Chapter 1
Chapter One
Wren
Hell of a good time - Haiden Henderson
T hree months later…
Penelope Sanderson-Menacci.
How did I fall so deeply in love with her?
How was it so easy to know that our friendship would never feel like friendship to me. That in a room full of people, she would always be the one my eyes would search for. That when I hug my friends, she would be the one I kept close a little longer.
Men want her . And why wouldn’t they?
I watch her pour tequila in a shaker she pulled out of the fridge, throwing her long, thick red hair over her shoulder and smiling at the guy flirting with her, impressed when he says how quickly she can prepare a margarita.
It’s her favorite , I think to myself. Her go-to on any night out, friends’ night in, bake and shake afternoon with her girls.
I lick the salt off my lips. She made me one earlier—before everyone arrived at the house my best friend Achilles and I share on campus. September first also means the first party of the year at SFU, and since we’re in our last year, we decided to host.
That guy was staring at her ass for twenty minutes before he gathered the courage to come and talk to her. The same ass that earned her the nickname Peach.
Penelope Peach Sanderson-Menacci. One of my best friends with a stupid nickname that reduces her to a part of her body. A name that caught on since high school and that I, of course, use without shame. Because calling her my love , baby , queen of my life , doesn’t exactly scream friends since elementary school, does it?
She still hasn’t said anything to Fuckboy Number One of the night. She’s letting him enjoy everything there is to enjoy about her. A gorgeous body sculpted by years of cheerleading. Beautiful, vibrant hair. A mix of brown, auburn, and red no dye could compete with. Bright green eyes that sparkle the second she finds something amusing. This week, she’s also sporting a small bruise on her cheek from a violent protest. She got in a fight with a protester who was trying to block the entrance to the women’s shelter she volunteers at. It’s not taking anything away from her beauty. If anything, imperfections on Peach somehow make her look more perfect.
Enjoy while you can, buddy.
Because while Peach is someone you can appreciate from afar, you can only fall for the idea of her. A pretty princess that could come straight out of a Disney film?—
“What the fuck are you looking at, Hunter?”
Until she opens her mouth.
She cocks an eyebrow at me, the fact that she called me by my last name making my stomach do somersaults. I hate that last name. So, why does it sound so hot coming from her? She silently dares me to say something about the guy who’s still hovering around her, even though she hasn’t answered any of his advances.
My chest tingles. The sensation travels up my throat and forces the corner of my mouth to tilt up. She doesn’t expect any answer from me, turning to Fuckboy Number One.
“Go bother someone else. Can’t you see you’re punching above your weight here?” Her voice is as warm as a winter night.
Yeah, he didn’t expect those words to leave such pretty lips. His jaw drops open, his expression hardening as he tries to save face.
“You’re not all that.”
“I am, in fact, all that. Now shoo.”
She shakes her head, walking to our group of friends, and this time, I don’t stop my smile.
Men don’t like Peach. They like how beautiful she is, and they all want to fuck her despite themselves. Peach? She eats them alive. Which makes her even more attractive, because everyone likes a good challenge. She was late to the sex party. Lost her virginity freshman year of college and suddenly decided she gets a kick out of putting men on their knees, pushing them to desperation.
It only lasted our first year, though. I quickly grew tired of it and put a stop to that behavior.
"He's new," Achilles says to me as Peach starts talking to our friends, Alex and Ella. "He must be if he didn't get the memo about hitting on Peach."
"He can always try." I shrug, taking a sip of my drink. "That's the quickest way to learn to stay away from her."
"It's also the quickest way to get your legs broken around here," my friend adds. He sounds excited about it, like the psycho he is.
I stare at her as she complains to her friends that, even if she had found Fuckboy Number One hot, she knows he would have given up before having sex with her.
"Or was he cute? Because my vision has lowered. My left eye is minus 3.25 now, and I haven't received my new contacts." She huffs. "Never mind. It doesn't matter, anyway. I swear they're scared of me." She laughs. "I'm doomed to stay celibate at this point."
