See part 1 ("Another Woman") for disclaimer.
Author's Note: This chapter has been reposted with a new title reflecting a correction to my bad German. Thanks to TVRQuo, who was kind and generous enough to take the time to offer some constructive and very helpful criticism, both the title and Jarod's inner dialogue now make sense! Danke!
The Friendship Cycle Four: Pech Gehabt, Herr Langer
By Ginger
Jarod awoke with a start, feeling more than a little disoriented by his surroundings. Although he recognized where he was immediately – it was a location very familiar to him – it took a moment to register that he had actually spent a night under Miss Parker's roof. More to the point, he had done so *with her permission* and, amazingly, with *the woman herself* tucked securely in his arms. He gazed at her sleeping form and smiled then gently tightened his arms around her.
*Our second night together,* he mused. *This is becoming a bit of a habit for us. Maybe one day we'll move from the sofa to a bed.*
He certainly hoped so and fully intended to lobby vigorously toward that end. His pulse quickened at the thought of it then he reminded himself of their conversation in Florida. He frowned slightly as he pondered the various complications surrounding the recent developments in his and Parker's relationship. Jarod had just played out that horrible scene with Zoe and, no doubt, would carry the guilt around for quite a while. Besides as far as he knew – he hadn't been able to bring himself to ask - nothing had changed with regard to Miss Parker's "association" with the accomplished Fritz Langer of Dallas, Texas, Clearwater Beach, Florida, Düsseldorf, Germany, and lord knows where else.
In the weeks since he and Parker spent the evening together in Clearwater, he'd made a conscious effort not to resent the, by all accounts, generous and decent man, but try as he might Jarod could not prevent an unpleasant sensation from settling beneath his solar plexus whenever he thought about Parker and Langer together. In one of his darker moods he had frittered away an entire evening torturing himself by scribbling the words "Mrs. Parker-Langer" over and over again in one of his red notebooks.
It was absurd, of course, and Parker would either be amused or downright offended if she ever found out. For one thing, she had already informed Jarod that her relationship with the successful German businessman was not serious. For another, he couldn't really imagine her ever being a society wife, or "Mrs." anybody for that matter. Sure he could be rational about it now, when she was cuddled up against him and he could feel her heartbeat. When he was sitting alone in a shabby motel room thousands of miles away, and staring at photographs of her lover that he'd downloaded from the business and society pages of various international newspapers, it was a different story.
Fritz Langer appeared fit, handsome and distinguished. His hair was graying slightly at the temples but that didn't detract from his youthful, robust presence. Even in still photographs, Jarod had detected an air of continental sophistication; he recognized it immediately because it was a quality his mentor possessed that, despite the inordinate amount of time he'd spent with Sydney, hadn't rubbed off on him. Langer probably relaxed with fine wine and cigars, not ice cream and PEZ. He would enjoy drinking expensive single malt scotch with Parker; it wouldn't make his throat burn like it did Jarod's. Parker and Langer would look great together, all decked out for a black tie affair. Standing behind her, he would place a necklace around her long graceful neck: something he would have purchased for her, something classically elegant that she would love. She would smile that wide, beautiful smile then turn to kiss him.
*Stop it!*
Jarod frowned. He was doing it again and it was ridiculous. Instead of reveling in his good fortune he was conjuring images that made his stomach sour and blood thunder in his temples. It was ironic really: when Parker was cold, hostile, and intractable, Jarod felt confident, like he was on solid ground; now that she had warmed and accepted his affection for her, he sometimes felt overwhelmed by his insecurities, like he was trying to keep his balance on shifting sand. But maintain that balance he would and, if Jarod had his way, the venerable Mr. Langer would soon be history.
It was only fair really; Jarod had seen her first. He knew that was a facile argument when it came to human relations but it was the best he could come up with. He and Parker went back forever; they'd been thrown together as children, torn apart for a couple decades, and thrown together again then dragged to hell and back a few times for good measure. And in spite of everything and everyone who had ever conspired to come between them, they were so good together it was almost frightening. Even in miserable, dangerous circumstances when they were at each other's throats, they *worked* on a fundamental level. Wasn't it incumbent upon them to explore that connection under more pleasant circumstances? Hadn't he earned the right to know what it would be like to *be* with her?
