, the CEO of the company. Parrish noticed he and Mr. Burke were the same height, but while the man he worked for was fair, Parrish took after his Italian forebears, with their olive skin tones and dark hair and eyes.

Mr. Burke was also gorgeous, but Parrish wasn’t a dummy. He’d read the company handbook—no dating anyone within these walls—so he tucked his tongue back in his mouth and worked hard at his job.

* * * *

Six weeks later, Parrish was still at Burke, Burke, and Hammett. The company was pleased, the temp agency was pleased, and he was pleased. No, more than pleased, he was thrilled. He loved working there and hoped BB&H liked him enough to keep him through the rest of the year. He liked being able to pay his rent and put groceries on the table, and best of all, he’d been doing a good job making inroads in paying back his student loan.

He turned on the radio and started a pot of coffee. It was a Wednesday, and he didn’t need to glance at the calendar hanging beside the fridge in his kitchen to know it was Valentine’s Day. Commercials for greeting cards had filled the airwaves since the beginning of February, kiosks had sprung up selling bouquets of flowers, and restaurants had taken out numerous ads touting their exotic Valentine’s Day menus. Not that it mattered to him—he had no one to spend this day with either. He’d gone out for coffee this past weekend with a cute guy, but he’d known almost immediately it wasn’t going to work. All the guy wanted was to talk about Parrish’s boss.

Parrish had hoped…well, that was okay. He was really too busy to date. He put a couple of frozen waffles in the toaster.

His favorite radio station was playing all love songs all day, making it not much of a favorite. He listened absentmindedly while he poured himself a cup of coffee, then added a splash of mocha creamer. While he waited for the coffee to cool, he took out butter and maple syrup. The syrup was more expensive than the regular stuff, but this was a way of treating himself.

The waffles popped up, and he grabbed for them gingerly. Once he had them on his plate, he added the butter—a single pat was never enough—and the syrup, and sat down to his breakfast. As he ate, he thought about his boss and the way the man’s snug trousers emphasized the curves of his ass. Parrish gazed off into space. It was truly a wonder to behold…

“It’s the top of the hour, Valentine’s Day listeners, and after the news and weather, we’ll be offering all you lovers an oldie by Roberta Flack, ‘The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face,’ so stay tuned.”

“What?” Parrish spun in his chair and stared at the clock in the microwave. “Oh, crap.” If he didn’t hustle, he was going to be late. He finished his breakfast, left his plate and cup in the sink to soak, and grabbed his jacket before heading out to drive to work.

* * * *

Parrish walked through the corridors of BB&H, enchanted. It seemed Human Resources liked to get in the swing with the holidays. Pink, red, and white crepe paper streamers and heart-shaped balloons decorated the walls, while each desk had a bowl filled with conversation hearts, Hershey’s Kisses, and M&Ms. He opened the door to his office, hung up his jacket, and went to his desk. Sure enough, there was a bowl of candies on it.

Periodically, Parrish would help himself to one of the candies…or two or three…as he went through his morning’s work, pleased with himself at how well he did it.

He finished typing up a letter in response to an inquiry from another company, then pushed himself back from his desk, crossed to Mrs. Campbell’s door, and tapped lightly before he pushed it open and entered.

“I’m sorry to bother you. I have a letter that needs to be signed by Mr. Burke.”

“He’s not in.”

“Oh. I thought I might have missed him. Is he…He’s not sick, is he?” There was a lot of flu going around in the building. For some reason, Parrish never seemed to catch it. Touch wood, he thought and looked around, but there was no wood in the room except for Mrs. Campbell’s desk. He hastily tapped his skull, relieved that she didn’t notice his action.

“No, Mr. Burke isn’t sick. It’s just Valentine’s Day isn’t a good day for him. The man he was involved with got married on Valentine’s Day three years ago.” Her expression made it clear she wasn’t happy to have revealed that information.

Wait, Mr. Burke was gay? Shoot, he’d thought it was safe to admire the man from afar. He pushed that bit of information to the back of his mind. “I’m glad he isn’t sick.” Parrish could understand the suckiness of this day—it wasn’t as bad as not having someone to spend Christmas Day with, but it was lonely. However, as intrigued as he might be, he wasn’t going to pry. “Mrs. Campbell, what shall I do with this letter? It needs to go out in today’s mail.”

“Let me have it.” She reached for a pen.

“Yes, ma’am.” Good executive assistants could sign their boss’s signature even better than their boss. And Mrs. Campbell was an excellent executive assistant.

* * * *

When Mr. Burke walked through Parrish’s office the next morning, it was with his usual brisk stride, although his eyes were bloodshot and seemed tired.

“Good morning, sir,” he murmured softly in case the boss was hungover. Not your business, Rutledge, he reminded himself.

“Good morning, Rutledge.” And even if the boss had drunk too much the day before, his voice was still a deep, sexy rumble.

Which Parrish ignored as he got on with the morning’s tasks.