11. Penelope
There weren’t enough showers in the world to scrub his stench off me.
Or the damn glitter.
Okay, fine. He doesn’t stink. In fact, he smells delightful, like spring blooms meeting the first sunny day after a deep and painful winter.
But I’m sparkling like Edward Cullen in a sunlit forest.
Karlya points at my face. “You’ve got a little something...”
I nod, covering her face with my hand. “Shhh. Not enough coffee.”
My cousin and I are sitting in Bitches Brew. It’s the best coffee in Cedar Rapids, the best atmosphere, and I fucking adore the obnoxious pink decor adorning the walls. Cradling the oversized mug in both hands, I draw in a long, slow sniff of my chocolate raspberry mocha.
I just threw my finger around in circles at the menu and grunted at the poor barista. Thankfully it’s delicious. Rihanna’s Raspberry Ripple didn’t let me down.
For my next round, I’m ordering off their special edition Taylor Swift menu.
“Hungover?”
Ignoring her, I take a small sip, careful not to burn my lips.
“Peppy, you’re going to have to talk sooner or later.” She narrows her eyes. “Did something happen with your dad? Your mom? Brother? School? Milkshake man?” She stops. “Ah ha. Tate. Right.” She leans toward me, sliding her glass of milk across the table before swiping my phone.
Holding my cell over the glass of milk, she clicks her tongue. “Tell me what happened or the phone gets it.”
I don’t know what my face told her, what reaction I gave to Tate that I didn’t give to the rest of her list, but she should probably go work as an FBI interrogator. I cover my face with my splayed palm. “Please don’t.”
“Oooooh, so it’s juicy, too. I’ll do it, Peppy. You know I will.”
She will. She’s even more savage than I am.
“Isleptwithhim.” I say it fast because part of me hopes she won’t hear me, and the rest hopes she won’t react.
I should know better. She shrieks before clapping her hands together like a fucking seal. “OhmigodIknew it!” Her words tumble out faster than mine. “Tell me everything.”
I cover my hand with my other hand and shake my head. “I can’t. It was a mistake.” My voice is a pained whisper.
“I don’t believe that.” She sets my phone in front of her before gulping down some milk. “Was it good?” She pries my hands away from my face and wiggles her brows at me. “Was it life altering? Mind-blowing? Repeatable?”
I shake my head to each thing on her list, but her grin grows.
“It was good wasn’t it? Great even.” She points at my face. “You don’t need to answer, your face says it all. When’s it going to happen again?”
I heave out a sigh and lean forward. “It was amazing. It was hot and heavy and angry, and as soon as we finished... I felt like shit.” My chest tightens, and I’m tempted not to let her hear the thoughts that have been brewing in my head since Tate pulled out of my pussy. “His dad ruined Dad’s career, Karlya. His dad ruined our lives.” The lump in my throat swells, burning as the words push their way out.
“I can’t like him. I can’t do that to Dad. I can’t...” My voice breaks under the weight of the guilt eating me up inside.
“But you do like him.” She nods. “And that’s okay. He didn’t hurt your dad.”
Her logic is strong, but my guilt is stronger.
She sits quietly for a long moment, sipping on her milk. “You need to be careful you don’t end up Romeo and Julieting this shit, Peppy.” She shakes her head. “He’s not your enemy.”
I don’t get a chance to process what she says, or answer her, because someone touches my elbow.
“Penny.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake not again. Why do these people keep showing up? Are Tate, my ex, and my ex-best-friend stalking me?
It’s Chloe’s voice, that vapid cunt.
I’d call her a whore but I don’t want to insult the whores of the world. I’m a confident, sex positive woman, unless of course, the sex is happening between my boyfriend and my best friend. Then she’s a straight-up cunt.
I’m in no mood to pretend that I like this traitorous piece of shit. “What do you want, Cunt?”
Karlya snorts, spraying her Harry’s Hazelnut—a charming and nutty latte named after her Lord and Savior Mr. Harry Styles—all over the table.
