Chapter 17 #2
May leans forward, holding on to the seat back in front of her so her face hovers between me and June. “But you didn’t have the money— Oh, August is paying it, isn’t he?”
It’s the truth in the simplest sense. Even so, it’s as though I’ve been kicked. My hand tightens on the wheel. I don’t miss the way June shoots May a repressive glare.
“You don’t . . .” The words get caught up on my tongue. “You don’t think I’d use August that way, do you?”
They’re silent.
“Do you?” I ask again, sharper with hurt.
June touches my hand. “No! No, we don’t.” She gives May a warning look. “Do we.”
It isn’t a question so much as a directive.
May colors. “No, no, of course not. We know that’s not you—what are we supposed to think?” she wails. “I’m so confused. Last time we were together, you could barely look at him—”
“There were definite sparks between them,” June murmurs. “Despite all protests to the contrary.”
Were there? I know I felt them. But had August? I shake myself out of speculation. Now isn’t the time. My friends are still on a tear.
“And you never, ever made eyes at August,” May rolls on. “March, I could understand. But August? Most of the time you two act like strangers to each other.”
“Well, we don’t anymore,” I mutter.
“I should certainly hope not,” June intones.
May slaps the back of my seat. “I’m serious! I don’t believe for one minute that August would up and propose to you out of the blue like this. Now you’re wearing what might be Nanna’s ring. And moving into a super expensive house. All I know is something funny is going on.”
The dark accusation in her gaze has my hackles rising. Being upset is one thing, but looking at me like I’m trying to put one over on them is another.
“Well, gee, Velma, are you and Daphne on the case now?”
“I’m not trying to accuse you of anything. It’s not like you’re some gold digger—”
“Oh, thanks for that.”
June cuts in, “—I . . . that is, we, want to understand.”
Gritting my teeth, I make the turn up to Brentwood. “I know it looks . . . odd.”
May snorts. I push on.
“We just . . . got caught up in the moment—” they both scoff loudly “—and forgot to call. I know it was bad of us to not say anything to family first. But I’m sorry, I can’t tell you the rest right now.”
“What?” they yell in unison.
Calm. Strive for calm. “I promised August that we’d talk about it with everyone together.”
“But it’s us.”
Yeah, and it’s me. Don’t I rate being given the benefit of the doubt? Hurt twists my heart, but I hold it close to me and focus on the road. “A promise is a promise.”
May huffs in annoyance and sits back in her seat. “Fine, but he better get his butt to the house because we’re not waiting forever.”
August
There are times I regret not falling to cliché and buying myself a badass supercar. Right now, for example, I’d love to have something that corners like it’s on rails. The Grouch can haul ass but it’s a rocking barge on the curves. I need high performance. I need to get to Pen. Right the fuck now.
I halt at a red light and curse, my fingers tapping in agitation on the steering wheel. I also don’t need to get pulled over for reckless driving—wouldn’t that just be the cherry on the fuckcake? A balance of speed and caution is needed. Speed is winning out, though.
I’ve left Pen alone with monsters. Okay, I love my sisters. They’re cool most of the time, but they absolutely can be little monsters when they so choose, and I know without doubt that they’re in Monster Mode right now. I break out in a cold sweat.
Shit. Why hadn’t we told them? What will we tell them?
I don’t think any of my well-intentioned yet incredibly nosy family members are going to appreciate: You see, I begged Penelope to be my fake fiancée and she hesitantly agreed. Nor will they go for: Ah, well, we fell in love over a flight to LA and I just had to make her mine forever.
“Fucking, fuck.” How did I get here? I’m supposed to be the steady one. Sensible August. The voice of reason. Okay, that’s pushing it. But not by much. I’m not this impulsive, shenanigan-having . . . liar.
Yes, a liar. I’m lying too much to too many people I care about. But what to do? Once it’s in motion, a lie becomes a sticky ball of tape, rolling and twisting until you have no clue how to get out of it. Not without cutting in deep.
Earlier today, a group of boys had cheered me as I left the practice facility. I’d signed autographs and told them to follow their dreams. If they could see me now. I make a noise of self-disgust, as my phone rings.
Fearing it’s Pen, I punch on the speaker immediately. Unfortunately . . .
“Bro, are you in trouble.”
March. Perfect.
“Did you rat me out?”
“Me?” he squawks in outrage. “I would never!”
“Yes, you fucking would.”
“Okay, I would. But, sadly, not this time.” He tuts. “You told the world and didn’t think to inform your family—”
“Yes, yes, it was very thoughtless.”
