by G. , Whitney
“No, I won’t set foot in your territory until I contract a strain of syphilis.”
“Fuck you, Penelope.”
“I’ll never be that desperate.” She leans against my chest, and I run fingers through her hair.
“Do you think there’s something wrong with me, Hayden?”
“I can list way more than one thing,” I say. “What do you mean, though?”
“As of a few months ago, we’ve stopped counting my breakups as often,” she says. We’re just naming them so I won’t feel so pathetic about the number of guys who don’t want to stick around that long.”
“That’s what dating is, Pen.” I’ve given up on her ever relinquishing her hopeless romantic ways. “Every guy you meet can’t be the one. Even if you get along great in the beginning, that doesn’t mean you’re meant to stay together for the long term.”
“I guess …” She repositions her body so that her head is in my lap. Then she shuts her eyes.
“If it makes you feel any better, most people who claim they find ‘the one’ at your age end up divorced five to ten years later with kids that hate them.”
Her lips curve into a smile. “That does make me feel better.”
“Good. You’ll find a good boyfriend eventually.”
“At the rate I’m going, it won’t happen until I’m twenty-five.”
“That’s a better age anyway, since you have so many ridiculous expectations.”
“At this point, I’ll settle for a guy who won’t cheat on me.”
“Every guy who ever dared to cheat on you was an idiot.” I kiss her forehead, and she smiles again.
I stare at her cherry-red lips and suddenly feel the need to taste them.
Brushing a few strands of hair away from her forehead, I lean down to kiss her, but I catch myself when I’m inches away.
What the fuck am I doing?
Her eyes are still shut, and her lips are tempting as hell, but the fact that I almost crossed the line is wrong on too many fucking levels.
“Shit.” I gently grab her hands and pull her up. “I just thought about something. I need to head back to my office.”
“Now? Do you want some help?”
Not from you right now … “No, I’ll call you later, though.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
“I know.”
I ignore her call that night, trying to figure out what the hell almost happened on that park bench.
It was too natural and easy on my part. There was no hesitation whatsoever, and that means we need to set some better boundaries.
Perhaps we can cut back on the phone calls every night, do away with our Wednesday evening dinners, or ax the park meet-ups on Sundays. Or maybe I can stop giving her a ride to practice and showing up to see her competitions.
Fuck.
I honestly don’t want to let go of any of it, and I can’t believe that she’s become this engrained in my life. Our friendship has evolved far past me giving her breakup and guy advice, far past the typical “I’ll be there for you, you’ll be there for me” framework.
It’s almost like she’s my … girlfriend?
“I can’t even go there right now,” I mutter and grab the remote.
I turn on the television and see my “father” starring in his latest bullshit commercial. Dressed in a custom suit and tie that cost more than what most people make in a month, he’s grinning like he’s won the lottery.
“If you or your loved one needs one-on-one support with a trusted professional, come down to Heartstone Therapy,” he says. “We have more than fifteen locations nationwide to serve you.”
Per the cheesy script, his new son—a two-year-old who is also named Hayden, jumps into his arms.
“I love you, Daddy!” His mouth is full of red gummies.
Thankfully, the screen transitions to a far more entertaining toothbrush commercial.
I still find it tragically ironic that he’s a leading family therapist, despite leaving my mother and me out to dry years ago. That no one has ever bothered to look below the surface and discover how much of a fraud he is.
I flip through the channels, settling on a business infomercial. As I’m taking out my notebook, the doorbell rings.
Walking over to it, I see Penelope standing there with an oversized duffle bag.
“Yeah?” I answer.
“Can I stay the night?”
“Why?”
“Because you have a pair of compression boots that I like to use on Thursdays.” She looks confused. “Remember?”
“You can take them with you and go back home if you like.”
“No, I’m good.” She walks past me before I can say anything else.
As usual, she sets up camp on my couch and slides her legs into the compression boots. Like I’m instantly wired into what’s become our routine, I go into the kitchen and make her a vanilla protein shake.
I sit next to her on the couch, and she leans against my chest.
“I met the cutest guy at the grocery store before coming over here,” she says, looking at me. “I think you’ll be super impressed with how I handled approaching him.”
“I’ve told you countless times to let the guy approach you.”
“That’s what I meant,” she says. “Anyway, I took a page from ‘The One That Was Shy’ and made direct eye contact and smiled. It took him a minute to ask for my number, but we hit it off pretty well after that.”
I listen as she talks about this guy for another hour while begging for advice, and I start to think that my ill-timed moment on the park bench may have meant nothing at all.
It’s probably all in my head.
Thirty-Three
Present Day
Hayden
The devil was lighting up a room in preparation for my arrival. Forget fire and brimstone; my punishment was bound to be a nuclear detonation that would leave an acre-wide hole in Hell.
I couldn’t stop falling for Penelope if I tried, and I wasn’t concerned with any of the consequences or repercussions right now.