Chloe bristles. “There’s no need to be rude, Penny.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. I don’t mind being called Penny by my friends. But Tate was right, Chloe and Dick calling me Penny is something of a trigger. I’m ready to stick my spoon in her chest.
Karlya’s dabbing her face, her cleavage, and the table with a wad of napkins. “Right. Because fucking her boyfriend wasn’t at all rude.” She turns to me. “Jeez, Peppy. What were you thinking? Show the woman some respect.”
Rolling my lips, a snort gets caught at the back of my nose, and I cough. We stupidly sat at a four-top table, so there’s plenty of space for Her Majes-cunt to sit if she chooses to.
A crowd of obnoxious guys comes in, and if I’m not mistaken, they’re Raccoons. The de la Pe?a brothers are smacking each other as they walk through the shop. There are about a dozen of them, and my breath literally stops dead in my throat when my eyes land on the eyes of the man who fucked me senseless last night.
“Guys.”
I can even pick his voice out over the hockey-boy-din.
The de la Pe?a brothers pause, looking back at Tate who’s pointing at me. “I’m gonna sit with my girl, okay?”
I ignore the little flip my stomach does at his words, and instead focus on the twin’s faces.
If they’re surprised at the announcement, they maintain their composure and don’t show it. If they’re disgusted by my appearance, no one shows that visibly either. Did he really just tell a bunch of his teammates that I’m his girl?
It’s one thing pretending to my toxic, narcissistic, sociopathic, cheating ex and his bitch of a girlfriend, it’s another thing entirely to tell his friends.
I’m torn between wanting to kiss him senseless and kill him. So, standard then.
The audacity of this boy.
My stomach drops. The twins talk to my brother. Or at least I’ve seen them talking, and they know each other, they play each other. They won’t see each other for a while now, but I’ll need to get this little mix up cleared up before Oli hears the unfounded rumor that I’m sleeping with the enemy.
Except, it’s not unfounded, is it?
He had his dick inside me less than twenty-four hours ago.
Shit.
Karlya kicks me under the table, leaning toward me she hisses. “Woooosssssssh. That was hot as hell.” There are so many S’s in the word ‘woosh’ that she sounds like she speaks Parseltongue.
“Aphrodite.” He kisses my temple.
“Satan,” I retort, flipping him off.
He grins as though I just told him he has the biggest dick I’ve ever seen. “You guys need a refill?”
Karlya nods emphatically. “Yes, please. Surprise me.” The woman’s taking her life in her hands. Her god, Harry Styles, only knows what she’s letting herself in for by letting this Lord of the Underworld be unsupervised around something she’s going to put into her mouth.
He straightens, his smile turning cool. “Chloe. You’re here. Again. Bothering my beautiful girlfriend.”
Karlya rolls her lips between her teeth as my face heats to the temperature of the sun.
“Is there something specific you need from her?” He pauses, giving her a movie star smile. “It’s just, when you’re around, she gets a little snippy, you know? And we both know who takes the brunt of it.” He hooks a thumb at his chest, tossing her a casual wink. “And as much as I’m down for a little pain with my pleasure—” He nails me with a pointed stare so charged with lust I’m tempted to bend over the table right now.
“I don’t like that you keep appearing around her and throwing her off balance. So whatever it is, can you spit it out, get it over with, and then fuck all the way off please? You made your bed, and her ex now lies in it.”
“I should have brought my vibrator.” Karlya’s whisper isn’t as quiet as I’d have liked. Tate’s mouth twitches.
Chloe’s mouth, on the other hand, is hanging open like she’s catching bugs. “I... but... who...?” She seems to have lost the power of speech. Her cheeks are red, she’s flabbergasted, and potentially as turned on as the rest of us. “You s-shouldn’t talk to people like that,” she manages.
“And you shouldn’t steal people’s boyfriends, but we know your position on that, don’t we?” He cocks a finger at her. “Can’t get to pick and choose which social norms you follow now, can you, Chloe?” When she doesn’t answer him, he keeps going. “Chloe?”
