by Kim Jones
The air between the two of us starts to suffocate me. I want to end this bullshit banter, jump off this crappy little stage and launch myself into Jake’s arms. I want him to hold me and kiss me and tell me he loves me. But even though I understand why he said what he said, and even though he’s here, a part of me still wonders if it’s possible for this guy—my very own That Guy—to love…me.
“Why did you run, Penelope?”
The entire room holds their breath as they wait for my answer. I consider lying, but my walls are crumbling. I’m exhausted. And drunk. And stiff from trying to hold my posture.
I let my shoulders slump forward and hold onto the mic stand. “I can’t do casual, Jake.” A weight I didn’t realize I was carrying lifts from my shoulders.
“So tell me what you want.” He says it so simply. But it’s not that simple.
“I don’t know.”
“Yes you do. What do you want, Penelope? What do you want…what do you want!?”
Okay. Now I see why he found that scene so annoying.
He asks me again and I lose my shit and half scream/half sob, “I want the song!”
His head tilts slightly as he studies me. “Your elevator song?”
Hiccup. Sniff. Snort. Deep breath. “Yes. I want a guy who will walk five hundred miles for me.”
“I’ve walked five hundred miles five times over going up and down those fucking stairs with you.”
Truth.
“Well, I also want a guy who will wake up with me every day. And some of those days may not be in his penthouse apartment overlooking Chicago. They might be in Nowhere, Mississippi, in a one-bedroom apartment, above a workshop, overlooking my mom’s backyard.”
He shrugs. “Done.”
It can’t be that easy.
“We live a thousand miles apart.”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“I’m not always going to want to go to your business meetings to win you clients.”
I’m grasping at straws here….
He smiles. “Then you can just go for the alcohol.”
“You don’t even know anything about me.”
“I know everything about you. Background check, remember?”
Shit.
“I know nothing about you.”
He lifts a brow.
Hiccup.
“What are you so scared of, Penelope?”
Fuck it.
“I don’t want to love someone more than they love me.”
“Not possible.”
“I’m not easy to love, Jake.”
His deep, rumble of laughter can be felt in my toes. Then, in a voice as equally sincere as his gaze, he tells me a truth that rocks my damn soul. “Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”
Oh. My. God.
Is this were a book, that would be the most highlighted line in it.
“I love you, Penelope Lane Hart. You’re my That Girl.”
I’m not sure how long I’ve been standing here swooning, just feeling my ovaries explode inside me and my heart swell to the point of bursting. But it’s long enough for Jake to grow annoyed.
“For fuck’s sake, Penelope. Are you going to say it back or not?”
“Oh. Yeah. Right. I lo—“
Hiccup.
“Shit. Let me start again.” And as easy as I breathe, I tell him, “I love you too, Jake Swagger.”
He smiles. Like God just granted him the greatest gift in the world. Well, I mean, he kinda did.
“Get your ass down here and kiss me.”
I do. Nearly break my neck in the process, but he catches me. Because that’s what he does.
Then he kisses me.
And it’s just like all our kisses—hot, sweet, toe-curling perfection.
I’ve missed him.
I love him.
He knows it.
And guess what?
He loves me too.
Jake dips his head and places his mouth at my ear so he can be heard over the cheering bar crowd. “So what happened after he climbed up the tower and rescued her?”
This motherfucker…
I’m not Vivian. He’s not Edward. This isn’t Pretty Woman. This is a story about a writer who found her muse. Her That Guy. Who ended up falling in love. Running from love. And, of course, trusting that love would come chasing after her.
Totally cliché.
And every bit as real as any story can be.
But our story doesn’t end with the words, and they lived happily ever after. And it sure as shit doesn’t end with some lame ass line about how she rescues him right back. Matter of fact, there are no words at all. Because words can’t express the love and shit we feel between us.
So I pull away and give my That Guy what he wants—the beginning of our future and the ending of this story in true Penelope fashion.
Finger snap.
Finger guns.
River dance.
Epilogue
Cam
Love is an enigma.
You never know when. You never know who. You never know how.
It just happens.
Thank fuck it’s never happened to me.
I can’t imagine being the pussy-whipped, cloud-floating, emasculated, river dancing vagina Jake has become. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy he’s happy. But I miss the days when he used to walk away when Penelope called. Or at the very least, cover his mouth in an attempt to shield me from the you hang up first, no you hang up first bullshit banter between the two of them. It gave me hope that my friend still had his balls.
But it’s been three months since he confessed his love to his woman in a bar somewhere down in Mississippi. Now, he doesn’t even try to be a man. And I’m pretty fucking sure if he does still have any balls, they’re not hanging below his dick. They’re tucked neatly inside Penelope’s purse so she can take them out and squeeze them whenever she feels the need to remind him who’s in charge.
Shit’s gotten so bad that I look forward to the days when they fight.
Like today.
“For fuck’s sake, Penelope. I said no.”
In the quiet of the car, I can hear her response clearly through the phone.
“You have plenty of money. It’s not like you’re poor.”
“No. I’m not poor. Because I go to work every day. And I do have plenty of money. But I won’t if you keep trying to give it away.”
