As Good as New

by Jennifer Dawson

  “And why should I?”

  As she walked toward him, he opened his legs. To his surprise, she stepped between them. “Because you owe me.”

  Desire roared inside him, mixing with the alcohol and making him stupid. She was so close. She felt like everything he needed. She made him remember what it felt like to feel human. Invincible. And he needed that right now.

  Unable to resist, he did something he’d sworn he’d never do again, and reached for her. His hands splayed wide over her hips and he tugged her forward, running his hands along the curve of her body. She felt achingly familiar and so good he leaned his head against her stomach and closed his eyes.

  A second later her fingers threaded in his hair. She didn’t push him away. Why, he didn’t know, but he was grateful.

  They’d been teenagers. She’d been his sister’s best friend. He’d been the star of the school and she’d been nobody. She hadn’t been flashy, or popular, or a cheerleader, like the girls he’d dated, but whenever she’d come over he couldn’t help noticing her. She hadn’t been someone the guys he hung out with talked about. At school Evan pretended like she wasn’t even alive, but secretly, he couldn’t stop looking at her in her neatly pressed, Catholic school uniform. He’d been strangely fascinated by her prim and proper demeanor, but he’d never planned on seducing her.

  That had just sort of happened.

  One night when she’d slept over and been unable to sleep, and not wanting to disturb Maddie, she made her way down to the basement rec room to watch TV. He’d been there, watching game tapes. She’d tried to leave, but he’d insisted she stay. He’d wanted her alone, to be with her even though he’d convinced himself he thought of her platonically.

  That night they’d ended up talking for hours.

  Somehow their late-night meetings had become ritual, and whenever she’d slept over they’d meet downstairs. They’d never discussed or planned it, but as soon as his sister went to sleep that’s where they’d be.

  The more they talked, the more he found himself telling her things he’d never told anyone. She didn’t seem impressed with his football stats. He didn’t have to play a role. With her, he hadn’t had to be anything but who he really was.

  It hadn’t taken him long to figure out she liked him, which hadn’t surprised him. Lots of girls liked him; what surprised him was how much he liked her. Not just the stirring of hormones he experienced when watching her, but her. Soon he had more fun sitting on that old couch than he had hanging out with his buddies.

  When he’d started canceling plans for a chance to be with her, it made him nervous. When he started fantasizing about corrupting her, he’d promised himself he’d never touch her.

  A vow he’d kept for six long months before he’d finally given in to temptation and kissed her.

  At the time he’d been going out with Kim Rossi, a girl who would let him do anything he wanted. But the sex hadn’t compared to what he’d been doing with Penelope, who held nothing back when he touched her. She’d been so sweet he couldn’t resist. Having broken his own rules, he’d revised his vow, making a new promise to leave her virginity intact. Anything else was fair game as long as he didn’t seduce her into sex. They’d spent endless hours fooling around. Evan could still recall every moment of sheer madness.

  The feel of her questing hands and hot, hungry mouth.

  Now she was here, and it seemed imperative he remind her how it had been between them. He ran his hands over her back, and kissed her flat stomach.

  She sucked in a breath and her body shuddered. “Evan.”

  He bit at the button on her blouse, tugging it with his teeth. “Do you remember, Penelope? How hot it used to be?”

  Her fingers tightened in his hair.

  “You made me so damn crazy.” He gripped her waist, and when he found an opening between the buttons, he licked her bare skin. She tasted even better than he remembered.

  She gasped, a tiny moan escaping a mouth he needed to possess.

  He popped the button, exposing a tiny strip of flesh, and he pressed a hot, openmouthed kiss to her belly. “How many times did you ride my cock with nothing but thin cotton separating us?”

  Hard, insatiable lust roared inside him, blocking out the buzz in his head, reminding him how powerful she’d made him feel. He ran his tongue over her belly button. “How many times?”

  “Countless.” Her voice breathless, that turned-on rasp of hers undeniable.