“Hm?”
“That’s your cue to leave.”
She starts, patting down the cross-body bag hanging in front of her.
“And Chloe?”
She turns back to face a hard-faced Tate. “Yeah?”
“Don’t ever talk to her again.” The menacing tone he uses with her, shamefully makes me wet, and my pulse skip.
Damnit.
As much as I want to stick a giant skewer up his ass and barbecue him for protecting me when I could have handled myself—again—it was kind of sweet.
He’s already been inside me, so he’s not bloviating to get himself laid. Or does he want a rematch?
Or maybe, the tiny whisper in my brain pipes up, he’s not a complete asshole like you think. Maybe you shouldn’t punish the son for the crimes of the father.
The temptation to hit myself in the face is strong. So I simply chug a few deep gulps of my mocha, smacking my lips instead.
Chloe pauses, looks at me like she’s contemplating saying something, purses her lips from side to side, and nods. “You look really pretty today, Penny—elope.”
It takes all I can not to laugh at her as she remembers half way through to say my whole name.
“Have a good one.” She scurries away out of the coffee shop, ignoring the barista calling her name from the counter. I almost feel bad for her, but then I remember her bare ass in my dorm room bed, and a deep, warm satisfaction settles over me.
“You know what she did, don’t you?” My voice is thick as I search Tate’s face for answers. He had no reason to jump in and chase Chloe away, but he did. That suggests he knows what she did.
He nods. “Loyalty is important to me.” He shrugs. “I’ve watched so many fake friends leech themselves onto Dad over the years because he was a professional hockey player. Few of them were genuine, most of them were working an angle, they wanted money, fame by association, or salacious gossip to sell to the highest bidder.”
I nod, knowing what that’s like. Hell, I lived it too.
“Best friends don’t get an ounce of forgiveness for doing what she did to you. She shouldn’t take up any space in your life.” His features are hard, his eyes stern. “Don’t give her another thought.”
Sometimes thinking about Chloe is all I can do. What does she have that I don’t? What did Dick get from her that he couldn’t have gotten from me? Those thoughts generally lead into a spiral of listing my shortcomings—which isn’t good for anyone.
Tate rests a palm on my shoulder. “Be right back.” He points to the counter. “Two Tate surprises?”
I groan. “Please, don’t.” That could mean anything. I bet he’d charm the barista into letting him spit in my coffee or something ludicrous. If he ruins coffee for me, I’ll do hard time for him, and they’ll never find his body.
Fact.
He holds his hand up. “Truce. At least for the duration of a cup of coffee.” The light catches his skin, and I can’t hold back the giggles as he sparkles like a disco ball. Seems we both struggled to scrub off the glitter.
“Truce?” He repeats, tilting his head. He doesn’t move.
I get another kick under the table. “Answer the man.”
I nod.
“Use your words, Pitstop.”
Karlya’s mouth twitches. He’s got her. She’s officially on his side. I could scream.
“Truce.”
I’d love to say I don’t feel the stares of his teammates from a few tables away. They sat far enough away to be seen as not spying, but also close enough that they can watch everything that transpires.
“A midnight rain, for the lovely Karlya.” When he returns from the counter, he places an enormous Frappuccino brimming with whipped cream down on the table in front of her.
“What is it?” Her eyes light up as she sticks her finger in the cream.
“Blueberry Frappuccino.”
“From the Tay-Swift menu?”
He nods.
“I don’t get the reference. Is there a reason you picked this one?” She creases her brow.
I refuse to meet either of their questioning stares.
“I won’t bite unless she begs for it.” He winks at Karlya.
“Oh.” Karlya eyes me over the top of her drink as she takes a noisy slurp. After smacking her lips she nods. “She’ll beg alright. I have faith in your skills, fly boy.”
Sweet mother of all the pop stars. Whose fucking side is she on? Clearly not mine.
