Chapter 3
Jacob
My dick is a rock-solid baseball bat in my pants sitting next to Penelope—the woman I’ve had a crush on since she moved into my old neighborhood when I was just a kid. It was a knife through the heart when I came home for fall break my freshman year of college to find she’d moved away. By then, my crush had turned into all-consuming love, and I thought my life was over without her in it.
My grades tanked when I went back to school, unable to drag myself out of bed for months after searching for her through social media and coming up empty. Now I know why. If she does have an online presence, she’s probably using her maiden name, which I hadn’t thought to check since I didn’t know she’d gotten a divorce.
I’d forced myself to try to move on, and I thought I had done a good job, just getting by. But when I saw Penelope and her breathtaking hazel eyes in my classroom, every ounce of love for her that I had been pushing down came roaring back to the surface, literally making me choke.
And now here we are, her delicate hand dangerously close to brushing against my wood. When I tell her, “Oh, I can be real nice, too, Mama,” she makes a breathy sound that goes straight to my dick, and her drink sloshes in the glass, her hand shaking as she brings it to her glossy lips.
Emboldened by the fact that she hasn’t tried to fend off any of the liberties I’ve taken with her already, I slip my hand up her calf and behind her knee when she crosses her legs. I drag her top leg further across and drape it over my thigh. And still, she doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t pull her leg back as she did when I massaged her feet in the school’s parking lot. I wanted to nut right then and there, holding her small, bare feet in my hands. To yank them until she was flat on her back in the seat and spread her legs.
Fuck , I’m so hard and wish she would move her hand up and press it to the front of my lap.
High on her sugary scent that had filled my car on the way here and the feel of her silky bare skin, I leave my hand where it is, abandoning my drink as my dick wets my boxer briefs with pre-cum. My cock silently begs me to unzip my pants, pull her ass on top of my lap instead of just her leg, work her skirt up and panties down, and have her sit on it. She wouldn’t even have to bounce on my lap or let me fuck up into her like I would love to do. Just nestle her pussy around my cock, and I’d fire off inside her within seconds. Fill her to the brim with my cum and plug her for the rest of the evening.
I rub my thumb in circles over Penelope’s knee as I’d like to do to her nipples. She calls for another round when a male server in a tiny white tank top and an even tinier pair of black shorts approaches the table. Mr. Andrews looks at me like he’s plotting my death while Mrs. Barry goes on and on about how she thought he was just refusing to retire because of how much he loves teaching. It’s fucking hilarious.
Penelope squirms an hour and two drinks later. Knowing I’d get thrown out if I tried to go into the restroom with her so I can stick by her side , I allow her out of the booth after subtly readjusting my dick in my pants. Then, I stand at Mr. Andrews’s side when he slaps the table like he’s going to get up and follow her down the dark hallway to get her alone.
Penelope hovers at my side when she returns instead of retaking her seat at the booth and announces to Mrs. Barry, “Sorry to cut this short, but I need to get home to feed my cat.”
Mrs. Barry waves her off. “Go on, girly. I’m sure your pussy…cat is hungry.”
I cough to hide my laugh at Mrs. Barry’s bawdiness, and she winks at me, then smirks at Mr. Andrews, who once again tries to stand. I block his exit and loudly tell the group, “I’m headed out to take her home. Thanks for the warm welcome, Mrs. Barry.”
Mr. Andrews’s cheeks turn ruddy. “You’re taking Ms. Barlow home?”
I clap my hand hard on his shoulder. “Sure am. Gotta make sure her pussycat doesn’t go hungry.”
Ms. Barry slaps the tabletop and throws her head back with a laugh as loud and fiery as her hair. Penelope pinches the back of my shirt to pull me away from the table, and I happily follow behind her with a cocky grin, blocking Mr. Andrews’s view of her bouncy ass as she walks out of the bar and across the parking lot. Those cheeks are only for my viewing pleasure.
Pulling out of the lot after plugging Penelope’s address into my phone—and discreetly saving it for later—she drops her head back against her seat. She’s three drinks deep, though she doesn’t slur her words when she confesses with a smile, “I don’t have a cat. I just couldn’t take looking at Mr. Andrews and his creepy blood-shot eyes on me any longer. I swear his blood vessels were about to pop with the glare he was giving you.”