  He raised his head to take in the blaze of her blue eyes, the soft, wet pout of her lips. “Do you remember the first time we kissed?”

  Her nails dug into his neck. “I remember.”

  * * *

  His lips on her stomach, his tongue trailing over her skin was like coming home. She didn’t know why she let him touch her. Maybe it had been too long. Maybe it was because she wanted to feel his mouth on her skin and big hands on her body.

  Or maybe he was drunk and she gambled he wouldn’t remember, so she indulged herself.

  Regardless of her messed-up reasons, she needed to stop.

  This wasn’t why she’d come. But, as it had always been, the second she was alone with him, common sense eluded her. He’d always been her Achilles’ heel. He’d been the one person who could make her take wild, reckless actions.

  It’s why she stayed far away from him.

  And why she didn’t push him away now.

  His hands slid down her legs and under the hem of her skirt.

  She should stop him.

  She put her hands on his shoulders with the intention of pushing him away, but then his hands moved up her thighs, and her knees weakened. Somehow, through sheer will, she found the words she needed to say. “You need to stop this.”

  He lifted his chin and his green eyes bore into her. “Do you remember how you were always so damn greedy? Like you were going to crawl into me.”

  She gritted her teeth. She remembered. Everything. In vivid Technicolor.

  His fingers climbed higher on her thigh.

  Hot breath across her skin. Another lick across her belly.

  Her mind went fuzzy with the desire she’d suppressed for years.

  “God, you used to drive me so crazy.” The words whispered in that same sinful voice of both her fantasies and nightmares.

  She needed to get this back under control or she’d do something she’d regret.

  She steeled her spine. “Let’s get back on topic.”

  “What’s the topic?” His mouth brushed over her abdomen, making the muscles there quiver.

  “Your life. You need to pull it together, Evan.” Good, her voice sounded reasonably calm. Like she was in complete control and not affected by him. “You need to sober up, take a shower, and stop making your mom cry.”

  He gripped her legs and pulled her forward. “Come sit on my lap.”

  “No.” Her tone was certain, but she hadn’t stepped back to a safe distance. She’d always been a glutton for punishment where he was concerned.

  “I miss you in my lap.” His fingers brushed the hem of her panties at the curve of her ass. “I think you miss it too.”

  She closed her eyes, savoring the feel of his hands on her flesh for one last moment. His palms were so big and warm, and even as a teenager he’d known just how to touch her. The way no other man had touched her since, regardless of how bad she’d wanted it to be true.

  Which was why she needed to stop.

  She took a deep breath.

  Time to put an end to this and get to the heart of her visit. She snapped her lids open and put a hand on his arm. “You’ve had plenty of women warming your lap over the years. Call one of them.”

  “I don’t want them, I want you.”

  “Bullshit.” She pulled back. His fingers tightened on her body before they fell away. She felt the loss, the coldness of her skin where the heat of his palms had branded her. She stepped out of touching distance and put on her best poker face. The one she wore when negotiations weren’t g
oing well and she didn’t want to show her hand. “You’re drunk. You’re lonely. And I’m available. It’s the same damn story, only we’re adults instead of teenagers.”

  The desire slid from his face. He leaned back in his chair, his expression turning once again into the smug, entitled playboy. “You were always good for an ego stroke, Penny. Always so needy and willing.”

  “Fuck you.” She slapped him hard across the face, then reared back, stunned. Her hand tingled with the force of her blow.

  He rubbed his jaw and that cruel smile curled his lips. “What? You want me to pretend it meant something?”

  That was the thing about him. He’d been so damn good at making her believe. It was why she’d given him all of her firsts to begin with. Yes, he’d ignored her existence outside in the real world, but down in that basement, he’d made her believe. She’d been young and stupid. She’d deluded herself into thinking she was special.

  She’d been wrong. She’d never make the same mistake again.

