Parker: She said no. I’ve never recovered.
I press my lips together fighting a smile.He can take some jokes at his expense. So far I haven’t said anything terrible.
Me: And now I can stop picturing tiny cowboy boots and a bowl cut, so thanks for that.
Parker taps the like emoji, but doesn’t message back.
Next one.
Me: Apparently you fought a garden snake with a plastic sword.
Me: A knight with plastic armor. Glad it wasn’t poisonous.
Parker: I killed it. I stand by the decision to use as little force as necessary.
Me: That’s on brand for you.
Me: Were you wearing cowboy boots?
Parker: Absolutely. I’m a tough guy. Rugged.
I drop my head into my chest, heat creeping up my neck. This back and forth all seems so normal like we’ve been talking and texting forever.
Uh oh. There’s more.
Me: You are. I felt those ridges.
I close my eyes and hope it says not delivered.
Why would I say that?
Parker: That sounds like a compliment. I’ll take it.
Me: Don’t let it go to your head.
Parker: Too late. The blood is rushing to it now.
Me: Stop.
Parker: You started it. But seriously, you’re causing me to have a constant boner. I’m at a sports bar with a friend and I can’t stand up.
I bite my lip, something soft curling in my chest despite the embarrassment and I scroll again.
Parker: You okay?
Parker: Do you need a ride home?
That stops me and I stare at the screen for a second longer than necessary. Because this feels like the Parker from his house. One that listens and cares. Not the guy from college.
He’s steady. Checking in on me. Not pushing.
Me: Already ordered car service. I’m very responsible.
Parker: That’s debatable. Tonight anyway.
I huff out a breathylaugh.
Me: I’m always responsible.