My grip on the steering wheel tightens. “Yeah, I gotta say, I don’t much like the way he was looking at you, either.” Or that he had two drinks for every one of hers, while I only had half of my Old Fashioned since I knew I’d be driving her home.
“You know it’s the way you stare at me, too, right?” She giggles. “‘Cept it’s not creepy when you do it.”
“Is that right?” My heart and dick thump.
“Mmhmm.” She sighs and drags her hand down her leather seat. “This is a really nice car. I wish Daniel hadn’t gotten the cars in the divorce. The least he could have done is let me keep my Wrangler. Now, she was one sexy beast. Not like my poor Betsy.” She wags her finger at me. “Lesson learned. Always get your name on everything, or you’ll end up like me after a divorce: old and broke. Not a good look.”
As thrilled as I am that she’s single now, that shit doesn’t sit well with me. “He got everything?”
“Just about. Thirteen years together, and all I got was a fraction of the sale of our house—enough to put a small down payment on mine here and buy Betsy. His brother’s a lawyer. A real shark. Bastards, the both of them.”
“If you don’t mind me asking…what happened?”
“ Trisha happened.”
“Who?”
“Daniel’s pickleball partner. Such a cliché. Oh, he says he never cheated—that they waited until after we separated—and there was never any proof that he did, but come on. I’m not an idiot. What twenty-three-year-old with a fat ass and tiny waist that made even me turn my head with appreciation plays pickleball of all things with a guy who’s about to turn fifty, then casually starts texting him to ask him to come over and fix her pipes?” She snorts. “Can you believe he thought I’d buy that excuse and not think it’s suspicious? Fix her pipes. I’m sure that’s exactly what he did…if he could even get it up for her.”
Maybe she’s feeling the effects of the alcohol more than I initially thought, or else she probably wouldn’t be sharing all these nitty-gritty details. Hoping she’s willing to give me more, I ask, “He couldn’t get it up, huh?” It’s been difficult trying to get my dick to go down in her presence. It’s a real shit-show of finding ways to adjust it in my pants so I don’t scare anyone off.
“Nope. Can you believe it? There I was in the prime of my life, and he told me he wasn’t attracted to me anymore. Not that his dick was all that impressive when he could get it up. Big dick energy with nothing to back it up.” Stopped at a red light, I lock eyes with Penelope when she drops her head and lets it roll on her shoulder. “I miss him,” she says softly.
My stomach drops. “For the love of God, tell me you’re joking. You don’t honestly miss the limp-dicked, cheating asshole.”
Penelope wipes away a tear. “No, not him. I miss being married. Having someone to come home to. I miss my stepkids.” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You know, Sebastian and Sonya didn’t even like me? Not that I blamed them. They were already thirteen and fourteen when Daniel and I got married, so we weren’t close. But I miss seeing them every other weekend and genuinely enjoyed taking care of them.”
I reach across and take her left hand in my right, resting our linked fingers on the center console. She looks up with watery eyes. I hate that I have to take mine off her and turn my attention back to the road when the light turns green.
By the time I pull into her neighborhood lined with mature trees, she’s in full-blown tears and tugs her hand away to catch them as they fall. “I haven’t seen Sebastian and Sonya since we got a divorce. Just poof. My whole family gone in the blink of an eye.”
Hesitantly, I ask her, “What about kids of your own? You didn’t want any?” Anxiety makes my heart beat faster. Half of my future is dependent on her answer.
“I did,” she sobs. “Still do. But Daniel said he was done having kids and had a vasectomy before we met. And I thought…I was such an idiot. I thought I loved him enough to sacrifice having children. And now I’m old! Past my prime! My internal clock is about to run out. Tick, tick, tick!”
This is not a laughing matter, but it takes everything in me not to do so as she gets louder with every tick . After pulling into the driveway of her small, natural gray brick home with two planter boxes of various flowers under the windows—I have no idea how she’s kept them alive in this heat—I cross to her side and pull her out of the car.
Cradling her gorgeous, upturned face that has starred in every one of my dreams of the future, I force her to look at me through her tears. “You are not old, Penelope, and you’ve got plenty of time left on your clock.”
“Oh yeah, that’s easy for you to say, mister I’m twenty-two and only going to get hotter as I age .”
“You think I’m hot, huh?”