Chapter 11 #2
Somehow, I’ve migrated closer, into the warm circle of his arms. Somehow, his hands have drifted back to my waist, settling there heavy and secure. We share a breath, and my knees weaken. I want to rest on his wide chest, melt into him.
August’s grip tightens ever so slightly. A whip of heat licks along the backs of my thighs, and tightens my lower belly. His forehead rests against mine.
Control. I need to regain it. My hands fist, and I lower them against my chest where my heart pounds out of control. He sees the withdrawal and takes a deep breath before raising his gaze to mine; pewter skies outlined with inky lashes.
“I didn’t expect you to be this potent, Pen. It’s doing my head in.”
The whispered confession has my breath hitching. Potent? He’s looking at me with those storm cloud eyes, as if he’s halfway to angry, halfway to . . . what? It can’t be lust. It can’t be. Not from him. Teasing is one thing.
My fists tighten. “I’m just . . . me.”
“Yeah, you are,” he says, a smile in his voice. When I gape up at him in slight panic, he gives me a small squeeze with the tips of his fingers then sets me back. “Eventually you’ll see it, Penelope Morrow.”
“See what?”
With a wry shake of his head, he locks up the car. “See yourself the way I do.”
I’m too chicken to ask for further clarification. Besides, I have a feeling he wouldn’t give me a straight answer anyway.
“Come on, then.” He holds out a hand. “Let’s take a walk and plan our strategy.”
August
I almost kissed her. It was a near thing. And it would have been a mistake. Pen isn’t ready for that from me. She’ll bolt or explain it away—it was the heat of the moment, I didn’t realize what I was doing, or some similar nonsense.
Fact is, yes, the heat of the moment was almost too much to restrain me. But no, I’d have known exactly what I was doing. I’ve been trying to keep from kissing Penelope since I saw her in my parents’ doorway, outlined by the pouring rain and gaping up at me like I was a mirage.
Maybe this is a dream: frogs in top hats, chicken dances on tables, and Penelope Morrow calling me Pickle with a wide smile on her perfect lips.
Maybe I took a hard hit and I’m in a coma.
The thought slides down my spine like wet ice. I take a short breath and blow it out hard. But I’m still unsettled. Somehow, my hand finds Pen’s. She takes a misstep like she’s surprised, but doesn’t pull away, and our fingers thread.
This is real. Nothing in my imagination would come up with the sense of calm and rightness that holding Pen’s hand gives me.
I wouldn’t have thought it possible. Not to this extent.
I’m holding hands with a woman—something I’ve always considered a cliché and an unnecessary activity—and it feels good.
In direct opposition of my earlier stance, it feels necessary.
Pen glances up at me. Her rounded cheeks are slightly flushed, and I know she’s preoccupied with the hand holding.
This amuses me. Despite her shyness, Pen wouldn’t hold my hand if she didn’t want to.
That much I know. The same way I know she’s nervous because some part of her must like this too.
No, I’m not a mind reader, but I know her.
A lot more than she realizes. It would never occur to Pen that I’ve made a study of her all of our lives.
She’d probably faint dead away—right after insisting that it wasn’t true.
“Why are you smiling,” she asks, suspicious.
I give our linked hands a little swing. “Sun’s shining, weather’s perfect, and I got a pretty girl walking with me along the beach. What’s not to smile about?”
“You know, I had no idea you were such a smooth talker.”
“Should have talked to me more.”
Her lips purse with a wry expression. “I don’t think my teenage self could have taken it.”
“Sure you could’ve. I’ve recently been told I’m very charming.”
“I have regrets.”
A laugh bursts out of me, causing an elderly couple sitting on a bench to glance our way.
The woman smiles indulgently as the man nods.
Pen flushes a nice shade of rosy pink, then hurries us past as if we’ve been caught doing something naughty.
Hell, I’d love to be caught doing something naughty with her.
I keep a straight face as we wind our way down the beach path. A couple of people on bikes are out and a few joggers trot by. I’d be happy to walk for miles. Except for one thing . . . “You want to grab some lunch?”