*Pech gehabt, Herr Langer, but I saw her first.*
An image popped into Jarod's mind of two children he'd once observed at a social gathering, a brother and sister if he recalled correctly. They were both eyeing the same piece of cake, one topped with a big blue flower made of that sickly sweet icing which, he had to admit, was rather tasty. The two appeared locked in stalemate until the girl made a sudden move, leaning forward to run her tongue across the expanse of the flower then sitting back and looking triumphant. Her brother crossed his arms and glared but clearly she had won the day, and the piece of cake. Jarod remembered thinking it an ingenious tactic at the time and, glancing at the woman now sleeping in his arms, raised an eyebrow as he wondered if it might be worth considering such a course of action.
He became so engrossed with the concept that when Parker opened her eyes to meet his he was somewhat startled. His reddening face must have hinted at the content of his thoughts because she smirked then asked in a husky, sleepy voice,
"Do I even want to know what's going on in that twisted little mind of yours?"
"I very much doubt it," he replied with an impish grin.
"I didn't think so," she said with a yawn then stretched and blinked up at him, looking positively adorable as she eased into full consciousness.
*Pech gehabt, Herr Langer,* he thought again as he smiled affectionately at her.
* * * *
In attempting to prepare breakfast, Jarod was chagrined to find Parker's kitchen cupboards nearly bare and her refrigerator practically empty. In fact, if Broots hadn't brought over stuff to make sandwiches a few nights earlier, there wouldn't have been anything to feed the hungry pretender when he'd made his appearance in the wee hours of the morning.
"All you have in your egg compartment are little packets of condiments from Chinese restaurants!" he complained, adding with a frown, "You'll have to go to the supermarket. We can't bake cookies without eggs."
"Oh," she responded wanly. "I thought you were kidding about that."
He wasn't. So after showering and dressing quickly while Jarod downloaded a cookie recipe from the Internet, she showed him to the guest bathroom. She needn't have bothered.
"You'll find everything you need in there; soap, shampoo, fresh towels, and even a spare toothbrush under the sink," she offered amiably.
"Do you still have that vanilla-scented body wash? It's very nice."
"You didn't..." she seethed, her eyes flashing.
"What can I say," he replied with a smirk. "I was in the neighborhood and, thanks to the Centre, it had been a few days since I'd had a chance to shower and change clothes."
"Why you ba..."
"Now, now, Miss Parker," he interjected with a typical Jarod grin then placed his hands on her shoulders to spin her around. "Off you go to market."
She was about to whirl around again when she thought better of it. Shrugging, she left him at the bathroom door and strolled down the hallway. When she heard the water go on, an evil grin spread across her face as she bounced cheerfully down the stairs and headed straight for the half-bathroom on the first floor, which was directly beneath the guest bathroom.
Snickering satisfactorily at the high-pitched yelp followed by a loud thud, Parker turned off the cold water tap and jiggled the handle of the recently-flushed toilet. She waited a beat for some sign of life and, upon hearing muffled swearing, raised an eyebrow and proceeded to check her hair and makeup in the mirror.
"I think my work here is done," she muttered with a serene smile then headed for the foyer to grab her purse and car keys.
* * * *
"Bake cookies," Parker grumbled as she pulled into the garage.
It had been a nerve-wracking trip to the supermarket in search of the items one must acquire in order to bake cookies. She had been on edge the whole time, irrationally suspecting that everyone around her, fellow shoppers and employees alike, could somehow construe on the basis of a quick glance into her shopping cart that she was aiding and abetting, thwarting her employer, and betraying her own father. More than once she'd been tempted to forget the whole thing and bail. Her life had taken on a theater of the absurd quality – with Jarod as director, of course.
She made sure the garage door was completely closed before getting out of the car with two bags of groceries. Even that was enough to arouse suspicion as far as she was concerned. When she walked into the house, she was surprised to find it dark and quiet. She was about to call out Jarod's name but stopped herself when it occurred to her that there might be something wrong.
*Maybe someone from the Centre showed up, he got spooked and split,* she thought with a frown.