We were toeing the line between reckless and insane—hanging out in public more often under the ever-snapping gaze of the photogs. The headlines had yet to reflect that, though; they were still distracted with my apology letters—still unassuming.
“Have you picked out a dress for your brother’s fight?” I pressed a kiss against the back of Penelope’s neck as we sat on my balcony.
“No, but now that you’ve brought it up, you can help me choose.” She moved out of my lap. “I stuffed a few options into my bag the other day, but you can pick out the lingerie that I’ll wear underneath the dress first.”
“You don’t need to wear anything underneath it at all.”
“We’ll see.” She laughed. “Go wait in the living room.”
I kissed her one more time and headed down the hallway. I was halfway to the living room when someone knocked on the door.
Lawrence.
I grabbed a few apology letters from my table before walking over to open it, finding myself face to face with Travis instead.
What the fuck? “Um, hi.”
“Um, hi?” He laughed. “That’s all I get?”
“Shouldn’t you be in Vegas?”
“My plane leaves in a few.” He held up a bottle of thousand-dollar champagne. “I can’t pop up to see you for a quick celebratory glass?”
“You haven’t fought the match yet, Travis.”
“I already know the results.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and ushered him inside. Then I sent a quick text to Penelope.
Me: Your brother is here. Stay in my bedroom.
“Do you still have that contact at Top Modeling?” Travis walked into the kitchen.
“I do, but she no longer talks to me.” I pulled two glasses from the cabinet.
“Is she still mad about you never calling her for a repeat?”
“Probably so.”
“Well, I won�
�t bring up your name when I call,” he said. “I need to hire a few more replacements for my grand entrance.”
“Good idea.” I tapped my screen and sent him the contact info.
I was about to ask him how long he planned to stay, but the sound of heels clicking against the floor made me turn around.
Shit.
Penelope walked into the room wearing a short, nude-colored dress that left nothing—fucking nothing, to the imagination. The thin fabric exposed her hardened nipples and the intricate lace imprint of her panties.
“Hey there, Crown.” Travis looked her over. “I see that you’re currently searching for the rest of that dress. Try calling to the store and asking why they only sold you half of it.”
“Funny.” She hugged him. “Hayden is helping me pick out an outfit for your big event.”
“You don’t need his help if you’re considering that one,” he said. “It’s a fuck no, so pick another.”
“I’m twenty-five-years old, Travis. I don’t value your opinion on much of anything anymore.”
“Don’t you dare wear that to my fight,” he said.
She groaned and attempted to change the subject. “Are you excited about the big five-million-dollar payday?”
“I don’t want even you to pack it into your suitcase.” He narrowed his eyes at her.
Then he shot me a “You better back me up on this” look.
I could only nod. I was too speechless at how fucking sexy she looked, far too turned on.
“Anyway, yes,” he said to Penelope. “I’m excited about getting five million for showing up to fight this clown, and even more for winning. My rider is all set for everyone and—” He stopped talking once his phone vibrated in his pocket. “Yeah, Graham? Right. I’m on my way.”
He ended the call. “Well, so much for a quick drink. I’ll see you two in Vegas.” He looked at Penelope. “Preferably in a pantsuit.”
He shook my hand, and I walked him out and to the elevator.
I waited for it to go down before returning to Penelope. “Did you not get my text message?”
“I did.” She shrugged. “So?”
“So, I like living. Comprehend it a bit better next time.”
“I didn’t think he would suspect anything.” She pulled the dress over her head, revealing her breasts. “What do you honestly think he would do if he found out we were dating?”
“Before or after he hid my body?”
“Before.” She laughed. “Way before.”
“I think he would end our friendship, then he’d go out of his way to ruin me.”
“You’re kidding. I don’t think my brother is that irrational or petty.”
“Then you don’t know your brother.” I trailed my thumb against her bottom lip. “He would fucking kill me if he knew what goes through my mind when I think about you.”
“Are you saying that we should put a stop to this before he finds out?”
“No.” I pressed my lips against hers. “I’m saying, turn the lights off … ”
Thirty Four
Present Day
Penelope
Las Vegas, Nevada
Sometime between being named The Humble Kid from the Emerald City and The Punisher, my brother evolved into a cocky asshole.
Not to me, per se, but he’d definitely let the fame and the attention get to his head.
He was now the highest-paid athlete in MMA with the most endorsements, and he knew it. He talked trash in the media about his adversaries, torched their accomplishments as worthless compared to his own, and went out of his way to make it clear that he was the best.
Still, his pre-fight routine was a legend around the UFC, and he followed it to the letter each time he was up for a championship fight.
He also made me follow it as well.
It started with a midday brunch with the closest members of his entourage, his cornerman, and a bevy of personal trainers.
