Chapter Fifteen
I’ve been home for all of three hours and have been screaming into my pillow for two and a half.
When I woke up at the St. Regis, in the enormous expanse that was Parker’s bed, he was still sound asleep.
As much as I would’ve liked to appreciate the sight of his abs peeking out from under the covers or the way his hair looked adorably tousled against his forehead, I was also dreadfully aware that the naked man next to me was Parker freaking Tran.
After releasing a silent scream from the chasm of my soul, my body kicked into flight mode. A siren blared in my brain, and I’d entered a code-red emergency state with one option: evacuate. I jumped into my dress and scurried out of the massive suite before Parker could wake up.
Now that I’m home, I’m determined to stay holed up in my apartment, face down in a pillow, until my spirit ascends to another plane of existence.
It all comes back in waves, and I’m forced to relive our night of sin—pure, carnal sin.
Every time I remember the taste of Parker’s lips, his big hands running up and down my body, the heat of his skin against mine, my heart performs a full gymnastic routine in my chest and forces a ghoulish cry out of me.
How could this have happened? Did I hop universes again? Or maybe I’ve branched into another timeline—a very dark, very sexy, deeply horrifying timeline.
I curl up into a ball and draw a deep breath.
Let’s think about this rationally, Dani.
I had a few glasses of wine and some champagne in me, but I wasn’t drunk.
There was also that almost apology in the elevator, but that left me stumped, rather than having the effect of sweeping me off my feet.
Regardless, the confusing truth is that I did, in fact, want to hook up with Parker.
I mean, I was the one who kissed him in the elevator.
I unroll from the safety of my little ball and stare blankly at the wall.
Why did I kiss Parker?
Last night, I learned three world-shattering truths:
One: Parker thinks I’m pretty. Beautiful, even.
Two: Parker didn’t hate me back in college.
Three: Parker is really, really good in bed.
My skin burns, radiating warmth under the covers.
A montage of our night in the suite plays again in my head, this time like a thrilling football highlight reel.
But honestly, the whole night felt like one long highlight, with Parker expertly taking me to a winning touchdown.
Once, twice, and okay—four times, to be exact.
All thanks to the honed proficiency of his hands and mouth, hitting every pleasure point and unraveling me by the end of our .
. . well, I’m not sure what to call it. Crimes against humanity feels about right.
He’d single-handedly eclipsed every sexual experience I’ve ever had—and that’s not even counting his endurance.
Even if Parker doesn’t play football anymore, he could’ve fooled me.
But the most impressive feat? What he brought out of me.
It was like I was so game to keep up with him, I became a version of myself that was more confident, sexier, and wilder.
I’ve never had sex like that before.
Is all his prowess owing to years of experience as a hot, eligible bachelor?
I’m suddenly reminded of our conversation by the bar: Parker doesn’t do relationships.
And he’s only in New York for a few months.
Also worth noting: He keeps a box of condoms in his hotel suite.
Who knows how many key cards he’s handed out to women in Manhattan alone?
There’s a sharp jab under my breastbone when it occurs to me that Parker might not be freaking out about last night the way that I am.
Maybe he hasn’t spared it a second thought. Maybe he’s already moved on.
I pat around the duvet without lifting my head until I locate my phone. It’s a little past eleven. Parker is probably awake by now. Shoving the thought aside, I pull up my chat with Savannah.
Me: I’m so sorry I left you! Did you get home safely?
Savannah: Don’t worry girl, Tae-woo and I split an Uber. But what I need right now is the tea!!! What, or WHO, did you do last night?
I let out a small, anguished whine and throw a pillow over my face. A few minutes pass, then my phone vibrates again. Expecting it to be Savannah, I scream and drop the device when I see Parker’s name on the screen instead.
Parker: Can we talk?
No three words have ever struck greater fear in me. The idea of packing up everything, joining a convent, and turning away from my life of sin crosses my mind. But I stare at the text, and with a shaky breath, I type in my reply.
Me: Now?
I wedge my thumb between my teeth. He’s not going to call, is he? I’m not sure if I can speak to him right now. I wouldn’t even know what to say.
Parker: I’ll come to you. Are you at home?
I think about it, then send him the address of a café a few blocks away.
My apartment isn’t the place to do this, as I’m certain this won’t be a conversation I want to relive every day that I wake up here.
After willing my soul back into my body and with a farewell to my days of sanity, I head out to the café.
My leg is shaking violently against the foot of a cold metal chair as I wait for Parker to arrive.
Why did I think it would be a good idea to take a seat on the patio?
Every time a cab pulls up next to me, I expect Parker to appear, and it sends my heart into chaos.
I haven’t even touched the Americano I ordered, which was another poor decision, because the last thing I need is for the caffeine to give my heart a beat down too.
Although, if being sent to the ER means I can avoid facing Parker right now, this could work to my advantage.
Another cab pulls up to the curb, flooring the gas pedal on my heart. I’m just about to get up and find a seat inside when Parker steps out of the vehicle. I sit my butt down in one swift movement, my spine instantly ramrod straight.
The first thing I notice is that he isn’t wearing a suit.
It shouldn’t come as a surprise, since it’s a Saturday, and I’m sure that even if bro-juice runs through his veins, he still has his casual days.
The second thing I notice—are you fucking kidding?
—is that he’s wearing gray sweatpants. After the night we just had, did he really have to wear gray sweatpants now?