*Or maybe... maybe they somehow got wind of the fact that he was here and...*
She got a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, her heart thundered in her chest, and her blood ran cold. Parker felt a presence behind her but before she could react, a hand closed over her mouth. Dropping the grocery bags, she attempted to take evasive action but her attacker was too quick, effectively pinning her arms and dragging her to the floor. After a brief moment of terror, she realized her assailant smelled distinctly of vanilla.
"You really are an asshole," she remarked when he removed his hand from her mouth, deftly flipping her over to face him while keeping her pinned to the floor beneath him.
"Hasn't anyone told you that it isn't nice to scald your houseguests?" he teased. Playfulness danced in his eyes, reminding her of their relative positions and compelling her to note just how damned good it felt.
"That really wasn't very nice, Jarod," she scolded, sounding vaguely hurt. "I thought something might have..." She paused for maximum dramatic effect then added haltingly, "happened."
"I'm sorry," he replied, a look of misery sweeping across his face. "I didn't mean to frighten you. I guess I wasn't thinking. That happens a lot when I'm around you."
Parker's *hurt* expression evolved into a wide, devilish grin.
"You really are evil incarnate," he observed, smiling down at her. Sliding her pinned arms up above her head, he leaned in and tacked on softly, "You know that, don't you?"
"Yup," she responded, lifting her chin defiantly.
He leaned in further, his lips hovering just above hers.
"What am I going to do with you, Miss Parker?" he asked. His voice deepened, sounding something other than playful.
"I... I," Parker stammered, her stomach fluttering. She was barely able to breathe.
An alarm in her head screamed, *It's all going too fast!*
Meanwhile, her body weighed in with a resounding, *Like hell it is!*
"What?" he inquired as he searched her eyes. Jarod was seeking permission, although he seemed poised to proceed without it.
"I thought you were willing to settle for whatever you could get... just friends," she replied, her voice soft, barely above a whisper.
"Suffice it to say..." He moved in closer, until his lips brushed, feather-light, against hers.
"I'm beginning to question the wisdom of that statement," he uttered against her mouth.
Even minimal contact was enough to send a sensation akin to an electrical current through her body. Parker whimpered and craned her neck, lifting her head off the floor.
Permission was granted.
# # # #
TBC… I'm sure you're all dying to know what kind of cookies they bake!
Author's Note: This chapter has been reposted with a new title reflecting a correction to my bad German. Thanks to TVRQuo, who was kind and generous enough to take the time to offer some constructive and very helpful criticism, both the title and Jarod's inner dialogue now make sense! Danke!
The Friendship Cycle Four: Pech Gehabt, Herr Langer
By Ginger
Jarod awoke with a start, feeling more than a little disoriented by his surroundings. Although he recognized where he was immediately – it was a location very familiar to him – it took a moment to register that he had actually spent a night under Miss Parker's roof. More to the point, he had done so *with her permission* and, amazingly, with *the woman herself* tucked securely in his arms. He gazed at her sleeping form and smiled then gently tightened his arms around her.
*Our second night together,* he mused. *This is becoming a bit of a habit for us. Maybe one day we'll move from the sofa to a bed.*
He certainly hoped so and fully intended to lobby vigorously toward that end. His pulse quickened at the thought of it then he reminded himself of their conversation in Florida. He frowned slightly as he pondered the various complications surrounding the recent developments in his and Parker's relationship. Jarod had just played out that horrible scene with Zoe and, no doubt, would carry the guilt around for quite a while. Besides as far as he knew – he hadn't been able to bring himself to ask - nothing had changed with regard to Miss Parker's "association" with the accomplished Fritz Langer of Dallas, Texas, Clearwater Beach, Florida, Düsseldorf, Germany, and lord knows where else.
In the weeks since he and Parker spent the evening together in Clearwater, he'd made a conscious effort not to resent the, by all accounts, generous and decent man, but try as he might Jarod could not prevent an unpleasant sensation from settling beneath his solar plexus whenever he thought about Parker and Langer together. In one of his darker moods he had frittered away an entire evening torturing himself by scribbling the words "Mrs. Parker-Langer" over and over again in one of his red notebooks.
