Chapter 22 #2
“As for the clothes,” June adds. “We know how to shop for bargains that will still look both hot and classy. It’s really a matter of adding good pieces to what you already have.”
“Absolutely.” May nods. “We got you, boo.”
I try not to laugh. Or sigh. No wonder August was terrified of facing these two. The Luck brothers might be a veritable wall of physical strength, but the Luck sisters have persuasive skills bordering on hypnotic. I already feel myself being pulled under.
June wraps her arm around my shoulders and gives me an affectionate squeeze. “Don’t look so glum, Penny. We’re going to take good care of you.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I mutter darkly.
“You’ll survive.” She kisses my cheek. “Sometimes you’ve got to let yourself enjoy a little pampering.”
Thing is? She’s right. I don’t do enough self-care.
Hadn’t I been lecturing myself on getting better clothes?
On crawling out of this shell I’ve constructed around myself?
I can’t be the me I’ve always wanted to be if I don’t try.
And if there was ever a time when I needed to put myself in their capable hands, it’s now.
A long breath leaves me, and I rest my head on June’s shoulder. “All right. Have at me.”
They both squeal. I’m enveloped in a group hug of joy. And it feels good to let go. Really good.
August
It’s late when I finally head out. Hours of training, followed by footage reviews and QB meetings have left my body drained and my eyes sore. I just want to kick back with a cold drink in one hand and Pen in the other.
The thought bursts through the fog like a lightning strike, and I halt a step. I shouldn’t be surprised; she’s on my mind more often than not. And I knew that having her in my life would change everything.
But the fact that she’s my first choice of reward after a long day truly sinks in.
I’ve never had a person I looked forward to seeing in this way.
Women: mother, sisters, aunts, grandmothers, play a huge factor in my life, and I love each and every one of them.
I’d like to think they’ve made me a better person, shown me what it is to truly love and be loved.
When it comes to sexual release and romance, women have basically been interchangeable and not exactly necessary in my life.
Truth is, I’ve felt no desire to get close to any of them.
As for sex? That I’ve gone through a dry period since the last week of the draft—a time I do not want to think about—doesn’t faze me.
What does faze me is that one woman I want—no, need—to be near is the one I’ve convinced to fake it with me.
The thought makes my steps heavy as I head for the Grouch.
Press have gathered at the visitors’ entrance for shots of players and quick sound bites.
We have an important big game this week, so we’ll be peppered with the usual nonsense questions and given the usual stock answers.
There are times when I’m answering that I imagine myself pulling a folksy Ted Lasso or, even better, a Roy Fucking Kent and letting loose.
But reality is much less permissive of going off script.
Last thing I need is to further tarnish my image by not being a “team player.”
Luckily, no one has yet spotted me. I exited a rarely used janitorial door in the hopes of evasion. It’s now a matter of casually strolling to my vehicle without them noticing.
The sun is doing an easy slide toward the western horizon, leaving a swath of gilded tangerine and bruised purple in its wake. Idle breezes dance over the warm concrete and rustle in the giant palms overhead. California is beautiful like that. Volatile at times but gorgeous all the same.
A gust of wind rushes past, lifting the ends of my hair and cooling me off. Sighing, I raise my head.
And spot her.
The sight goes through me in a thump of emotion—a punch to the heart, the solar plexus, everywhere. Again, my stride stutters to a halt.
She’s sitting on the hood of the Grouch, her booted heels resting on the chrome bumper.
Her smile is lopsided, straining a little at the edges as I stand there staring back at her.
The same wind that stroked me, tousles the gorgeous cloud of her shining brown hair, whipping it over her face, and she struggles to hold the mass back.
Happiness swells over me. In a crescendo it rises, vibrating in my bones. The smile on her face starts to turn uncertain, wobbling as though about to fall. Can’t have that. Not when her smile is the best thing I’ve seen all day. I grin back at her, full out so she can see what she does to me.
The answer is a light in her eyes, a slow, shy curl of her lips. She’s so fucking pretty. My feet move before I even think about it, pounding the pavement. It isn’t a run, but it’s close.
“Hey!” she says in greeting when I get to her.
My duffel hits the ground. I step between her legs, wrap my arms around her, and nuzzle the curve of her neck.
“Hey.” She smells so good. Sugar, spice, and everything nice.
