cherry flavoured

4

I PASSED OUT as soon as I got home last night. I have no idea how kids do it; playing all day is exhausting. But it's Friday morning, and I've just pulled into the Ashford driveway for my second day. I knock the front door and a woman opens it moments later. She has dark fluffy hair falling over her shoulders, dressed in burgundy coloured scrubs.

"Mrs Ashford?" I ask.

"No dear," the woman laughs. She has a slight accent. "I'm the cleaner."

I make an 'O' shape with my mouth.

"You must be Elena. I'm Marie." she opens the door wider to let me in. "Mr Jackson is in the playroom."

"Thank you." I give her a brief smile.

I try to ignore my brain urging me to ask the other question on my mind.

"Where's Parker?" I ask before she steps out the door.

"Mr Parker has soccer training. He asked me if I could watch Mr Jackson so he wasn't late." she explains. "Bye Miss Elena."

I smile at her, waving, before she closes the door. I try not to feel too disappointed that Parker isn't here. I toe my shoes off and leave them beside the rail, putting my bag beside it. I make my way up the grand staircase. The marble is cold through my socks as I make my way to the very top step, slightly out of breath. I realise I don't even know where the playroom is. I know Jackson's room is the first door on the right, so I decide to go for the door opposite.

The door is tall like all the other's. I take the brass gold doorknob in my hand, it's cool to the touch. Pushing it open, I peek my head around the door. It's not the playroom. There's a soccer jersey hung on the closet, dark blue, number 12, the name 'Ashford' printed in bold above the number. This is Parker's room.

I know I shouldn't, yet I still find myself stepping inside. A faint waft of aftershave tickles my nose as I go further into the room. His bedroom is surprisingly tidy for a teenage boy. Not that I've been in that many teenage boys' bedrooms before, but I'd imagine it to be a lot less... clean. Something catches my eye on the far wall. There are three electric guitars mounted, one black, one tortoise shell and the third a dark green. I reach forward, running my fingers over the pick guard. My dad used to play for me when I was a kid.

"What are you doing?"

I jump, my heart catching in my throat as a voice sounds from behind me. Turning around, I place my hand on my chest, closing my eyes for a brief moment.

"You scared the shit out of me." I breathe.

"You're the one in my room." Parker deadpans, narrowing his eyes at me as he places his gym bag at the end of his bed.

Oh my gosh, I completely forgot. I clear my throat, running a hand through my hair.

"I was looking for the play room." I announce, walking towards the door. "And I now know this isn't it."

"Yeah, sure you were." he murmurs.

"Shut up." I roll my eyes.

Just as I pass Parker, he grabs my wrist. I stop, turning back and looking at him.

"What?" I huff.

He looks at me, his eyes dropping down to my lips for a moment. My heart picks up pace a little. Parker pulls me in so our bodies are a safe distance apart, his figure towering over me. I've never felt so small. He lifts his hands, his eyes flickering between mine as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

My cheeks burns when he cups my chin, tilting it up towards him. I stare back at the boy in front of me, completely and utterly start-struck. He leans down a little, and every inch of my body is screaming at me to pull back, but I don't. Parker leans down, so close that his breath fans against my lips, and then he smiles.

He lets go of my chin, putting distance between us as he goes back to unpacking his bag.

"What the hell?" I breathe, talking to no one in particular.

"I just wanted to see." Parker says, glancing at me over his shoulder.

"See what?" I frown.

"If you like me." he hums. "I now see that you do."

Embarrassment creeps on to my face, making it hot and undoubtedly flustered.

"I do not." I huff, a little too quickly.

Parker glances back again, a little smirk on his lips.

"Play room is next door to Jack's."

I turn on my heels, taking the few strides towards the door before stepping out into the landing and pulling it shut behind me.

The embarrassment that was once on my cheeks, moves down to my chest. What an asshole.

I push the playroom door open, and sure enough, Jackson is on his stomach, a spotless iPad in his hands as he peacefully watches Paw Patrol. He's such a good kid.

He glances over as I shut the door behind me, giving me a small smile.

"Hi." he says quietly.

"Hey kid." I smile back, walking over and sitting beside him cross legged.

I don't disrupt him, letting him finish his episode in peace, before we resort to playing with Lego again. The door clicks open, bringing my eyes up to what looks to be a freshly showered Parker in the doorway.

"I'm going to James', okay Jack?" he announces to his little brother.

Jackson looks up from the toy car he's been building for the past 15 minutes, nodding. Parker's eyes turn to me for a moment, a blank expression on his face, before disappearing behind the door. I lick the top row of my teeth. I've never met someone so egotistical in my life. I'm beginning to wonder how sweet little Jackson is even related to such an egotistical jerk.

"Elena?"

I'm snapped out of my thoughts as a little finger taps my arm.

"Sorry, yeah Jackson?" I turn to him.

"Can we paint today?" he asks, playing with his sleeves.

I smile at him. "Sure. Lets's go."

He stands up, holding an outstretched hand and my smile widens as I take it.

"You can call me Jack." he says softly.