It was absurd, of course, and Parker would either be amused or downright offended if she ever found out. For one thing, she had already informed Jarod that her relationship with the successful German businessman was not serious. For another, he couldn't really imagine her ever being a society wife, or "Mrs." anybody for that matter. Sure he could be rational about it now, when she was cuddled up against him and he could feel her heartbeat. When he was sitting alone in a shabby motel room thousands of miles away, and staring at photographs of her lover that he'd downloaded from the business and society pages of various international newspapers, it was a different story.
Fritz Langer appeared fit, handsome and distinguished. His hair was graying slightly at the temples but that didn't detract from his youthful, robust presence. Even in still photographs, Jarod had detected an air of continental sophistication; he recognized it immediately because it was a quality his mentor possessed that, despite the inordinate amount of time he'd spent with Sydney, hadn't rubbed off on him. Langer probably relaxed with fine wine and cigars, not ice cream and PEZ. He would enjoy drinking expensive single malt scotch with Parker; it wouldn't make his throat burn like it did Jarod's. Parker and Langer would look great together, all decked out for a black tie affair. Standing behind her, he would place a necklace around her long graceful neck: something he would have purchased for her, something classically elegant that she would love. She would smile that wide, beautiful smile then turn to kiss him.
*Stop it!*
Jarod frowned. He was doing it again and it was ridiculous. Instead of reveling in his good fortune he was conjuring images that made his stomach sour and blood thunder in his temples. It was ironic really: when Parker was cold, hostile, and intractable, Jarod felt confident, like he was on solid ground; now that she had warmed and accepted his affection for her, he sometimes felt overwhelmed by his insecurities, like he was trying to keep his balance on shifting sand. But maintain that balance he would and, if Jarod had his way, the venerable Mr. Langer would soon be history.
It was only fair really; Jarod had seen her first. He knew that was a facile argument when it came to human relations but it was the best he could come up with. He and Parker went back forever; they'd been thrown together as children, torn apart for a couple decades, and thrown together again then dragged to hell and back a few times for good measure. And in spite of everything and everyone who had ever conspired to come between them, they were so good together it was almost frightening. Even in miserable, dangerous circumstances when they were at each other's throats, they *worked* on a fundamental level. Wasn't it incumbent upon them to explore that connection under more pleasant circumstances? Hadn't he earned the right to know what it would be like to *be* with her?
*Pech gehabt, Herr Langer, but I saw her first.*
An image popped into Jarod's mind of two children he'd once observed at a social gathering, a brother and sister if he recalled correctly. They were both eyeing the same piece of cake, one topped with a big blue flower made of that sickly sweet icing which, he had to admit, was rather tasty. The two appeared locked in stalemate until the girl made a sudden move, leaning forward to run her tongue across the expanse of the flower then sitting back and looking triumphant. Her brother crossed his arms and glared but clearly she had won the day, and the piece of cake. Jarod remembered thinking it an ingenious tactic at the time and, glancing at the woman now sleeping in his arms, raised an eyebrow as he wondered if it might be worth considering such a course of action.
He became so engrossed with the concept that when Parker opened her eyes to meet his he was somewhat startled. His reddening face must have hinted at the content of his thoughts because she smirked then asked in a husky, sleepy voice,
"Do I even want to know what's going on in that twisted little mind of yours?"
"I very much doubt it," he replied with an impish grin.
"I didn't think so," she said with a yawn then stretched and blinked up at him, looking positively adorable as she eased into full consciousness.
*Pech gehabt, Herr Langer,* he thought again as he smiled affectionately at her.
* * * *
In attempting to prepare breakfast, Jarod was chagrined to find Parker's kitchen cupboards nearly bare and her refrigerator practically empty. In fact, if Broots hadn't brought over stuff to make sandwiches a few nights earlier, there wouldn't have been anything to feed the hungry pretender when he'd made his appearance in the wee hours of the morning.
"All you have in your egg compartment are little packets of condiments from Chinese restaurants!" he complained, adding with a frown, "You'll have to go to the supermarket. We can't bake cookies without eggs."
"Oh," she responded wanly. "I thought you were kidding about that."
He wasn't. So after showering and dressing quickly while Jarod downloaded a cookie recipe from the Internet, she showed him to the guest bathroom. She needn't have bothered.
"You'll find everything you need in there; soap, shampoo, fresh towels, and even a spare toothbrush under the sink," she offered amiably.
"Do you still have that vanilla-scented body wash? It's very nice."
