Chapter Eight
Penny
I ’m antsy. Wired. Over it. I should leave, but it’s one of those moments where I know I’ll get more shit about leaving than staying. Everyone will want to know what’s wrong and then they’ll draw conclusions that it has to be Trey.
I don’t want them blaming him for my pissy mood.
Even if he is the reason.
Being mad at him makes no sense. He’s done nothing wrong, but I can’t help but feel edgy and bursting with energy whenever he nears me. All night, he’s been right there beside me with his intoxicating scent and addictive smile.
He makes me feel warm, but with each passing second, the heat inside me increases tenfold, leaving me a burning inferno of…something. It makes me feel out of control. For a girl who desperately needs control to feel somewhat normal, this is stressful.
I catch his dark-eyed stare as he laughs at something Loden says. They’re standing near the kitchen table, absently picking at snacks there. Loden, of course looks good in all his rock star glory, but he pales in comparison to the way Trey’s energy pulsates like rays from the sun.
Trey is too much…everything.
And I still can’t decide if it’s a good thing or a bad thing.
His dark jeans hug his muscular thighs, fitting him in all the right places. Rather than a hoodie, tonight he’s wearing a pale blue Henley that seems painted on his muscular frame. I’ve been captivated all night by the way the material stretches over each bulge of muscle.
Heat zaps through me again.
Like I said, he’s the sun.
Burning the fuck out of me from the inside out.
Needing an escape, I rush to the bathroom. Once inside, I splash cold water on my neck to cool off. It’s nearing midnight, which means once this countdown is over, I’m going to bail. Jordy already took Roux and Emilia home hours ago. No one will care when I sneak out too.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I yank it out to find a text from Sonya.
Sonya: Oh my God. I’m in hell.
Me: Why did you get grounded anyway?
She’d texted last minute earlier today saying her grandma grounded her and she wouldn’t be coming to the party. I thought it was strange, but she didn’t elaborate.
Sonya: I texted him.
Me: Who?
Sonya: Tim.
Oh, fuck no. That old man who works with her dad? The same Tim she sent nudes to?
Me: Bad idea. What about the investigation?
Sonya: It was a weak moment. No need to judge.
Me: I get it, but won’t you get in trouble? Did he text back?
Sonya: He misses me too…
Me: Back away, Sonya. He’s bad news. You’re in all kinds of shit over him. Don’t get pulled back into it.
Sonya: I know. I won’t.
It feels like a lie, though.
Me: Next time you feel like texting him, just text me instead.
Sonya: Yeah, I know, girl. Love you.
I’m not a gushy, lovey-dovey girl, so I just send her some thumbs-up emojis because it seems like my equivalent of a “love you.”
Sonya: Bitch.
I smirk and then send her a middle finger emoji instead. This earns me a lot of crying laughing emojis and then a sassy selfie of her in her jammies, grinning like an idiot. I give her my own selfie. I’m like her alter-ego, the unsmiling, bitchy version.
Sonya: Why you gotta be so hot, Pen? Gonna turn this girl gay!
Me: Better than you texting with old perverts.
Sonya: He’s not old.
Me: Stop talking.
Sonya: Such a bitch, but you’re my bitch.
Me: Bye, bitch.
Sonya: Bye, Sociopath Barbie.
This time, I send her a mixture of thumbs-ups and middle fingers.
After wasting as much time as possible in the bathroom, I finally slip out. Everyone has migrated to the living room. The music has been turned off as they get ready for the ball to drop in New York City. Of course, it’s already flipped over into the new year hours ago and pre-recorded because we’re on opposite sides of the US. Our new year, however, is about to start.
To avoid the loud laughing and cutting up, I make my way into the kitchen. I lean my ass against the counter, crossing my arms over my chest. Waiting. Counting down. Ready to leave.
And just like that… he arrives.
Trey James.
The beautifully broken one.
Look away, Penny.
You can’t look at the sun. You’ll go blind.
Yet, I can’t help it. My eyes lock on his as he prowls my way, something feral and ravenous in his stare that makes me shiver in a way that doesn’t feel uncomfortable.
“Hiding from me?” he asks, his lips quirking up on one side.
I roll my eyes. “Just waiting until midnight so I can leave.”
His amusement fades as he steps closer. “Then who will I talk to?”
“Cal?”
“He talks too much,” he teases, his words soft, just the way I like them.
“He does,” I agree. “He’s the mouthiest Hornet.”
Trey laughs, a deep, husky sound that sends currents of electricity zapping through every last one of my nerve endings. “The guy never shuts up.”
