Chapter Thirty-One
Parker’s suite at the St. Regis has a bathtub and separate standing shower.
On paper, this makes it the ideal setup for two people, unless they both have an aversion to baths.
Parker prefers showers because they’re quick and efficient.
I still have to commute from Union Square in the middle of December, so my first impulse upon arriving at the suite is to duck into a hot shower.
Unluckily for me, Parker is just getting back from the gym on a particularly chilly evening, and he stops me on the way to the bathroom.
“Can I go first? You take twice as long.”
“I’m about to freeze my toes off,” I protest.
“You’ll be fine. I’ll turn the heat up.”
“Surely you can wait half an hour.”
“Hmm.” He crosses his arms. Something flickers behind his eyes as he glances down at me. “Want to shower together?”
I was afraid it might be awkward, but there’s little time to feel self-conscious when being naked in close proximity allows instinct to take over.
Parker’s hands are exactly the warmth I need as he pins me against the cool porcelain wall.
He kisses me, and I open my mouth, taking in water at the same time that I taste his tongue.
There are few things in this world that taste better than Parker Tran.
I’ve had him fold me in every direction by now, but it takes a second to acclimate when he turns me around, bending me at the waist. The cascade of water feels like soft sighs on my back, and I don’t have to guess what’s next as he spreads my legs from behind.
I hear the sound of foil tearing and look down to see the condom wrapper float over the drain.
I’m both impressed and embarrassed that he had the foresight to bring a condom into the shower.
He’d already expected we’d end up this way, with me bent over in anticipation for him.
My teeth clench, and I let out a sharp gasp as he slides into me.
It’s so familiar to me now, and yet it still sends a bolt through my system.
His grip tightens on my hips, and my hand intuitively wraps around the shower knob for balance.
Every muscle in my body is quick to surrender to him, and my mind ascends even faster into the bliss of it all—water at the perfect temperature, pressure like a gentle massage, and the sensation of him moving inside me, deep and intense.
He lifts my leg skillfully, and when my back arches, it lets him hit a spot that sends me into dizzying ecstasy. He moves faster, over and over, until my knees nearly buckle, and a needy moan spills over my lips.
“Come for me,” he demands, and I do exactly that.
It seems to push him over the edge too, and I can tell he’s close when he slumps over me.
He lets out a sharp groan, low in his throat, like it’s dragged his soul out with it.
His breath comes down hot on my skin, but crawls over me like a cold rush.
I don’t think I’ll ever get used to hearing that sound.
A few more thrusts, and Parker slips himself out of me, sliding the condom off and finishing on the slick marbled floor.
Before we can deplete the hotel’s hot water supply, we leave the shower—now a steam chamber—an hour later. I’m lightheaded and searching for water in the minibar when both our phones buzz with a message alert.
“Reginald Cruz’s New Year’s Eve Bash,” I read off the screen in disbelief. The conversation at Parker’s office feels like so long ago, I was sure Reggie would’ve forgotten. “Are you going?”
Parker looks up from his phone, displaying the same event page. “Are you going?”
He waits for my answer as I take a long chug of water, considering my options.
I could stay in with Marisa and Shay, bingeing Abbott Elementary until someone says, Oh, look, fireworks, and we mumble, Happy New Year before refilling our wine.
We’ve had the same routine the last two years, and I haven’t had any reason to shake things up.
Or, I could spend New Year’s Eve with Parker before he returns to San Francisco—whenever that is.
The timeline he gave me was three months from October, which means we’re toeing the finish line now.
But he still hasn’t booked his flight or indicated when Venture wants him back home.
I half expect him to spring the news on me one day, as he has a habit of doing.
“I’m going to go,” I say. “Might be fun.”
He seems surprised, but only for a moment. Then he taps the screen and updates his status to Attending.
“This was a mistake.”
I throw cautious glances at the extravaganza before me, uncertain whether the smoke in the air is from a fog machine or if the venue’s actually on fire.
I can picture the space as a charming, exposed-brick loft in the daytime, but tonight, it’s transformed into yet another raging nightclub in Lower Manhattan.
Streaks of neon flash in my eyes, and I can feel the bass of a treacherously loud EDM track thudding beneath my breastbone.
There are too many people in New York. And why does it feel like they’ve all gathered here?
Every time the crowd erupts in whoops and cheers, I ask Parker what’s happening, and he tells me another pro athlete has just walked in.
