Page 55 of Parker

I have a good mental image to draw from—of Parker kissing her prom date in front of me a few years ago. I remember the way her eyes had fluttered closed, the way her fingers had threaded through his hair, the way she’d leaned up on tiptoes because he, like me, was taller than her.

Now I switch the image in my head, and I imagine it’s me kissing her. It’s me touching her face. It’s my tongue sliding relentlessly against hers.

My orgasm imminent, I cup my balls, full and firm with cum, still stroking my dick with my other hand. My balls tighten, then spasm repeatedly before relaxing, releasing a milky stream of semen that spurts from my cock onto the shower wall.

Resting my head against the tile, I catch my breath before opening my eyes and finishing my shower.

Don’t waste time.

I won’t. As soon as I see her downstairs, I’m asking her out.

Twenty minutes later, I’m in the convention center, beelining down our shared aisle to her table, and both terrified and relieved when I see her there, already setting up. I stop in front of her, hands on my hips.

“Hi.”

When she looks up, her eyes widen. Her tongue darts out to lick her lips. My balls, which were just emptied, fill and tighten. You’d need a chainsaw to cut the sexual tension between us, and it gives me hope.

“Hi. G-Good morning.”

“I want to take you out on a date,” I tell her without preamble.

She blinks at me. “A date?”

“Yeah. A real one.”

“When?”

“Tonight.”

She stares at me for a second, then nods.

“Pick me up at six.”

Yes!“See you then.”

***

As it turns out, anticipating the first real date with the love of your life isn’t a terrible way to spend eight hours. When the convention doors close at four o’clock, I’ve had enough downtime between sessions and visitors to plan a pretty awesome date, too.

I’ll pick her up at six with flowers, and at six-ten, I’ve arranged for a limo to be waiting for us downstairs. The limo will take us to the Legacy Club at Circa, where I arranged a private table for us with views of Las Vegas and our own firepit. After champagne there, the limo will take us to NoMad Library, a cool restaurant with leather booths, dim lighting and floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Since reading is the Stewart family’s favorite winter pastime, the aesthetic is perfect for Parker. She’ll love it. And finally, after we’ve been watered and fed, the limo will drive us back to the Aria, where I will be a perfect gentleman and walk her to her room, hoping—every step of the way—that she’ll invite me to come inside.

We’ll see what happens.

I head up to my room and shower again, this time without jerking off, and iron my last remaining pair of khaki pants that I’m supposed to wear for the final two days of the convention. But I’m more concerned with looking nice for Parker tonight, so I arrange to have an already-worn pair dry cleaned by tomorrow for a ridiculously expensive twenty-five dollars.

I trim my beard and shave the rest of my face the way she likes it, skip the aftershave she hates, in fact, I throw the wholebottle away—I haven’t used it once since I got to Vegas anyway—and by five-forty-five, I’m ready to roll.

First, I go downstairs to the lobby florist and pick up a pre-arranged bouquet of pink roses. I don’t actually know what her favorite color is, but she used to like bubblegum ice cream from the Krazy Kone when we were little, and the flowers are approximately the same color.

Remembering her room number from having the turtle charm delivered there, I knock on her door precisely at six, and she opens it a second later. I barely get a glimpse of her as I enter the suite but hear her call out from the bedroom or bathroom area to the left.

“Give me two more minutes, okay?”

“Sure,” I say, as a hair dryer roars to life.

Parker’s room is a considerable upgrade from mine. On a higher floor, her view’s a lot better, but she’s also got a lot more space. Where I just have a nice-sized hotel room, she’s also got a living room with a seating area, business desk and wet bar, and a door that leads back to her bedroom and bathroom. The perks of coming to Vegas more often, I assume, standing at the windows to take in the view.

“I’m ready.”

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