I fixate on his neck. How can a neck be so interesting to look at? Trey’s neck keeps my attention. Corded with muscle. Prominent Adam’s apple. Sun kissed skin. I wonder what he smells like along his jaw line that’s trimmed neatly with short black hair.
I should be weirded out that I wonder what he smells like. It’s out of the ordinary for me to wonder such things. I’m way out of my depth, in an unknown territory of my mind. My head’s already a fucked-up, murky place. Now, I feel as though I’ve discovered a new piece of it. It’s dark and deep and I don’t know what the hell is hiding in this part of me.
It’s frightening.
And exciting.
My breath hitches when Trey steps closer, crowding me with his massive form. A small gasp escapes me when he grabs my arms and uncrosses them from over my chest. His large hands easily encircle each bicep. He runs his hands down the lengths of my arms, settling at my wrists. After a quick squeeze, he releases them to lift my chin with a finger, forcing our stares to meet. My heart does a nervous flop inside of my chest. The burning inferno within me flares to life.
I vaguely hear the growing excitement from the living room as the countdown begins. Trey strokes his fingers through my hair and then curls his large hand around the side of my neck. I can’t seem to understand why my body’s not going haywire from his touch or his nearness. All I know is it’s going crazy with new sensations.
Need.
Fiery want.
Explosive heat.
His dark eyes lock on mine, intent and promise gleaming in them. He drops his stare to my lips and then uses his thumb to gently drag across the bottom one.
“I’m gonna kiss you, Penny.” He smirks and lifts a brow. “What do you think about that?”
The countdown has begun, and my heart seems to thump in cadence with each passing second.
“I need words,” he rumbles. “I need you to want it too. I need—”
“Stop talking,” I bite out as I stand on my toes, bringing my face close to his.
His eyes flash with heat and then his lips brush against mine, gently at first. So soft I wonder if I imagined it. Then, his palm is clutching the back of my neck, drawing me closer so he can claim me. My lips part on a sigh, allowing him access to my mouth. The second his tongue swipes across mine, my kneejerk reaction is to recoil.
But then he groans—manly and feral and starved. It’s a sound I really, really like. I lose myself to the hungry sound as he devours me with a kiss. All I can do is clutch onto his tight shirt, pulling him closer so he can kiss me deeper.
His tongue. His teeth. His lips.
They’re all over mine, tasting and exploring and owning.
I’ve never felt so consumed in all my life.
People are yelling “Happy New Year,” but I can’t even be bothered by it because I’m frozen in this moment with Trey James.
Sadly, he pulls away, ending our kiss.
Everything assaults me all at once. The cheers. The music. The obnoxious beating of my heart. Too much.
Trey’s features twist from sated to concerned.
I don’t like it.
He reaches for me and I hiss.
“D-Don’t touch me!”
His jaw clenches. “Do you have your white noise? Turn it on, Penny. Do it now.”
I gape at him in horror. How does he know I need it to keep from losing my shit? Shame burns at my eyes and has my chest tightening.
Fumbling with my phone, I turn on the sound, blasting my eardrums with it. My hands tremble, and based on the worried glint in Trey’s eyes, I can tell he wants to help.
He can’t help.
No one can.
“I need to leave,” I snap, hating how awful I sound right now.
I don’t want to leave.
I want to kiss him again and again and again.
I want to tell him my first kiss was perfect.
Instead, I storm out of the kitchen, grab my leather jacket and keys, and bolt out of the apartment without so much as a goodbye to anyone.
Why can’t I just be normal?
“What about this shop?” Mom asks, pointing to a thrift store.
I nod absently. So much has changed since we moved from Vermont. At one time, we would’ve shopped only at the mall, not some quaint Main Street thrift shop. Back when we lived with Dad, halfway across the US, we were rich and frankly kind of snotty. But Dad lost his shit when Hollis came out gay, and we later learned Dad was having an affair. Mom picked up and moved us all the way here to Horn River, Oregon. Middle of fucking nowhere. It’s all good, though, because we found friends, and both my siblings found love.
As soon as we walk inside, I decide I like the place. It’s quiet and jammed with clothes. Mom takes off toward the career section to look for work clothes. Charlotte and I head in opposite directions as well. Charlotte’s going through a black phase right now. I can’t help but think it’s because of what happened with Ryan and Michael. But, despite what those evil fuckers did to my sister, she’s still happy and here with us.
She just likes to wear more black now.
I suppose I’m fine with that so long as we don’t lose her to drugs and depression. I’m not the best sister, emotionally, but I need my siblings to be happy and safe.