“More like boneheaded but . . . You said you’d tell them!”
“I thought I had more time!”
“You forgot, didn’t you?”
“Shit.” It really was more a “pretend I don’t have to and it will go away” thing, but . . . details.
“Mom and Dad are hella pissed. I’m surprised they haven’t called you.”
Note to self: Don’t answer the phone again without looking at who’s calling.
“So . . .” March drawls with far too much glee. “Whatcha doing?”
“Driving to rescue Pen. She’s already in the clutches of the Wonder Twins.”
“Jaysus, no. She’s doomed.”
Fucking hell. “I know!”
“How the fuck did they get to LA so fast?”
“Man, I don’t know.” I had assumed they were safely in Boston attending classes. Shows what I know about my sisters.
“Doesn’t matter. They’ve invaded your territory.”
“Not helping, March.”
“The real question is, why are you wasting time talking to me? Go save your girl, asshat.”
“On it.” I hit End and punch the gas.
At the next stop sign, a slow-moving delivery robot toddles along. The thing takes forever to get back up on the sidewalk. As soon as it does, I’m off again, hunching forward as if the action can somehow get me there faster.
Finally—finally—the turn into Pen’s driveway appears. Thankfully she already gave me the code and a key.
Now that I’m here, I approach with caution, parking the Grouch on the far side of the carport instead of in a garage. Stealth is needed. I want to find Pen before my sisters find me.
Anxiety for Pen has my fingers twitching and heart pumping. Sneaking around the side path, I send her a text.
LuvGod: I’m here. Where do you want to meet?
It takes a second, then she answers.
Sweets: Bedroom
Now is not the time to make innuendo. Oh, but I want to. Anything other than contemplating my upcoming conversation with The Sisters. Fuck, but they’re terrifying. The only thing worse would be my mother. Don’t tempt fate that way, asshole. Quickly, I cross myself.
LuvGod: I’ll be there in a sec. Sneaking in now
A couple of dots spring up on the screen but then disappear. I’m going to guess she’d rather ream me out in person. Silently, I move past the side yard and toward the pool where I can sneak into the bedroom via the back door. The sound of feminine laughter has me halting. Okay, they’re by the pool.
I switch course and return to the front door. Inside, it’s cool and quiet. The house already smells of Pen—a faint smokey sweetness. Her perfume? Scented body lotion? I want to find out.
Later. Focus, Luck.
Getting to her bedroom is tricky, given that the entire back of the house is a wall of windowed doors that open to the veranda and the pool just beyond.
On stealthy feet I move, low and quiet. A quick glance has me relaxing a little.
From what I can tell, they’re sitting under the stone pergola at the far end of the pool, which takes me out of their direct sight line.
With that in mind, I book it down the hall.
On my heels comes the sound of Pen’s voice. “Anyone want anything?”
“Chips!” May cries.
“And dip!” from June.
I roll my eyes and slip into the bedroom, slowly pulling the drapes across the set of French doors facing the patio and pool.
Pen scrambles in a second later, closing the door and leaning against it like she’s been chased by wild dogs. “August!”
I close the distance between us in two steps and wrap my arms around her.
Pen jolts as though surprised but then relaxes against me with a sigh.
For a moment, I don’t think about anything other than how good she feels: soft and warm and delicate.
The back of her neck, where I cup it, is hot and damp, and I know she’s been stressing.
“Pen,” I murmur, pressing my lips to the top of her head, and smell the sunlight in her silky hair. “I’m sorry.”
At that, she gently but firmly steps from my hold. I mourn the loss but let my arms drop and run a hand through my hair to keep from reaching for her. If I touch her again, I’m going to be angling for a kiss. She was very clear about how that will be received.
More to the point, she deserves to be treated with honest intentions.
I’d been sending mixed messages and leaving her uncertain how to act.
That isn’t cool. Maybe later I’ll think about how bad this is for my heart.
For now, I take the moment to fully look at Pen, because it’s been a whole day and, sisters or not, I’ve missed her.
God, but she’s cute. She’s wearing a retro white-and-yellow flower print bathing suit.
With her swerving curves and slim legs, she could be a classic pinup girl.
My head goes a little muzzy at the way her breasts swell upward as if fighting to break free of the suit.
They look so plump and soft. I could rest my head there and . . .
“We’re both guilty here,” she’s saying. “I feel like such a jerk.”
I give myself a mental shake and focus on a spot just above her head. “No, it was my idea. This one is on me.”
“I’m going around pretending to be your fiancée. I think I’m a little in it.” The dryness of her tone is unmistakable.