Chapter Eleven
He may look the part, but it turns out Isaac is nothing like the guys at Modrix.
He only uses buzzwords ironically and seems far more interested in talking about the Adagio piece on ghost ships I mention—as a paranormal aficionado, he’s stoked to read it.
Parker doesn’t weigh in much, taking up space like an uninvited observer, waiting for the next stupid thing I’ll say.
But I’m determined to redeem myself, nearly making it to the end of the conversation—until Isaac brings up the Rangers account and a string of athletes I’ve never heard of. And just like that, I’m lost.
“I should head back,” he declares, nodding to a group on the other side of the room. “It was lovely to meet you, Dani Tsai.”
“Surprisingly not terrible for an NFT dude,” I say to Parker. “And between you and me, a lot more pleasant than the only other guy I know at Venture Sports.”
“I have to ask, do you always travel with an entourage? You know, normally, people stop at a plus-one.”
“Don’t act like you aren’t ecstatic to add members to the fan club.” I order my second glass of wine and take a spiteful swig of it. “I was expecting Charlotte to fold—she does for every hot guy in a suit—but I thought Savannah was stronger than that.”
“Did you just call me hot?”
Shit. “I meant that in an objective way.”
Parker’s eyes light up with an unabashed smile. Torturously perfect. “You can just say you find me attractive.”
I stay mum. I guess my silence is implicit, because Parker doesn’t persist—he just grins, and I think that might be worse. In my mind, I’m winding up to open-hand smack myself. I can’t believe I walked right into that one.
“You going back out there anytime soon?”
I draw a lungful of air and look over my shoulder. Shiny dresses, shiny watches, and even shinier people. I don’t think I’ll ever feel like I belong here—or that I’d want to. I’m sure Savannah and Tae-woo are having the time of their lives. But me? I’m just going through the motions.
“In a second. I need to finish warming up.” I gesture to my wine glass. “That’s how these things usually go. It’s all about finding that equilibrium where you’re buzzed and outgoing, but not throwing up in the bushes.”
“Spoken like a seasoned pro.”
“Not really. I still don’t know how I ended up here, and to be honest, I could say the same for you. The only time I imagined you wearing a suit was at the draft.” It begs the question, and I let my curiosity get the better of me. “When did you stop playing?”
Almost immediately, I get the troubled sense that I shouldn’t have asked because Parker seems to withdraw as soon as I mention it. “Junior year. Think I only played two games that season before I quit.”
That’s odd. I’d assumed he played all throughout college. “Bad season for the team?”
He grins to himself. “No, they actually made it to the Rose Bowl that year.”
My brain scrambles to keep up. I can’t fathom what would cause the Parker Tran I grew up with to put a premature end to his football dreams. Then, I do the quick math in my head, and when it hits me, my stomach curls into a knot. “So, when I saw you last time in Silverpine, you’d already quit?”
“Yeah.”
“I see,” I say, still calibrating. “And then you got into marketing.”
“Turns out I’m not too bad at it.”
“Did you move to San Francisco because of the 49ers?”
“I moved because the sports market there had more to offer.” With a flash of a grin, he adds, “You remembered my favorite team.”
“Lucky guess,” I lie. When we were kids, Parker used to wear his Joe Montana jersey like it was a second skin. It’s hard to forget that. “Is that how you ended up at Venture?”
“Actually, I was doing marketing for a minor league team before I got an offer from them.” He rolls his shoulders. “Got any more questions? Or have I passed this round yet?”
I have a million more questions: Do you have amnesia? Or have you conveniently forgotten the time you left me high and dry? What happened to staying out of each other’s lives forever? But, to start, I ask, “Why did you invite me here tonight?”
It doesn’t throw him off, and instead he returns, “Why did you come?”
Because I lied to Dad that I had a shot at a shiny new job. Because I wanted Savannah and Tae-woo to see that I could hold my own in their world.
No. It’s because I was curious about what would happen once I saw Parker tonight.
I hold up my glass. “Free booze.”
“That isn’t free.”