"You didn't..." she seethed, her eyes flashing.
"What can I say," he replied with a smirk. "I was in the neighborhood and, thanks to the Centre, it had been a few days since I'd had a chance to shower and change clothes."
"Why you ba..."
"Now, now, Miss Parker," he interjected with a typical Jarod grin then placed his hands on her shoulders to spin her around. "Off you go to market."
She was about to whirl around again when she thought better of it. Shrugging, she left him at the bathroom door and strolled down the hallway. When she heard the water go on, an evil grin spread across her face as she bounced cheerfully down the stairs and headed straight for the half-bathroom on the first floor, which was directly beneath the guest bathroom.
Snickering satisfactorily at the high-pitched yelp followed by a loud thud, Parker turned off the cold water tap and jiggled the handle of the recently-flushed toilet. She waited a beat for some sign of life and, upon hearing muffled swearing, raised an eyebrow and proceeded to check her hair and makeup in the mirror.
"I think my work here is done," she muttered with a serene smile then headed for the foyer to grab her purse and car keys.
* * * *
"Bake cookies," Parker grumbled as she pulled into the garage.
It had been a nerve-wracking trip to the supermarket in search of the items one must acquire in order to bake cookies. She had been on edge the whole time, irrationally suspecting that everyone around her, fellow shoppers and employees alike, could somehow construe on the basis of a quick glance into her shopping cart that she was aiding and abetting, thwarting her employer, and betraying her own father. More than once she'd been tempted to forget the whole thing and bail. Her life had taken on a theater of the absurd quality – with Jarod as director, of course.
She made sure the garage door was completely closed before getting out of the car with two bags of groceries. Even that was enough to arouse suspicion as far as she was concerned. When she walked into the house, she was surprised to find it dark and quiet. She was about to call out Jarod's name but stopped herself when it occurred to her that there might be something wrong.
*Maybe someone from the Centre showed up, he got spooked and split,* she thought with a frown.
*Or maybe... maybe they somehow got wind of the fact that he was here and...*
She got a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, her heart thundered in her chest, and her blood ran cold. Parker felt a presence behind her but before she could react, a hand closed over her mouth. Dropping the grocery bags, she attempted to take evasive action but her attacker was too quick, effectively pinning her arms and dragging her to the floor. After a brief moment of terror, she realized her assailant smelled distinctly of vanilla.
"You really are an asshole," she remarked when he removed his hand from her mouth, deftly flipping her over to face him while keeping her pinned to the floor beneath him.
"Hasn't anyone told you that it isn't nice to scald your houseguests?" he teased. Playfulness danced in his eyes, reminding her of their relative positions and compelling her to note just how damned good it felt.
"That really wasn't very nice, Jarod," she scolded, sounding vaguely hurt. "I thought something might have..." She paused for maximum dramatic effect then added haltingly, "happened."
"I'm sorry," he replied, a look of misery sweeping across his face. "I didn't mean to frighten you. I guess I wasn't thinking. That happens a lot when I'm around you."
Parker's *hurt* expression evolved into a wide, devilish grin.
"You really are evil incarnate," he observed, smiling down at her. Sliding her pinned arms up above her head, he leaned in and tacked on softly, "You know that, don't you?"
"Yup," she responded, lifting her chin defiantly.
He leaned in further, his lips hovering just above hers.
"What am I going to do with you, Miss Parker?" he asked. His voice deepened, sounding something other than playful.
"I... I," Parker stammered, her stomach fluttering. She was barely able to breathe.
An alarm in her head screamed, *It's all going too fast!*
Meanwhile, her body weighed in with a resounding, *Like hell it is!*
"What?" he inquired as he searched her eyes. Jarod was seeking permission, although he seemed poised to proceed without it.
"I thought you were willing to settle for whatever you could get... just friends," she replied, her voice soft, barely above a whisper.
"Suffice it to say..." He moved in closer, until his lips brushed, feather-light, against hers.
"I'm beginning to question the wisdom of that statement," he uttered against her mouth.
Even minimal contact was enough to send a sensation akin to an electrical current through her body. Parker whimpered and craned her neck, lifting her head off the floor.
Permission was granted.
# # # #
TBC… I'm sure you're all dying to know what kind of cookies they bake!