It’s clear I surprised Pen with the hug. Her hands hover around me for a moment before she rests them on my shoulders. I almost sigh. An actual fucking sigh of contentment. As it is, I draw in another deep breath and let the feel of her sink into my bones.
“What are you doing here?” I ask her neck. Would she flinch if I kissed it?
Pen huffs out a nervous laugh. “I don’t know. I was just . . . nowhere near your neighborhood.”
The response filters through my contentment, and I lift my head.
The bridge of her nose and the crests of her cheeks are flushed.
I cup the side of her face to feel all that silken warmth.
She’s so delicately small boned, my hand nearly engulfs her.
I want to touch her all the time. And once I start, I find it difficult to stop.
Smiling softly, I run my thumb along her cheek. “That was a movie quote, wasn’t it?”
Pen blinks for a second. “It was.”
She sounds both impressed and happy at the catch. When she moves to speak, I cut in.
“Wait, don’t tell me. I know this. We watched it once for movie night.”
The corners of her eyes crinkle. “You . . . you remember that?”
“Uh-huh.” I remember everything. I close my eyes to concentrate. “Bunch of people living in a Seattle apartment building . . . Coffee and flannel. There’s a guy who wants to make a super commuter train and mentally converses with basketball stars to prevent orgasm—”
“Figures you’d remember that.”
My eyes pop open in triumph. “Singles! Right?”
Pen beams, sunset in her hair, eyes like stars. “You got it!”
“I’m so fucking happy to see you, Penny.” It comes out without forethought. But I’m not sorry. It’s the absolute truth.
Even so, she frowns a little in shock. “You called me Penny.”
Not what I thought she would address. “Everyone in my family calls you Penny.”
“You never did.” It’s not delivered as an accusation, more an observation.
And what can I say to that? I didn’t want to call you what everyone else did; I was already too much in the background of your world.
Her gaze darts over my face, waiting for an answer, starting to wonder. I slide my fingers into the satiny mass of her hair. “I saw you sitting here, so pretty and shiny like a new penny.”
“You’re making me blush,” she murmurs, averting her eyes.
“I know. It’s cute.” I brush a kiss over the tip of her nose. And she blushes some more.
Pen leans back with a stern look. “I hate blushing. Damn my pale skin.”
I can only grin. “Aside from me being extremely glad to see you, what are you really doing here? Is everything okay?”
“The girls and I went shopping today. We finished with hair appointments—”
“They got their hair done?”
There’s a pause, in which she gives me a long, bland look. And I know I’ve stepped in it. Badly. I glance at her hair. It’s shorter, isn’t it?
“You got your hair done,” I amend, regrouping.
“Yes. Doesn’t matter.”
Yes, it fucking does.
“I didn’t notice before because—” I only saw you “—the wind.” I make a swirling motion with my free hand. I’m still cupping her head, and she hasn’t pulled away. So I’m staying put.
Now that I have a chance, I truly look at her.
Her hair is definitely shorter, better framing her heart-shaped face, which makes her eyes look bigger.
She’s wearing a pale yellow sundress that hugs her breasts like a lover and emphasizes the smallness of her waist. The skirt puddles between her parted thighs to reveal the pale caps of her knees.
The dark brown cowboy boots she has on are well-worn and clearly well loved.
She catches me looking at them. “They were Pegs’s. I found them in the mudroom.”
“They look good.” Sexy as hell, in all honesty. “You look fantastic.”
“Anyway,” she says with a small hitch of breath. “When you texted that you’d be leaving soon, the girls dropped me off. I thought here I am getting fixed up to play the part, I might as well greet you after practice like a smitten fiancée.”
And here I thought nothing would deflate my mood. I fight a grimace. She doesn’t need to see that. But my act doesn’t appear to fool her.
Pen wraps her hand around my wrist. Dark eyes search mine. “I’m glad to see you too, August.” The mix of utter sincerity and mild surprise in her voice has me tipping my forehead to hers. I want to kiss her. I want it so badly my hands tremble.
She breathes quick and light, as though she’s as affected as I am. “I’ve been wanting to tell you about my day.”
“And I want to hear it.” My lips brush the shell of her ear. Just one little kiss. I’ll be good. “After we take care of this. Are they looking now?”
In the distance are the faint sounds of rapid-fire questions and friendly laughter. Most of my teammates will have come streaming out of the front exit by now. That doesn’t mean the press hasn’t noticed me.
A small movement of Pen’s head, and then she answers conspiratorially. “The pack appears to be stirring in this direction.”