Chapter Nineteen #2
He takes his jacket off and throws it over the arm of the couch. “Let’s play something. For old times’ sake.”
“Not what I meant when I said get undressed,” I mumble under my breath. Parker looks at me with muted excitement, and it reminds me of the fifth-grade boy who’d come over just to play Tekken. Or the time Dad bought Madden NFL for him, and he spent every day at our place for a week.
“You’re serious right now?”
“What? Afraid I’m going to school you?”
I level a glare at him and go over my options. I didn’t bring any of those relics from our childhood with me to New York. First-person shooter games are probably not a wise choice or anything that involves a fourteen-year-old calling us names over voice chat.
I pass him a Pro Controller for the Switch. “Mario Kart?”
I remember now: Parker sucks at games. I started with the intention of wiping the floor with him, but after he finishes dead last in three straight races, I begin to take pity.
I intentionally miss the boost at the start and abandon my drifting skills, but Parker is so inept, it doesn’t make a difference.
He can’t dodge a banana peel to save his life, and he drives off the course at every sharp turn.
All the NPCs lap him, and with minimal effort, I still manage to edge him out too.
“I thought athletes are supposed to have amazing hand-eye coordination.” I drop my controller to my lap. “How are you still this terrible at gaming?”
He ignores me and rolls each wrist, one at a time. “One more race.”
“Parker, this is getting embarrassing,” I say with pained patience. “And that was the last one of the Grand Prix.”
“Let’s start another one,” he presses, undeterred. Outside of sex and playing football, I’ve never seen him this focused. His determination is commendable, if anything, so with a sigh I pull up the main menu and set up another tournament.
Parker takes his time picking a character—not that it’ll matter, but I indulge him anyway.
As I watch him toggle between Luigi and Baby Luigi, my frustration starts to give way to the tiniest sprout of enjoyment.
It’s refreshing to see the perfect Parker Tran be the amateur for once.
And despite the absolute disgrace of his racing skills, he’s not being a sore loser. I think he’s actually having fun.
Somewhere between the old knowledge that Parker is still adorably terrible at video games and the new knowledge that he’s watched my favorite movie and didn’t hate it, comes the startling realization that spending time with him in a nonsexual capacity is .
. . not that weird. I wonder, though, if this is breaking some unspoken ground rule.
It’s been three weeks since our casual relationship began, and at present, our only mutual interest is sex.
As long as we both understand that, it should be fine for us to have a little fun with clothes on, too, right?
After he returns to San Francisco, we’ll be able to go back to our original timelines.
I can’t imagine us keeping in contact once this is over; friends or not, how are we supposed to carry on as normal after a three-month sex arrangement?
What would we even talk about? A year from now, this moment probably won’t even cross my mind.
It’ll be like none of this ever happened.
I lean over and take the controller from Parker’s hand, setting it on the coffee table.
I kiss his soft, parted lips before he can react.
The tension leaves his body almost instantly.
Inching closer, I trail a hand under his shirt and over his taut stomach before moving beneath the waistband of his boxers.
A sound slips past his lips, and a part of me wishes I could eat each and every one of his delicious moans.
Mario Kart is long forgotten when I climb off the couch and lower myself between his legs.
I pull him free from his pants and wet my lips, thanking my earlier self for the ponytail.
When I take him into my mouth, Parker sinks against the couch cushions.
His head falls back, his heavy breaths filling the air.
I have some confidence that I know by now how he likes to be touched and exactly what to do with my tongue to set him off like a live wire.
He grabs me by the back of my head, blunt nails applying pressure. With a muffled groan, Parker bucks his hips, and I meet him with the same fervor.
“Fuck, Dani. Fuck, you’re so good.”
I wonder if he noticed it too—how his breath hitched around my name, like he’d been holding it in, until it finally broke.
It stirs the desire in me to unravel the layers of composure that guard him, to remove his mask of perfection.
I want to chip away at his cool exterior until the playing field is level.
To see Parker Tran at the mercy of his instincts, no better than any ordinary man.
My lips drag over him greedily, moving in tandem with my hands. When he’s close, his grip tightens in my hair. “I’m going to come.”
Hot spurts hit the back of my throat. He twitches in my mouth, and I meet his gaze when I swallow thickly. I notice the way it makes his eyes cloud over.
It tells me that I have him right where I want him.