  No longer a shy kid, she leaned forward and looked him dead in the eye. “I don’t believe a single thing that comes out of your mouth. I know you’re not capable of loving anyone or anything but yourself. I know you used me. I know it didn’t mean anything. I know I was just some little girl who worshipped you and you took advantage of that.”

  She straightened, on a roll now, releasing all the pent-up emotion she carried around with her. “But you know what? That’s on you. Not me. I was honest and I was pure. I gave you my heart and you threw it in my face.” She jabbed a finger in his chest. “That’s on you, and you’re the one who has to look at yourself in the mirror, which you obviously can’t or else you wouldn’t be drunk half the day.”

  He just stared at her, his eyes burning with what she could only define as rage. But she was past caring, and continued on, ruthless in her attack. “If it was up to me you could rot, but I’m not here for you. I’m here for them. For the family that you’re hurting with your selfish self-destruction.”

  “Are you through?” Tone cold, his green eyes flat.

  “No.” Her voice snapped through the air like a whip.

  His gaze never left hers as he took another long drink from the bottle. She wanted to snatch it from him and fling it across the room until it shattered, but that wasn’t her decision to make.

  He had to make the choice. Not her.

  She felt sick but continued. She crossed her arms over her chest. “You lost your career. I’m sorry. I know football was the only thing in your life you actually cared about. It sucks. I get it. But do the math, Evan: You’re thirty-three. You only really had a couple years left anyway. Football is a young man’s game and you were almost past your prime.”

  “That’s bullshit.” The words exploded, vibrating through the air. “I was at the top of my game.”

  She hated to do this, but there was no other way. “You had three more years, tops. The average age of retirement is thirty-five. In the scheme of things you lost two to three years. It’s not the end of the world.”

  “Get out,” he spat, leaving behind no traces of the man who’d touched her.

  Ruthless, she stepped forward and put her hands on the chair, bending so she was eye level with him. “Let me put this in words your football brain will understand. Stop being a pussy. Man up and get your shit together.”

  “Get out or I’ll throw you out myself.” His fingers drew so tight around the bottle she was surprised it didn’t crack under the force.

  She straightened. “I’ll show myself to the door.”

  She’d said what she’d needed to. The rest was up to him.

  Chapter Three

  Evan woke, face planted in his couch, with the worst hangover of his life.

  Everything ached. His head pounded against his skull like a jackhammer and it felt like his stomach was being eaten from the inside out by battery acid. Slowly, carefully, he sat up, his joints creaking on the way. Vision swimming, he rested his elbows on his knees, praying for a swift, sudden death. He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, before pressing his thumbs into his eye sockets, hoping to clear the cobwebs from his brain.

  What in the hell happened last night? All he remembered was the bottle of whiskey, Call of Duty, and darkness.

  A flash of memory. Of Penelope. He frowned.

  Had she been here? Or had it been a dream? He still dreamed of her sometimes, but usually he dreamed of her the way she’d been back then, her glossy hair spread out over his chest, her blue eyes flirting up at him.

  The image in his head this miserable morning was of her in one of her pencil skirts and a white blouse. The current version of her that looked at him with cold eyes, lips curved in distain.

  Why would she come here? She never came to him. Not even when he’d been in the hospital.

  He blinked gritty lids and tried to piece together the dull memories of the night before. He remembered he’d started drinking at four when Maddie had called, full of pleading tears.

  He’d caught a buzz by the time James called and tried to reason with him.

  He squinted. Remembering the endless hours of whiskey and gaming.

  His mom called. He’d yelled and made her cry. He’d felt like shit. Worse than shit.

  He’d drunk more.

  The door.

  Penelope. Yes, she had been there. Standing in his house, making him confront things he wanted to bury.

  His encounter with her came flooding back, and for a moment he thought he was going to be sick. After all these years she’d come to him, and he’d been a total bastard. Had he really said those things to her? Touched her? Been cruel?