“It is if it’s on Jerry Rodgers’s tab.”
We laugh, but I cut my amusement short because there’s no chance we’re sharing an amicable moment right now.
This alternate-universe Parker Tran has really thrown me for a loop.
I almost wish he’d say “Sike!” and tip my wine glass over.
At least then I’d know for sure I didn’t hit my head back at Picotea and dream all this in a coma.
“There you are, Parker Tran!” Striding over is a petite woman in an eye-catching gold dress, and everyone around us pauses to get a look.
Even the busy bartender steals a glance.
A corseted bodice hugs her slim figure, and her dark hair is a crown of flawless waves that a curling iron would never have the audacity to fry.
She leans against Parker’s arm. “Buy me a drink? You know what I like.”
He signals the bartender. “Um, was it a cosmo?”
“Espresso martini,” she pouts at him. Lifting a hand to his face, she smooths a strand of hair behind his ear. Parker leans back just enough to slip out of her reach, and I turn to face away. I feel like I’ve just witnessed a personal exchange I wasn’t meant to see.
“Min, this is Dani from Adagio, the magazine.” Unfortunately, he drags me back into their moment. “Min is in New York for a modeling gig.”
I shouldn’t be surprised that Parker’s already made friends in the city—some of the gorgeous-model variety.
“Hi,” I say with an inelegant wave of my hand.
“Love your dress,” gushes Min. “Who’s your stylist?”
“Oh, this was all the underhanded plotting of one Tae-woo Kang.”
“Hmm, I’ve never heard of him.” She scoops up her drink with one dainty hand, and with the other she produces a small piece of plastic. The logo is unmistakable—it’s been in my face all evening. A St. Regis key card. With a wink, she slips it into Parker’s jacket. “Forgot to return this last week.”
Oh. That kind of friend.
I watch Min go, noting every head that turns as she crosses the ballroom. Everyone but Parker, who’s fixed on his whiskey. “Your plus-one?”
“Nope,” he says. “I actually didn’t know she’d be here tonight.”
“You seem friendly.” Friendly enough for her to have seen the inside of your suite.
I look at his hair where Min tucked it behind his ear—his stupidly divine hair, as soft-looking as ever—and grip my wine glass a little tighter.
“I wouldn’t want her to get the wrong idea if I keep you preoccupied too long. ”
“I think you’re the one getting the wrong idea.” He takes a sip. “Some of the guys from Venture introduced us, but it’s nothing serious. I don’t exactly do that.”
“Don’t do what?”
Parker lowers his glass. “I don’t date, and I don’t do relationships.”
“I see,” I mumble lowly. That’s so very .
. . Parker Tran. I remember now that although he went on a lot of dates in high school, Parker never had a serious girlfriend back home.
I always figured he’d meet some poor, unsuspecting cheerleader-type in college and then con her into a relationship.
They’d have a wedding in Portland—none of the venues in Silverpine would be grand enough—with footballs for centerpieces, and Parker would ride down the aisle in his Jeep.
“I guess some things never change,” I muse.
“I was just thinking that about you.”
Maybe it’s because I’ve felt at odds with myself all night, being somewhere I clearly don’t belong, but it nettles me to hear that from him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He tilts his head to the scene behind us. “An event full of New York elites and you’re talking to the guy you’ve known since you were seven.”
“There has to be another option between feeding myself to the sharks and—” I press my lips together. “Silverpine’s finest export of asshole.”
He makes a dry sound, taken aback. “How am I an asshole?”
“You called me a bridge troll!”
“That was a joke!” Parker shakes his head. “I mean, look at you.” His eyes scan me at length, and the expression he makes is unfamiliar to me. “You probably haven’t noticed it, but every guy has been wondering who you are since you walked in.”
I feel my face bloom hot again. “Time out. Don’t think for a second that I haven’t realized how weird this is.” With my finger I point back and forth between us. “We are not friends anymore. Don’t you remember how we left things in Silverpine?”
Parker leans forward and seizes my hand midair. I freeze at his touch. His voice is low and husky, and it does something maddening to me. “You don’t think I can play nice?”