Tucked away in our small corner booth, I try to make myself inconspicuous—a near impossible feat when Parker Tran is chaperoning you, and everyone wants to rub elbows with the golden boy. “What’s the game plan for tonight?”
Parker takes a sip of his whiskey ginger. “Well, I know better than to ask you to dance, and you’re avoiding the bar in case someone traps you in conversation. So, my guess is we’re not leaving this booth tonight.”
“You don’t have to stay with me,” I proffer. “I’m basically deadweight to you.”
Sitting across from me in a designer overshirt, his bangs swept back in that patented trying-without-actually-trying style, he looks like he’s exactly where he belongs.
“Strength in numbers. This is your first Reggie Cruz party, and I’d feel bad leaving you on your own.”
My phone stirs on the table suddenly, and I snap it up in a flash. A LINE notification appears on the screen from my only contact on the app.
“Is that Estelle?”
I shake my head as I open the message. Mom’s New Year’s greeting is written in Chinese, a generic message for good health and prosperity. I wonder how many of her relatives she’s copied and pasted the very same wishes to. I type a quick reply in English and send it off without too much thought.
Estelle and I have kept in touch since the Nets game.
She asked for my portfolio the other week, which has tied me up in a knot of tension—the good kind.
I know I shouldn’t expect a response so soon—last I heard, she was hopping from Vienna to Lisbon—but every buzz of my phone has me jumping in anticipation.
“She’ll get back to you after the holidays,” Parker reassures me. “Maybe a drink will help you relax. What do you want?”
“Can I get a hose hooked up to their vodka supply?”
“I’ll get you a gin and tonic.” He leaves before I can nag him for something stronger. If there’s any hope of making it through the night, let alone vacating this booth, I’m going to require more punch to my warm-up.
Like magic, a bottle of Belvedere lands with a clunk in front of me. I look to the ceiling. What the fuck, universe? But there’s a hand around the bottle’s neck, and it doesn’t belong to some phantom interference. It’s Reggie’s.
“Parker’s my boy, so it pains me to see him saddled to a corner booth at my New Year’s party.” He points squarely at me. “If that means making you drink until you’re fun, then so be it.”
“Look at that, I’m convinced.” I lick my lips as he twists the cap off the bottle. “This is why they pay you the big bucks at Venture.”
“That’s a good sacrificial lamb.” He rotates a chair before plonking down, legs on either side, because of course he sits like an edgy cartoon character. “So, what’s your deal? You listen to NPR? Still read a physical newspaper?”
“I—Yes, but only because I work in print media—”
“I’m just trying to gauge your vibe.” He lines up a row of shot glasses on the table. “Still weird that Parker brought a date.”
“Um, I’m not his date.”
“Don’t drink with him,” Parker cautions as he returns, handing me a gin and tonic. “Reggie, whatever you want from her, the answer is no.”
“I’m hurt, dude. Did you forget our code? Courtside tickets are for bros, not—”
“Reggie,” he says again, his tone a little sharper. “You made up that code yourself. Dani is my oldest friend; of course I’m going to take her to games.”
“Friend. Sure.” With a tight, polite smile, Reggie turns back to me. “Dani, how was your Christmas?”
“Um, it was fine. Parker came over to hijack my PS5 and played 2K all afternoon. Then we watched Moonstruck because I watch it every Christmas. We couldn’t agree on takeout, and neither of us wanted to cook, so we made hot pot with scraps from my fridge, and—”
I stop short, shifting to glance at Parker, who’s also gone mum.
These days, he’s been seeping into my daily life, little by little.
We’ve been seeing more of each other—less for sex and more to spend time together, doing everything and nothing in between.
You could call it our new normal, but I know how it all sounds to Reggie. I think Parker does too.
Sure enough, Reggie’s smirk is one of vindication—like I’ve just handed him the incriminating evidence he needed to rest his case. Without a word, he pours the Belvedere into two shot glasses and slides them to me and Parker.
“Don’t drink with him.” The warning comes from a second towering presence. Silhouetted by the glow of LEDs, the face is unrecognizable until Isaac Mehta is standing right next to our booth. “Parker, have you greeted our guest of honor yet?”
A tall blonde in a slip dress practically glides toward us, and I nearly choke on an ice cube. I know this face too. My familiarity is a byproduct of too much Instagram stalking—scrolling through beach selfies and Aston Martin–bikini photoshoots—which is exactly why I can’t admit I recognize her.
Suddenly, I miss when every face in the room was a stranger to me. This is a lot of Venture for one table.