They sat at one end, watching practice film on a massive screen over high-price steak and waffles, while friends and “family” sat on the other end in utter awe of how much bigger his ego had become.
“When I win the match this weekend, I won’t be allowing bum ass photogs to come to my parties anymore,” he shouted. “Unless they want to pay to get a picture of this face, of course. They’ll probably make more of my picture than they will all year at their little journalism jobs.”
Ugh! I stabbed a salad tomato with a fork.
As I was raising it to my lips, Hayden’s hand lightly grazed my inner thigh.
My eyes widened, and I looked over at him.
“What?” He smiled.
“You’re touching me,” I whispered. “In public and in front of Travis. I thought you liked living.”
“You’re worth dying for.”
I blushed and pushed his hand away, but he placed it back minutes later—giving my thigh a soft squeeze.
“So, Crown …” Travis’s voice made me look up. “Hayden hasn’t told me much of anything about your new boyfriend. When will I get to see him?”
He’s sitting right in front of you. “Sometime soon.”
“So, never?” He smiled. “You should’ve invited him to come here this weekend. I think he would’ve enjoyed it.”
Tatiana choked on a piece of bread and signaled for the waiter.
“If Hayden likes him, he must be a good guy for you,” he said.
“Yes.” Hayden squeezed my thigh again. “He’s a really good guy for her.”
Travis looked as if he wanted to say something more, but the wait staff began serving the second course.
It was now time for the next part of his routine: Watching his most recent match one final time to inflate his ego.
It was good that he always encouraged everyone in the room to cheer and shout as if it was happening in real-time.
Otherwise, I’m pretty sure they would’ve noticed that my shouts weren’t for the sport at all. They were because Hayden used his fingers to bring me to back to back orgasms under the table.
Later that afternoon, I avoided Hayden’s request to meet at the aquarium.
When he asked me to join him for a late lunch at the Aria, I turned him down and regretted every moment of agreeing to go to a three-hour anime cosplay show with Tatiana instead.
By the time I returned to my suite, it was a little after midnight, and he was sitting on the sofa waiting for me.
“I don’t remember giving you my other room key.” I dropped my purse to the floor.
“I took it at brunch.” He smiled. “Are you having a good time in Vegas so far?”
“Yep. You?”
“Not particularly,” he said. “My best friend is avoiding me for some strange reason.”
“You think so? I’m not really getting that vibe at all. I think you’re misreading things.”
“I’m not.” He kept his eyes on mine as he walked toward me. “Do you plan on acting awkward with me this entire weekend?”
“I’m not acting awkward at all.”
“You haven’t come up to my room once,” he said. “And at brunch, I saw you drafting text messages of excuses and rain checks that you plan to give to me this week.”
“Is that why you finger-fucked me under the table?”
“I did that to help you stop being so jittery,” he said. “I also love the way you look whenever you come for me.”
“Well—” My cheeks heated. “I’m sorry you think that I’m acting awkward. We can go up to your room now, if you’d like.”
“No, that’s okay.” He stepped closer. “Yours is fine. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“It’s nothing.”
“I know you, Penelope.” He looked into my eyes in the way that only he could. “Tell me.”
“It’s two things,” I said.
“Name the first one.”
“I think my brother really would kill you if he finds out we’re dating.”
“We’ve already established that.
” He smirked. “Can I trust you to make sure that my funeral is a beautiful one?”
“Do you have a color scheme in mind?”
“Sky blue and white.”
“Noted.” I smiled.
“What’s the second thing?”
“It’s stupid,” I said. “Not even worth mentioning.”
“Tell me.”
“I haven’t gone up to your room because there are photogs watching the damn elevators, shouting rumors in hopes of getting the whiff of a comment, and snapping pictures of anyone who dares to take a ride up to the penthouse.”
“What does that have to do with us?”
“Before, their presence never bothered me, but now it does for some reason.” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could think them through. “I mean, the rumors they’re mentioning are nothing that you haven’t already told me. I just hate when they shout about it.”
“I do, too.” He tucked a few strands of hair behind my ear. “It’s in the past though, Pen. And you know that the worst of it happened when we weren’t friends.”
“Yeah.”
“You do know that when we’re a public couple that they’ll continue to do that, right?”
I didn’t say anything.
“You’ll have to continue tuning them out like you did before you were mine.” He kissed me. “Nothing changes.”
“When we were here together last year, I hardly ever went up to your room and it wasn’t a problem,” I said. “Things have changed.”
“For the better.” He looked into my eyes. “At least, I think so. I think you need something far more entertaining to focus on while we’re here.”
“Something like what?”
He didn’t answer me.
He covered my mouth with his and kissed me deeply—making me forget my trivial worries the more his tongue tamed mine.
Briefly tearing away from me, he leaned back against the wall and unzipped his pants. With his eyes on mine, he smiled.
“Let’s see if you can take it all the way down your throat like you mentioned to me before.”