It’s like he’s flaunting that thing at me.
With the combined strength of my ancestors, I force myself not to stare at his crotch as he takes a seat across the table.
But now my libido has been kickstarted, and I’m imagining myself ripping those sweats off him and mounting him in his chair.
Only once I’ve hauled my mind out of the gutter do I notice that Parker is frowning.
“I can’t believe you ran away. You just left before we could even talk about what happened.”
It feels like being blindsided, and it takes a few beats before I can pull together any kind of response. “Are you seriously giving me shit about running away? After what you did?”
“I knew you were going to throw that in my face.” He closes his eyes and exhales. “So, what was this? Some big revenge plot? Were you going to sleep with me and never see me again?”
“Of course not!” I exclaim. “I left because I didn’t know what to say to you. I panicked and needed some time to figure out what the fuck is going on.”
“And what did you figure out?”
I review everything from my earlier meltdown: I still don’t know why I kissed Parker, but I do know we had mind-blowing sex. I think, maybe, I’ve mastered quantum jumping between universes. Oh, and Parker doesn’t do relationships. Parker doesn’t do relationships.
“I think we both got caught up in a moment, in the nostalgia. But it was . . .” I swallow, shifting my gaze to the view over his shoulder.
I can’t tell if my heart is racing anymore because all I feel is a wrenching constriction in my chest. “It was just a one-time thing, right? You said yourself that you don’t do relationships. ”
Parker doesn’t respond right away. I can see his face change, his brows pulling together, but I can’t decipher any of it. He pockets his hands in his hoodie and looks at the space between us—like he’s not really focusing on anything, just looking.
“That’s what I wanted to talk about. I’m only here for three months, and I don’t know what expectations you might have, but like I said, I’m not a relationship kind of guy—”
“I’m not expecting a relationship,” I cut in. Actually, I’m not sure what I’m expecting, but I know that sentence was going to end with a rejection. I don’t think I could survive Parker Tran rejecting me again.
Silence brings us to a standstill, and I begin to feel the gravity of the situation.
Maybe I shouldn’t have kissed him. We were finally starting to get along again.
I can’t see us ever recovering from this.
I mean, we’ve seen each other naked now—not to mention all the fun parts that came after.
Even if we try to pretend it didn’t happen, we’ll just be awkward around each other, until one day, we stop speaking and become strangers all over again.
“I knew it.” I put a hand over my forehead and mumble to myself. “I’ve slipped into the darkest timeline.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Have you ever watched Community? You know, ‘Remedial Chaos Theory’?” Parker stares at me, but his expression is giving me nothing.
“Never mind. The whole idea is that when you roll a die, you create six different timelines, and they all have the potential to yield unexpected results. Last night, after you said goodnight to me at the hotel, it was like I rolled a metaphorical die that led to six diverging timelines in our world.”
I see his confused blinks, but I barrel on.
“There could’ve been one timeline where I went home or one where I tripped on my dress and never reached the elevator in time or even a timeline where I grew robotic parts and flew over the city.
Anyway, it looks like we ended up in the timeline where . . . I kissed you.”
Parker props his elbows on his lap, and for a moment, he holds his head in his hands. I wait for him to say something, my breath stilled.
“So, you’re saying the darkest timeline is the one where you slept with me?”
My mouth drops. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Then what did you mean?”
He’s got me. Sometimes I don’t think before I speak, and other times I think way too much. This time, I wish I had thought a little more.
“God, Dani, are you seriously trying to blame the universe, or a die, or some stupid theory? You were the one who kissed me. Why can’t you take accountability for that?”
I wince at his tone, my face growing hot. “I don’t want to hear about accountability from you. You disappeared on me first. I waited for you for four fucking hours that day.”
“I get it. I fucked up eight years ago. But I’m trying, okay. I told you I’ve changed—”
“You’ve changed? You mean, by being nice to me for one night? You’ve changed because you called me beautiful and said all those confusing things in the elevator? How do I know this wasn’t your angle the entire time?”
“Trust me, Dani, this is the last thing I expected to happen between us.” His eyes are wide with alarm, telling me he’s disturbed by the implication.
“Do you really think I would trick you into sleeping with me? That was never my intention. Everything that’s happened, from the diner to the hotel, I thought .
. .” He takes a deep breath, raking a hand through his hair.
“I thought maybe we could be friends again.”
I look down at my sneakers. My leg is still shaking. The chilly autumn air bites at my face, but it doesn’t relieve the burning inside me. “I don’t know how to be friends with you anymore, Parker.”
“And that’s why it was okay to sleep with me?”
“What about this seems okay to you?” My lips curl, and I pull back in my chair. “If you’ve got it all figured out, then why don’t you tell me what last night meant to you?”
His jaw tenses. “It’s not that simple.”
“So then, what is there to talk about?”
Parker clasps his hands together and leans his forehead against them, quiet in his thoughts.
I was afraid that he’d be breezy about last night, but now I almost wish he’d brushed it off as just a fling.
In my head, I see a die rolling, landing on the version of me who stayed at the hotel this morning—the one who didn’t run away.
But truthfully, I’m not convinced this conversation would’ve gone any better had I stayed.
I get the eerie sense that either way, we’re doomed.
“You’re right.” Parker gives me one last unreadable look before he stands. “I’m not sure why I came here.”