“I just ate breakfast!”
“That was at least twenty minutes ago.”
“It amazes me how much food you can pack in and still look like that.”
I rub my belly; it’s beginning to grumble. “Like a god? Yes, yes, I know. But even gods need to be fed.”
Pen doesn’t appear impressed. “And here I thought March was the one with the overinflated ego.”
Again with March. Every time she mentions him, I get a swift kick in the balls from the little green man. I don’t want to be jealous of my brother. I don’t like the feeling. Unfortunately, when it comes to Pen and March, that ugly, petty emotion has a way of worming in.
“March absolutely has an overinflated ego,” I deadpan. “My ego, on the other hand, is within perfectly acceptable limits.”
“Sure.” She tugs my hand. “Let’s go to the Pier. I haven’t been there forever.”
“Uh,” is my witty reply. Looming above us in the distance is the massive pier with its Ferris wheel and roller coaster.
The rides mainly appeal to families with kids, teens on the prowl, and young couples wanting to cuddle up for a small thrill.
Lights and noise and fried food. I’m not against any of it in theory.
My step slows. “Thing is . . . I might be recognized. And I’m not saying that in a hopeful manner, by the way.”
Her expression is both soft and amused. “Or you might not.”
“Your roommate did.”
“She’s a football fan. Has season tickets.”
“I’ll get her a box seat. She can bring Edward.” I feel a moment’s glee picturing everyone’s reaction to that.
Happiness lights Pen’s gaze. “She’ll love you forever.”
“Obviously, my plan all along.”
“August. You’re dragging your feet.”
Am I? I glance down. Yep, not really moving forward. With a sigh, I adjust my hold on Pen’s hand and trudge forward. “I don’t have my hat.”
“It’s not the disguise you think it is, big guy.”
My free hand twitches with the urge to tug on a brim that isn’t there. “It’s a good disguise,” I mutter.
Pen pats my hand and leads me into chaos. It’s more crowded here, people heading in different directions, looking for fun. Over the thunder of the coaster, Pen and I go in search of food.
I settle for a double cheeseburger, fries, and a peanut butter custard shake. I talk Pen into a vanilla shake. Not that she needs much persuading. Her resistance seems to be more about me buying it for her.
“You can pay for dinner,” I tell her as we sit down at a little picnic table with an umbrella for shade.
“Or I could have simply bought my own drink.”
“Nope.” I shake my head. “Mom taught me better. I insisted on eating. Ergo, I pay for said meal.”
“Sounds like grandpa talk to me.”
“Ha. Ha. No more sass from you, young lady.” I take a nice, satisfactory bite of my burger.
Pen frowns from across the table. “As an athlete, you should eat better.”
I dab a bunch of fries in ketchup. “It’s nice that you worry about my health.”
“Somebody should.”
“See?” I smile and shove the fries in my mouth. “It’s like we’re already a married couple.”
“Then I feel safe in telling you not to talk while eating.”
I salute her with my burger before taking a big bite. Pen uses the moment to steal a couple of fries. Duly chastised, I finish my mouthful before speaking.
“You’re telling me to eat better yet here you are snarfing my fries.”
“Well, I’m not an athlete so . . .” She shrugs and takes a long pull of her shake.
The cheeky smile has me laughing again. I might know a lot about Pen, the girl from my youth, but the way she effortlessly makes me laugh is a surprise.
A nice one. Tenderness squeezes low in my chest as I look at her.
It’s probably a good shot: me and Pen grinning at each other from across a table.
The sunlight shining on Pen’s hair, catching the glints of copper and gold among the nut brown.
Part of me would love to see it. But that’s not what goes through my mind when I notice the young woman pointing her phone our way.
I’ve been the subject of sneak shots long enough to instinctively know when someone’s taking a picture of me.
I’m used to the invasion of privacy. Pen isn’t. My mood plummets as my back stiffens. I want to yank down the umbrella fluttering overhead and use it as a shield between the two of us and the world. I want . . .
“Hey.” Pen’s hand settles over my clenched fist. Chocolate-brown eyes look at me with warmth and sympathy. “It’s okay.”