The racks I head toward are the screen-print tees. I love finding random shirts that make no sense and make people frown. Some are cheesy or too happy. I find one that says “Buicks are for Bitches.” I don’t know what it means, but it makes me smile and it’s only three dollars, so I grab it. There’s a T-shirt with a gigantic thumbs-up that says, “Cool story, bro.” I’m about to add that one to my pile when Charlotte steals it.
“I need this,” she sasses.
Shaking my head, I relinquish the shirt and discover one with a Garbage Pail Kid on it. It’s a redheaded cartoon kid whose name is “Cracked Craig.” It reminds me of Trey, so I snag it to wear for the next time I see him.
Heat trickles down my spine, pooling in my belly as I think about New Year’s Eve. It’s been a couple of days since he kissed me and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. The kiss was…surprising. Unexpected. Warm and exciting.
I absolutely loved it.
Which makes me cringe because of how I abandoned him after it. I’m such a bitch. Problem is, I wasn’t trying to be bitchy. I panicked. It makes me hate the way I am even more. It was just a kiss. I’m almost eighteen, for fuck’s sake. I should be able to kiss a man and enjoy it. I should be able to do a lot more.
But I can’t.
I keep hovering over his name to text him whenever my thoughts ridicule me over my behavior, but I always chicken out.
What will I say?
I loved your kiss, but I’m fucked up, Smash. Find your girl Lacey, because clearly you two had a thing together and it was good enough to make a baby. I’m a head case who will drive you insane.
A deep sadness burrows inside of me, carving holes in my heart.
I don’t want him to find Lacey. I mean, I do for his sake so he can get crap sorted where Zella is concerned. I just don’t want him to find Lacey and remember how much he likes her. Ever since basketball tryouts last week, I’ve enjoyed the times I’ve spent with Trey. He’s distracting from the madness inside me.
“You okay?” Charlotte asks, her brows furling as she studies me.
“I hate shopping.” Not a lie. “I want to go home.” Also, not a lie.
“Did something happen between you and Trey?” She glances over her shoulder to make sure Mom isn’t nearby. “You can tell me if…you know…”
“Had sex?” I blurt out.
She nods. “Yeah, that.”
“I didn’t have sex with Trey.”
“Do you want to?”
Her words have my head snapping up. “He doesn’t want to have sex with me.”
“Pen,” she says. A devious grin she no doubt learned from Cal forms on her face. “I saw the way he looked at you on New Year’s Eve.” She laughs. “Like he wanted to eat you up.”
Fire burns along my flesh, making my skin break out in a sweat.
“I kissed him,” I admit, my voice barely a whisper.
“No fucking way!” she shrieks, making me recoil at her outburst.
“Stop talking,” I grumble, shoving my shirts into her arms. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
She pouts, but I’m not falling for it. I leave her to pay for my items and make my way down the darkened hallway toward the restroom. Before I reach the restroom, I can’t help but notice a corkboard stuffed with all sorts of ads and coupons. They’re all for various shops here on Main Street, even the restaurant Jordy and Roux work at, but the one on orange paper catches my eye.
Babysitter needed for four-year-old for occasional nights and weekends. Text Jack Henderson. Reliable applicants only.
No fucking way.
I rip the ad off the wall so no one else will text him. Quickly, I fire off a text.
Me: Hello. I’m available. Penelope Morgan.
Not a total lie. It’s my full, given name minus my last name.
Unknown Number: How old are you? How did you get my number?
I save his contact in my phone and then respond.
Me: 17. Thrift store. How much?
Jackoff Henderson: Depends on your experience. $10-$14 per hour.
Me: I watch my nephew all the time. He’s that age. When should I start?
Jackoff Henderson: I think it’s best we meet first before I allow you to sit my daughter.
Daughter? Fuck this dude.
Me: Great. Where are you? I can come to you.
Jackoff Henderson: I’m at work. Do you know where the tire factory is?
Me: I’m not driving all the way to the other side of town to meet you there. Can I just come by your house later and meet the kid? I promise. I’m legit.
Jackoff Henderson: Send a pic so I know you’re not some creep.
Rolling my eyes, I switch it to selfie mode. I force one of Charlotte’s cheerleader smiles and send it to him.
Jackoff Henderson: I get off work late tonight. What about tomorrow? Can you come at noon?
Me: It might be closer to dinner, but I’ll be there. Just text me your address.
My heart is hammering in my chest. Did I really just get a job babysitting Trey’s kid? Why? I know why. I need to help him get her back and this seems like the best way to find answers.
He’s going to freak.
Probably tell me no.
Which is why I definitely don’t need to tell him yet. Not until I find some information that could be useful to him.
I will find out where Lacey is and I will find a way to get Trey his daughter.