“If I don’t make good on my promise to God and he makes me die a horrible death, that’s on you. Until then, me and my vagina will be in the guest room.”
“Don’t say vagina—” He stares down at his phone. “She fucking hung up on me.”
“Imagine that.”
“She claims she made a deal with God and now she has to give money to charity. My money. And she thinks everyone is a charity case. Right now, she’s trying to give one of my Rolexes to Alfred. Do you have any idea how much I pay that old man? Trust me. He can buy his own fucking Rolex.”
“So did she give him the Rolex?”
He sighs. “Probably. She’s always doing crazy shit like this behind my back.”
I laugh. As much as I’d hate to deal with a girl like Penelope on a regular basis, I can’t deny that she’s perfect for Jake. He needed someone to ground him. She needed someone to love her. The two of them could play the leading roles in one of those Boy-meets-girl-love-at-first-sight-romance-novel-turned-movie.
“Did I tell you that her and my grandfather went to play laser tag last week? Fucking laser tag. He’s never done shit like that with me.”
I look away. “I had no idea.”
“You went too, didn’t you?”
“Maybe…”
“You son of a bitch.”
“What? It was Penelope’s idea. And say what you want, but that girl is fun to hang out with. We would’ve invited you but you’re too competitive. Nobody wants to play with a sore loser, Jake.”
“You probably helped talk her into begging me to go to
Africa too, didn’t you?”
I shake my head. “Hell no. You were right. Penelope in Africa would be a complete clusterfuck.”
“Good. Because she’s not going. I put my foot down with that one.”
I snort. “Yeah. Clearly you run shit.”
The car comes to a stop in front of Jake’s apartment all too soon. “And, just so you know, I’m not looking forward to entertaining myself while you spend the next five minutes fighting with Penelope. And then the next hour having make up sex. But we have business to handle this evening that can’t wait. Or else I’d let you go in alone and find my own woman to piss off just so I could fuck her until she forgot why she was mad in the first place.”
“We’re not having make-up sex.”
“That’s what you always say.”
“I mean it this time.”
“Sure you do.”
“I’m going to propose.”
My hand stills on the door.
Wasn’t expecting that.
Jake pulls something from his pocket. When he opens the velvet box in his hand, I have to squint against the light reflecting off the biggest goddamn rock I’ve ever seen. I lift a brow and meet his gaze. “You sure about this?”
“Never been more sure about anything in my life.”
He doesn’t look the least bit anxious. There’s no room for uncertainty in his eyes because those motherfuckers are just brimming with love. And as much as it pains me to admit it, I couldn’t be more proud of him.
I lean in to give him one of those one-armed man hugs. “Congratulations, man.”
“You’ll be my best man?”
I pull back and smirk at him. “Planning the wedding already, are we? What next? You going to ask me for a tampon or to braid your hair?”
“Fuck you.” Grinning—like a man in love—he snaps the box closed and tucks it inside his jacket.
“Yeah. I’ll be your best man. If she says yes.”
“She’ll say yes.”
“You never know…”
“Cam.” He levels me with a look. “We’re talking about Penelope. She’s been planning our wedding since she broke into my house. I’m surprised she hasn’t proposed yet.”
I’m still laughing at that when the door opens and Alfred greets us. My eyes fall to the Rolex on his wrist and I laugh harder. The noise attracts the attention of a woman as she walks out of the lobby. She bats her lashes and I give her a onceover.
She’s everything I look for in a woman. Blonde. Tall. Sexy. Flirty. Confident. I give her my sideways smile the ladies call irresistible. When she licks her lips, I know I can have her if I want her. But the look of disapproval I get from Jake distracts me and before I can get her number, she’s gone.
“What?”
“You need to settle down.”
I stare at him. “Are you fucking with me right now?”
“No, Cam. I’m not. You’re twenty-seven. It’s time.”
“And you’re thirty.” I clap him on the shoulder as we step inside the elevator. “Which means I have three years left of doing who and whatever I want before I offer my balls to a woman. The same woman. For the rest of my life.”
He smiles. “When you find the right woman, it’ll be worth it.”
“You’ve been watching Oprah. Or Dr. Phil.” When he doesn’t confirm or deny, I narrow my eyes at him. “You have, haven’t you?”
He mumbles something I can’t understand.
“What was that?”
“I said, I don’t watch that shit.”
“Not even Ellen? Hell, I watch Ellen.”
He shoots me a bewildered look.
I shrug. “She’s funny.”
“Who are you?”
“Your best man. If she says yes.”
“Would you shut up? She’ll say yes.”
“Who’ll say yes?”
We both turn to find Penelope standing outside the elevator door, arms loaded with, what appears to be, Jake’s suits.
“Are those my clothes?”
“Say yes to what?”
“Penelope, are those my clothes?”
“Jake, who are you asking a question?”
“Are you kicking me out of my own house?”
“Are you asking me to marry you?”
“For fuck’s sake…”
“Yes! Yes! I’ll marry you!” Penelope drops the clothes and leaps into Jake’s arms. If he was mad about her ruining his proposal, he’s over it. Because he’s kissing her back with just as much fervor and heat as she’s giving. So much that I look away to give them some privacy.