I can’t speak because he’s still holding my hand. My heart is a jackhammer in my chest. I look at his lips for a fraction of a second and then look away. What the hell is happening?
Anxiously, I muster my words. “We hated each other.”
“I didn’t hate you.”
Full stop. What? That doesn’t align with the history that I know.
Time seems to slow until he finally lets go of my hand, and I let it fall awkwardly to my side. Something electric shoots through me, and under my ribcage, it feels stuffy and tight.
I’m still thinking about how Parker’s hand felt on mine—big, warm, and alarmingly soft—when Tae-woo arrives at the bar counter. He leans over the corner and orders a boulevardier.
“Tae-woo, let me know when you want to check out that new spot in Koreatown,” Parker says breezily. “I’m always up for a few rounds of somaek.”
“Yeah, I’ll hit you up.” No way he broke the impenetrable Tae-woo. We work five feet away from each other but have never even grabbed a coffee together. “Just a heads up: I can drink you under the table, pretty boy.”
“I’ll try my best to keep up.” Parker’s laugh is an airy, amazing sound, and I am so very bitter.
Tae-woo steps away with his drink, but he stops to regard us once more. His gaze lingers for an uncomfortable stretch, jumping between our expectant faces.
“What?” I demand.
“Have you two ever fucked?”
Parker chokes on his drink. My heart catapults into my throat.
“No, you debauched gremlin!” I shriek, begging the pits of hell to open up and swallow Tae-woo whole.
“Thought I picked up on a vibe, geez.”
“Sorry.” I panic, trying and failing to regain some composure once Tae-woo has left. “He likes to make fun of me because I haven’t gotten laid in, like, six months.” Now why the fuck did I volunteer that information?
Inside my head is a montage of war footage accompanied by a symphony of gunfire and missiles.
I want to shrivel up under the bar or drown myself in a fountain somewhere—in a hotel this fancy, there’s got to be a fountain, right?
Then I remember the key card Min was holding, the one that opens a suite in this very building, where she and Parker have already hooked up.
Now the image of Parker having sex has replaced the warfare in my head.
Flashes of muscle, the enormous bare arms of a former quarterback, and oh yes, more muscles.
My breathing picks up and warmth runs through me, all the way to my fingertips.
Against my better judgment, I chance a glimpse at him. He’s gone suspiciously quiet.
The tips of his ears are red—in fact, most of his face is red.
His bottom lip is wedged between his teeth, and he seems determined not to look at me.
My gut is turning inside out, like I’m dropping from the highest point of a rollercoaster.
I’m horrified at the possibility, but if his thoughts are anything like mine, then—
“Oh my god, please don’t picture me having sex.”
“What? I—I’m not.” I can’t help but notice the way he loosens his tie and how much redder his ears are. “I wasn’t.”
I remember, suddenly, that there was once a time when I wanted Parker to kiss me.
It was our senior year, on the night of the very last game of his high school football career.
My first time riding in the Jeep. When he pulled up to my house, a strange thing occurred.
I can still recall his hand on my face and the pulse of anticipation that came with it.
Maybe it was because I’d watched The Spectacular Now the night before, but I’d convinced myself something was about to happen—and I had secretly wished it would.
He didn’t kiss me. But the Parker standing here now feels like the same one from that night.
“Dude, have you been here the whole time?” A man in a navy blue suit throws an arm around Parker’s shoulders. Blue eyes take a full inspection of me, with no attempt at being subtle. “Is that Valentino?”
“Don’t tell me—the Madison Square Garden guys are here?” Parker grouses.
“If we want to sweeten the Rangers deal, we might as well move while they’re hammered.”
“Fine, I’ll see what I can do.” Parker downs the rest of his whiskey and secures his tie as the other man launches off ahead of him. “Looks like I’ve been tagged back in.”
“Do your thing, boy wonder.” I cringe after I say it.
Parker is a few steps away before he calls out to me. “Dani.”
I turn around.
“In case I wasn’t clear . . . you look beautiful.”