“You saw that too?” An icy rod has fused to my spine. “I’m sorry about—”
“August.” Another gentle squeeze. “You wanted to have a public relationship with me. I guess it starts here.”
My mouth opens to argue, to tell her that I don’t want our relationship public, that it’s nobody’s business but ours. Then I catch myself. What the hell am I thinking? This is exactly what I asked of her.
Swallowing past a lump in my throat, I nod shortly. “Yeah, I guess it does.”
But the ease in our conversation has died. We’re both too aware of our surroundings as we finish up our meal and toss the trash. Pen takes the shake with her and sips at it as we walk down the pier.
“You want to go for a ride on anything?” My question is subdued, even though I’m earnest in the offer; I’ll take her anywhere she wants to go.
“Maybe another time.” She sidesteps a stroller. “How about we go back on the beach path?”
“I’m down for that.”
Once on the beach, I walk a bit easier. We’re more exposed but, for once, that feels like a boon. I can see everyone around me.
Pen sips her shake and focuses on the ocean. “How long do you expect our engagement to last?”
“For the season should do it. Football gods willing, that would be until February and the Super Bowl. Otherwise, in January.” I roll my stiff shoulders. “Attention on us will drop dramatically after that, and we can orchestrate a quiet breakup announcement in the spring.”
“Seems reasonable. It will be my final semester of college.” She squints as a gust of wind blows past. “But I’m basically coasting along at this point. Everything dire has already been done.”
“What’s your class schedule?” I ask.
Pen spots a trash bin and tosses the empty cup. “Class starts next Thursday on the twenty-fifth. I’m in class Mondays through Thursdays, but only until around three in the afternoon.”
“You up for a couple of dates when I’m free during the week, and attending home game days?”
“Of course.”
“I don’t expect you at my beck and call or anything. It’s more that my schedule is pretty full with training, practice, and games. Wash, rinse, repeat.”
She touches my hand. “August, it’s fine. This is what you asked of me.”
“Yeah.” I’m already regretting it. But I push it aside. Focus on the ultimate goal. It’s what I do best. “I talked to the guy who did the settlement on my house. Sean says he can set you up with a payment schedule so you don’t have to pay the taxes in lump sums.”
At this, Pen halts and blinks up at me. “You did?”
“I said I’d help.”
“I know . . . it’s just . . . thank you, August.”
“Don’t thank me just yet. It’s still a lot of money each month.” I peer down at her. “Do you have a job right now?”
Her cheeks pinken, and she nibbles on her bottom lip.
“There was enough in the trust for me to set up a rental-living expense account. I could have used it for the taxes, but it wouldn’t have been enough, and I figured, double up on classes, focus on graduating so I can devote all my time to earning would be a good thing. ”
“All right. Then I’ll pay off this year’s taxes—it’ll give you some room to figure things out,” I add when she stiffens.
“How about this. If I can’t figure out how to pay for it myself by tax time, you can help.”
“It’s your choice.”
“It is.”
“Okay, then. But the offer is always going to be open.”
“And I appreciate it. Truly, August. I do.”
We walk a bit in silence.
Her expression turns resolute. “If you do end up helping me, it will be just the one time. I’ll either sell the place or find another way to pay you back.”
“Okay.” It’s all I can say. Pen sees this as charity, which couldn’t be farther from the truth. It’s an attempt to give something back in gratitude for the public pressures I’m about to subject her to. That part, I don’t like. Only, I can’t back down now. I just can’t.
I’m an intelligent guy. There are other ways I could go about fixing my tarnished image.
But somewhere between finding her on my parents’ doorstep and hunting her down at the airport, I’d realized with absolute clarity that this is the play I need.
Not only to help my career. But to get closer to Pen, something I could never do before, given that she’d flee any time I was around.
Our new ease together tentative at best. I need more time with her. I need to play this right. It’s a gamble. Anything worth having is. All that is required is a good strategy.
I take her hand in mine—friendly-like. “Meet me on Wednesday for breakfast?”