“And for you, Pitstop...” He wiggles his brows. “I couldn’t pick one. So you’ve got Drunk on Jealousy. This one’s got a shot of Irish liqueur in it. Figured you might need that after She who shan’t be named.” He slides it across the table. “And Blank Space Brew.”
It takes me a minute, but from the pink staining this hockey god’s cheeks, it hits me. He’s a fucking Swiftie. And each of these drinks carry meaning. Well. Two can play at that game, and no one can out Swiftie me. Especially not Tate fucking Myers. “Is this your way of telling me you like leopard print?”
“For you, dear Aphrodite, I’d make it work.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh! Maybe you’re telling me you don’t like your car.” My nose twitches. I was never an aggressive person until I met this asshole. And now, at the idea of keying his car, or smashing it to pieces with a golf club, my fingers itch.
“Always the violence with you, Pitstop.” He licks his lips. “So hot.”
Karlya snickers. “Didn’t you get yourself a drink?”
I bounce up out of my chair, not to be outdone. “I’ll grab one for you.” I already know which one I’m getting him. The bitterest drink on the fucking menu. And I hope he chokes on it.
A few minutes later, when I place Bad Blood in front of him, his nose twitches, but he doesn’t miss a beat. “Black, like my girl’s soul. I like it.”
He dumps a mountain of sugar into the mug, stirs it, and takes a sip. “I bet your soul tastes better.” He winks. Does nothing phase this guy?
Karlya watches with fascination, slurping on her Frappe.
I can’t decide which of my drinks I want to try, and the pressure of knowing that there are messages from Taylor Swift’s songs attached to them makes it harder to choose. He’s going to get the wrong idea. He’s going to think I’m secretly in love with him when all I really want to do is dump my drink in his crotch.
Okay, whoa. Back up. I don’t really want to do that because then it’d hurt his dick, and while I didn’t see it to know if it’s a pretty dick, it’s certainly a talented dick, and the world needs more talented dick. So I don’t cover it in super-hot coffee. Which I think is pretty big of me considering the way he’s just sitting there all smug and smirky.
“What?” I narrow my eyes at him.
“What, what?” He shrugs, taking another giant slurp of his coffee—which is bound to be kinda gross—and blows me a kiss.
I roll my eyes and lips, trying to mask a smile, but he catches that too.
He cuffs my chin sending a shimmer of electricity dancing across my face. “It’s okay to not hate me all the time you know. I promise I’ll remind you if you forget.”
My disloyal lips tug into a smile. “I hate you,” I whisper.
“You also like me.”
I don’t answer, but my face burns hot with the silence.
When Tate’s teammate, Ares, comes over to the table, my face burns hotter. “Ares.” He shoots his hand out to introduce himself like I have no idea who he is. “I don’t think we’ve formally met.”
That. Accent.
If I hadn’t sworn off hockey players after Tate had his dick in me last night, if he wasn’t solidly off the market, and if he wasn’t a goalie—because those fuckers are weird—I might shoot my shot. “Penelope. I’ve heard a lot about you from Oli. He speaks very highly of you. Unlike some.” While I shake his hand, I sneer at Tate who rolls his eyes.
Ares waves his phone. “Eloise is ecstatic that you guys are dating, and she wants to have dinner together.”
The number of excited and celebratory emojis on his screen make me giggle. I love anyone who doesn’t hold back from living their best emoji life, even if it is about a fake relationship with a man I can’t seem to stay away from.
Tate looks over to me, arching an eyebrow.
And the weight of Ares’s expectation is heavy on my face.
Part of me is tempted to say no, but Tate stepped in to defend me against Dick and Chloe and while I was mad about it at first, I’ve relented to Karlya’s persistent narrative that it was actually quite sweet.
Just because I don’t need to be saved by a guy, doesn’t mean it’s not kind of nice when it happens. Sometimes it’s nice to not have to fight my own battles all the fucking time, so throwing him under the bus with his teammates wouldn’t be the nicest thing I’ve ever done.
I can give him a date, right? It’s just dinner. What’s the worst that could happen?
“Sure. That sounds great. We’d love to.”