And that’s when I see her.
Waves of black hair. Porcelain skin. Petite. Curvy. Shy. And looking up at me beneath long, dark lashes are two crystal gray-blue eyes that have my cock pounding in my jeans as hard as my heart pounds in my chest.
She’s everything I don’t look for in a woman.
Everything perfect I’ve never noticed.
I don’t know when I’ve ever seen someone that’s captivated me as much as she has.
I don’t know how she does it.
I don’t know who she is.
This—whatever this is I feel—just…happened.
“Cam!” Penelope’s squeal knocks me out of my temporary fog and I brace myself just in time to catch her when she wraps her arms around my neck. “I’m getting married! To Jake! I said yes!”
I force my eyes away from the vision who is—whoever she is—and smile down at Penelope. “Congratulations, babe.”
She rambles on some more shit and my eyes wander back to the girl who’s staring back at me as if she’s scared I’m going to bite her.
God I want to bite her.
Taste her.
Whisk her away to a deserted island so I can strip her down. Fuck her senseless. And make her scream my name in pleasure over and over without anyone hearing her voice or seeing her body but me.
“…You’ll be walking her down the aisle…”
Damn right I will.
“…You two will look perfect together…”
Fuck yes we will.
“…Our wedding is going to be fucking epic…”
Their wedding.
Penelope and Jake’s.
Not mine.
What in the goddamn hell is wrong with me?
“Emily, don’t be rude. Say hi to Cam.”
Emily.
She cuts her eyes to Penelope before glancing back up at me. She doesn’t move and I wonder if I look as possessive and feral on the outside as I feel on the inside.
I try to relax and get a grip on these emotions that Jake somehow rubbed off on me, but when she flushes a deep shade of pink, my cock stiffens further and I groan.
“Yep. This is going to work out perfectly,” Penelope announces, snapping and shooting her finger guns before shuffling her feet in a river dance. “Cam, meet Emily. She’s gonna be your That Girl.”
I grin at Emily. It widens when she flushes darker. So I offer her a real smile just to see her reaction and I swear she whimpers. It strengthens my confidence and I summon my charm. Ignore my pounding heart. Take a step toward her. She looks like she wants to take a step back but holds her ground and lifts her chin to keep those magnificent eyes on mine.
It makes me like her even more.
I take another step.
“I hate to break it to you, P, but Emily isn’t That Girl.” I reach out and tuck a lock of Emily’s hair behind her ear—noting the way goosebumps break out across her neck.
“Oh yeah?” Penelope is pissed. I can only smile. “And why the fuck is that, Cam?”
“Because That Girl can be anybody’s girl.” I lock my eyes with Emily’s. “But this girl?”
I wink.
And if I wasn’t sure before, I know the moment she melts before my eyes that my next words are nothing short of the fucking truth.
“She’s…My Girl.”
About the Author
I always feel so stupid writing about mys
elf in third person. I mean, this is my book. It’s not like someone else is writing this shit. So instead of saying, Kim Jones is blah, blah, blah, I feel like I should tell you about myself. But how I view myself isn’t how others view me. I mean, that is if they view me as anything less than awesome. Which some of them do. But they don’t count, so whatever.
Any who, I’m not going to talk about myself and tell you I’m from a small town in Mississippi and that I love dogs and I drink too much and smoke too much and all that. You can just find me on social media and decide who I am for yourself.
Stalk me here:
www.kimjonesbooks.com
[email protected]
Acknowledgments
Some of these are the same in all of my books. Some different. I should make a better effort at acknowledging people. But really, who the hell reads this anyway?
Last, last, last book.
last, last book.
LAST BOOK.
this book
To God for giving me the gift of life, writing and an eternal love.
Reggie: All those nights spent in bed alone will be worth it one day. I hope. — Yeah… Still trying hun… 8 MONTHS LATER…STILL A SHITTY WIFE. better get you a new sandwich maker.
Amy Owens: Don’t replace me. I’m trying like hell to be a better best friend. It’s just taking a little while. I dedicated this book to you, so I’m off the hook. I’M STILL A SHITTY FRIEND. You know, I haven’t gotten any better.
Parents: We’re gonna get rich one day, I promise. — I know, I know. It didn’t happen with the last book, but this may be THE ONE. YEAH…THAT ONE WASN’T “THE ONE” EITHER. BUT….THIS MAY BE IT! <— that wasn’t it. But this one, I’m sure of it!
Sisters: You’ll be rich, too. Maybe. Definitely. DON’T QUIT YOUR JOBS…really. don’t quit.
Katy: Thank you for loving my Cook Marty. JINX. Jake. Your encouraging words help to breathe life into my characters. STILL DO! Yep!!!
Aunt Kat: I don’t think I could’ve done this without your continued support. I LOVE YOU! so, so much!!
Uncle Don: I never would’ve mentioned Aunt Kat without mentioning you—after all, I am the favorite…author. Who are we kidding? I’m the favorite niece, too. STILL THE FAVORITE… I know, I know. I’m not supposed to tell anyone. But who reads this anyway? I know I’m the favorite.