Rules of the Game

Last part... see part 1 for disclaimer.


Parker opened her eyes and squinted in the sunlight. She knew immediately that he was gone and sighed. That was the way it had to be, whoever woke first would quietly slip away without waking the other because, if they were both awake, neither would have the willpower to leave. But they had to leave. She had to get back and he had to get moving. It was Sunday; the weekend was drawing to a close.

Tomorrow was the beginning of the workweek. Parker would have to get up at the usual hour, shower, and dress for work. She would then waltz into the Centre as if nothing had changed. She was a pretender too and fully confident in her ability to pretend that the hunter and hunted had not become lovers. Yes, lovers... She couldn't write this off as a casual fling, relegate him to the level of boy toy, or consign them to the realm of fuck-buddies. She didn't know when, or even if, they would be together again, or how it would ultimately end. If she were forced to hazard a guess, she'd have to say badly, but that didn't change the fact that they were lovers. Nothing or no one would ever change that fact; it could not be undone.

She glanced at the pillow next to her and smiled, reaching for the cell phone that rested upon it before propping herself up in bed. She pondered the keypad for a moment then nodded.

"Upright infinity..." she whispered then hit auto-dial and the number eight.

"Good morning, Miss Parker," he crooned then, glancing at his watch, amended, "...make that afternoon. You'd better get a move on if you want to be back in Delaware by dinnertime."

"You sound awfully pleased with yourself this morning... make that afternoon," she remarked coolly with a smirk that evolved into a full-blown grin when she caught sight of his shirt laid out neatly for her at the foot of the bed. She reached forward to grab it and, clutching the phone between her head and shoulder then switching it to the other ear, managed to slip it on.

"Well, Miss Parker, it's a beautiful day and I've been having a fabulous weekend."

She found Jarod's use of her formal name to be strangely enticing, perhaps because it served as such an obvious counterpoint to, and therefore a reminder of, the sound of him calling out her first name in the throes of passion. As buttbuttoned up the shirt, recalling his fingers on the buttons to undo them, she asked with a broad smile that he could hear in her voice,

"Anything else you wish to share?"

"Why yes, the thing is, I've got good news and I've got bad news. I think it's always best to dispense with the bad news first, don't you?"

Her smiled dissolved and she sat up straighter in bed before inquiring in a slightly accusing tone, "Okay, Jarod, what's this about?"

"Well, the bad news is that your car is gone."

"It's missing? Jarod, why the hell didn't you wake me when you realized it was missing?"

"I didn't say missing, I said gone. Missing would imply that I don't know where it is when I, in fact, know exactly where it is," he replied with a smirk as he hit the accelerator.

"You son-of-a-bitch!" she shouted into the phone. Tearing the covers off and leaping from bed, she demanded, "Turn that car around this minute and bring it back here!"

"Sorry, no can do, I'm already three states away."

"Really, and which states are those?" she asked more calmly.

"Cute, not funny, but cute. Now, do you want to hear the good news or not?"

She groaned in exasperation then snapped, "WELL?"

"The good news is that you have not been left stranded. Your chariot awaits."

"Hmmm..." she huffed as she went thumping out of the bedroom, wincing slightly with every step and thinking that it just figured annoannoying little shit would have a great big dick.

Still holding the phone to her ear but not uttering another word, she stormed out of the cottage and through the wooded area, acquiring several scratches to her bare feet and numerous additional mosquito bites along the way, until she reached the dirt road, stopping and letting the hand bearing the phone drop to her side. Where on earth does he manage to find these things, she wondered.

"Parker? Parker? You still there?"

Lifting the phone back up to her ear she stated flatly, "That has got to be the single ugliest thing I have ever laid eyes on."

"Aw, come on, it's got that cool gold racing stripe!"

"It's shit brown! And it's a Gremlin! I'll be lucky if I make it onto the highway!"

"Now, my dear Miss Parker, do you really think I'd let you travel around in anything less than a roadworthy vehicle? It is late model, after all."

"Late model?"

"Yes, it's a '78 and, since I believe that's the last year the fine folks at the American Motor Company produced that particular engineering marvel, it's as late model as they come. Oh, and it's got a full tank of gas so I figure, all things considered, you've got an even chance of making it home. But I would hold on to that cell phone if I were you, just in case."

"I hate you!" she spat into the phone.

"I hate you too, Miss Parker," he responded tenderly, his voice full of affection.

She closed her eyes, sighed and let out a dry chuckle. Her own voice was soft as she said, "I would have let you drive it, you know. All you had to do was ask."

"I know you would have but I'm afraid that new rule of yours has acted as a bit of a disincentive to behaving myself."

She smiled in spite of herself. Great, she mused, now I can't even stay mad at him for ten minutes when he's stolen my car!

"I'll get you for this," she warned.

Smiling at the promise implicit in her warning, he chirped, "I'm counting on it!" then hung up. Speeding down the highway, he let out a loud whoop as he reveled in the sensation of the wind in his hair. He knew he wasn't free but didn't care. He was beginning to suspect that freedom was overrated and, under the right terms, captivity suited him just fine.

Parker stood staring at the little corner of automotive hell Jarod had consigned her to and pondered her immediate fate. She would make her 'journey of shame' home in this abomination, wearing the more than a little worse for wear $800 cocktail dress she had originally donned two days earlier as she climbed behind the wheel of a car hardly worth $50 in spare parts. She then broke into a fit of hysterical laughter, reaching up to wipe the tears streaming down her face. Regaining her composure, she turned to head back toward the cottage when it hit her.

*I never did get my underwear back.*

FIN