Truth is, the men on campus aren’t scared of her. They’re scared of me. But she doesn't need to know that, right? She's not wrong, though. Men with big egos and small dicks are scared of strong women.
I don't fear Peach. As a friend, I ground her when she’s about to explode. I defuse the ticking time bomb that she is. I know her by heart, and I’m the only one capable of cooling her down when she’s burning hot. Our friends know I’m the one to call when she’s about to get herself in trouble. And that works well for us…as fucking. Friends.
But here’s the issue; Peach dominates as a hobby, and I dominate to keep myself alive. It’s more than something I enjoy. It’s how I live, survive, thrive .
I am not a mean man. I don’t do it to hurt people. But the world is my playground, and I must not only succeed in everything, but be the best. I breathe success. Dominant is a weak word for who I am. It’s in my soul.
And that’s where Peach and I clash. She can’t take that. Her pride gets in the way of everything and all the ways I could make her happy.
“Seriously, your weirdness is showing, Wren. Why are you staring at me so hard tonight?”
Our friends Ella and Alexandra burst out laughing. Chris, Ella’s boyfriend, shakes his head, smiling knowingly.
“The way you guys flirt is so weird.” Alex giggles. “But we love it.”
It’s not a secret to anyone that I’ve had the biggest crush on Peach since forever. She likes to insist nothing happened or will ever happen. I like to lean into it and make her mad. Our best friends enjoy pointing out that I’ve never dated. That she’s never had a serious boyfriend. Some say I have her on a leash, and others say that she’ll put me on my knees one day.
The game is fun, but the truth is so real.
I’m in love with Peach.
Because her beautiful, soft, feminine traits often harden with the power that hides within her. Because she looks like a little kitten but carries the intensity of a lioness. There’s fire in her soul, in her entire being.
Peach has always been my biggest challenge. But God, I will put her back in her place one day. She won’t see it coming.
She would look so gorgeous on her knees for me, her beautiful eyes looking up into mine, narrowing from the anger of submitting and yet not able to help it.
“We don’t flirt,” Peach snaps. “That’s weird to say. Everyone, stop being weird.” She takes a gulp of her margarita. “Bet ya I can down it quicker than you?" she taunts as she looks at my glass.
I hold back a smile to not show my excitement. This girl loves to show how she's faster, tougher, smarter. She has a constant need to prove herself, and I'm always the one she chooses because I take her up on it every time. If it means I have her attention, I'll probably do it.
I place the rim of the glass to my lips and cock an eyebrow at her as she does the same. I finish before her…obviously. That cute little mouth of hers can't compete with me gulping down a glass.
"Ugh. That wasn't fun," she huffs.
"That's because you lost." I chuckle. "What do I get for winning? A date?"
"No."
I tilt my head, eyebrow quirked. "We can skip straight to the wedding."
"You're really not hot enough to be making suggestions like that."
I put a hand on my chest, pretending to be hurt. Fuck, I love teasing her. "The rest of the SFU population disagrees with you, Peach darling. Even you can't deny I'm hot."
She looks me up and down, pretending to be analyzing me even though we grew up together and have seen every phase a human can go through.
"You're lukewarm at best, Wren darling ." Turning to her girls, she says, "Is it me or is this party boring?"
“I think it’s the curse of being a senior,” Ella says with a sigh. “Nothing is that exciting anymore.”
I stare down at her as her eyes travel around the room.
“Don’t,” I say, voice low. “You’ll make your night worse.”
Every time Peach states something is boring or dead , the part that comes after isn’t fun. Too much drinking, drugs, trouble. She becomes a hurricane ready to destroy everyone and everything in her wake. She blacks out and doesn’t remember anything the next day, especially not me cleaning up after her mess.
Smiling brightly at me, her eyes flicker. She starts walking backward and into the crowd of people drinking and dancing together.
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
Two middle fingers aimed at me, and she’s gone.
Penelope Sanderson-Menacci. You’ll be the end of me one day, and I can’t wait.