  He rubbed his cheek. She’d slapped him and he’d deserved it. Had he really told her she was good for an ego stroke? That she hadn’t meant anything to him?

  Jesus, he was an asshole.

  She was right; he couldn’t look at himself in the mirror.

  She’d been nothing but good, which is why he’d set her free that morning after the car accident that killed his father and left his sister in a coma, when he’d been out of his mind with grief. As a teenager he’d had no willpower when it came to her, and with his life in ruins and college on the horizon, he was sure there was no place for her. So he’d done the only thing he’d known would work, and broken her heart. Between his father’s sudden death, his sister’s life hanging on by a thread, and the cruel way he’d treated Penelope, it had been the worst day of his life.

  After he’d shattered everything that had been good between them, he’d never let his guard down around her again.

  She was too dangerous.

  At seventeen he’d assumed she’d fade out of his life, but that never happened. She’d stuck. When he saw her he played his role and she played hers. They never discussed their past. Hell, they made sure to never be alone. But he found ways to remind her. Because he was a selfish prick, and he never wanted her to forget.

  She never took it though. She always hit back. As she should. She’d hit hard last night, and he’d deserved it.

  Unlike his family, who treated him with kid gloves, Penelope had laid it right on the line, confronting him with the cold, hard truth. Everything she’d said was right.

  He was mourning a career that was almost over.

  He was spoiled.

  Entitled.

  He had no idea how to go about filling the void. So like a pussy, he’d folded.

  He looked around his wreck of an apartment.

  His dad would be so disappointed. He’d never have let him get away with this shit.

  Evan took a deep breath and picked up the phone. First things first. He pushed the button and called his mom. She answered on the second ring. “Evan, please tell me you’re okay.”

  Her desperate, concerned voice made his chest squeeze.

  He squinted at bottles, empty cups, and dirty dishes lining the coffee table and tried to clear the tightness from his throat. “I’m sorry about last night.”

  “It’s okay,
” she said, her motherly tone far too forgiving.

  “No, it’s not.” He dragged his hand through his hair, grown too long now. “I’m sorry I made you cry.”

  “You were upset.”

  “It’s not a good excuse.”

  “We’re so worried about you.” Her voice cracked and he felt like the worst kind of asshole.

  “Please, Mom, don’t cry.” How had he let it get this far?

  She sniffed and he could just picture her, holding up a tissue under her lashes. He’d always hated to see her cry.

  “I don’t know what to do to help you,” she said.

  Penelope’s words came back to him, that his behavior was on him, and him alone. To her, there was a right way to act and a wrong way. Unlike him, she had the strength to put her money where her mouth was. She was like Shane that way, steel spines and gritty dispositions that would not quit in the face of adversity. “There’s nothing you can do. I’ve got to figure this out on my own.”

  “It’s hard, as a mother. I want to fix it and make it all better.”

  “You can’t fix my head or me, and you can’t let me treat you like shit because of it.” It was a start, a small one, but it would have to do.

  “Language, young man,” she said, reprimanding him like the good old days.

  A smile ghosted his lips and it made him realize just how long it had been. “I’ll find a way to pull it together.”

  “I just want you to be happy.”

  Happiness seemed too insurmountable of a goal right now, but there was one promise he could make and keep. “I won’t make you cry again. Deal?”

  “Deal. I love you, baby boy. Let us help you. We’re your family.”

  His throat tightened again and he nodded. “I’ll try. Love you too, Mom.”

  He hung up and looked around his apartment. It was a fucking disaster. The easy thing to do was call his service and have them take care of the place, but he wasn’t going to do that. He’d made the mess; he’d clean it up.

  It was time to get his shit together. Time to make amends.

  * * *

  Penelope curled up on her couch with a glass of wine and a book in her lap. It had been a long, exhausting day. She opened it with every intention of reading, only to promptly zone out, thinking about Evan. She’d been busy enough to put the scene from her mind, but now that she finally had a chance to relax, it rushed back to last night.