3
Penny
“No, no, she can sleep in my bed. She always sleeps in my bed when you stay at our place. Plus, I’ll either be home later tonight or in the morning,” I say to Molly as I hold the phone against my ear. “Oh, and tell her we’re going to the big playground tomorrow. Her favourite one.”
I stop walking as the chatter of those waiting to get into the pub gets too loud and cover my other ear so I can hear her response. There’s a huge line tonight, and while it’s not unusual to see a crowd on a Saturday, it’s only Thursday , so the amount of them makes me wonder what’s going on inside to create such a fuss.
“Oh, she’ll love that,” Molly coos before calling out, “Aunty P says you’re going to the big playground tomorrow, baby girl! The one with the twirly slide.”
I grin as I hear Emma, Molly’s daughter and the love of my life, cheer in the background.
Every time I have her all to myself, which is at least three times a week, I make sure we do something fun together. Well, fun for a two-year-old, anyway.
I met Molly when we were five. We became best friends the moment I let her sit next to me during circle time at school, and we’ve been inseparable ever since. She’s gone through some shit in that time, but I like to think I’ve helped her through the toughest parts. She was raised by her grandmother, and then once she was moved into a care home, Molly came and lived with me and my mum. My dad had run off with another woman not long before that, so we had the room, and I loved having her with me all the time, but I knew it was rough on her. Then she threw her virginity at a random guy, got knocked up, and, of course, he disappeared, never to be heard from again.
We did later find out that he died, but still.
So, I got the privilege of holding Molly’s hand while she was in labour, and of bathing Emma for the first time before we brought her home. I was right there, cheering our girl on when she took her first steps, and I’ve spent every day since watching her grow into the adorable little human she is today.
So, if she wants to sleep in Aunty Penny’s bed, she damn well can.
“Wait, did you say, ‘or in the morning ?’” Molly asks, whispering into the phone. “Who are you with?” I roll my eyes and wait for her to start spiralling. I could tell her I’m meeting Beckett, and she’d probably relax a little, but I also know she’d disapprove of me messing around with her new boy-toys business partner, so I decide against it. “Penny, you need to tell us when you’re going to stay out with a man!” She sighs before continuing. “You need to, I don’t know. Send me a photo of his driver’s license or something! What if he spikes your drink, throws you in the trunk of his car and-”
“Molly,” I say, not wanting her to have a full-blown meltdown. “It’s fine. I’m a big girl. I only drink what I see placed in front of me by a member of staff. I drove myself here and will drive myself wherever I end up. I have an air tag in my car and my purse.”
“But what if-”
“I also have a pocketknife, a mini bottle of body spray, and a lighter on me.”
I know how to handle myself, and she knows that.
This isn’t the first time I’ve met someone for ‘a drink,’ although, contrary to popular belief, I don’t make random hookups a habit. On an average day, I just enjoy the male attention my looks tend to draw in. I’ve been using my curves and long, dark hair to my advantage since I turned sixteen. I love the heady feeling of watching someone drool all over me as if I’m the most delicious thing they’ve ever laid eyes on, only for them to skulk away after realising that despite their best efforts, I’m not interested.
Does that make me a bit of a mole? Absolutely. But, we all need a hobby, right?
“You’re going to be safe?” Molly asks cautiously.
This is why I don’t tell her when I do shit like this.
Evie, the third to our trio, can handle it. Hell, she’s the one who gave me the knife. You wouldn’t know it, looking at her, but the bubbly little blonde grew up in foster care, lived in her car for a while after ageing out of the system, and looked like she’d been starved and run over three times when she came into Coffee Leaf, begging for a job. She may be a hopeless romantic and barely 5ft tall, but I wouldn’t take her on. She and I live alone, just the two of us, now that Molly and Emma have moved into their own place, and I never feel unsafe when she’s home.
She knows things. You can just tell.
“Yes, mum,” I say into the phone. “I’ll be fine. I’m going now. Love yoooou.”
I don’t give her a chance to reply before ending the call, shoving my phone back into my purse and approaching the security guard standing at the pubs entrance with his arms crossed and a very stern look on his face.
He looks me up and down slowly, as I smile up at him, the combination of my tightest pair of blue jeans and white corset-style top clearly working for me, and then he returns my smile with one of his own and opens the door.
I move past him, ignoring the groans from those waiting in the line I just skipped and yell, “Thank you.”
“Girls” by The Kid LAROI, blares from the speakers inside, makes it near impossible to hear his response, but I watch his mouth as he says, “Welcome, gorgeous.”
I wink at him and roll my neck from side to side, releasing some tension as I move further into the building. I’m not nervous, per se, but I am intrigued by Beckett, and that’s new. It’s been a hot minute since anyone has managed to so much as hold my attention, so I’m interested to see how this drink is going to go.
It takes me all of two seconds to spot him sitting at the bar, his sheer size making it impossible not to, along with the big dick energy he exudes.
Clearly, I’m not the only one who finds him appealing because as I walk toward him, I spot at least five different women staring at him from their spots around the black U-shaped bar.
He isn’t really what you’d expect a tattoo artist to look like. Not next to Ryan, anyway, who’s covered head to toe in ink and just has that vibe about him. Beckett is so neat-looking . Tall, dark, and handsome, just how I like them. Bright, expressive green eyes. No visible tattoos. Dark hair cut short. Intentionally grown and trimmed facial hair lining his jaw.
What does give him a certain edge, though, is his size, and I’m sure as shit hoping everything is well-proportioned.
I won’t lie, the fact that he’s wearing blue jeans, and a white crew neck t-shirt makes me consider turning my ass around and leaving, ‘cos I don’t do co-ordinated outfits, but before I can really consider it, his head turns, and our eyes meet across the room. That same magnetic pull I felt earlier tugs me forward, and all thoughts of ducking out leave my mind as I close the gap between us.
“Been waiting long?” I ask when I get within earshot, raising my voice so he can hear me over the music.
“All my life,” he yells back with a boyish grin.
I shake my head at his response, even though it makes my smile widen just a little and go to pull out the stool next to him, but before I can, he steps forward and places his hand on the small of my back. Tingles like nothing I’ve ever felt before spread through my body from the contact.
He bends down, and leans in so that his mouth is directly beside my ear, giving me a perfect view of one of the women who was eye fucking him when I walked in, staring directly at me, practically radiating with jealousy.
I wink at her, unable to help myself.
Sorry, girl. He’s mine. For tonight, anyway.
“Thought we’d go out to the beer garden. It’s a warm night, and the music is way too fucking loud in here,” Beckett says, running his thumb across the slither of exposed skin between my jeans and my top. “Some up-and-coming DJ with a ridiculous name is on next, so it’s about to get even worse.”
I shrug, as if completely unbothered and shake off the effect his warm breath against my skin has on my entire body, before following him through the crowded bar and into the empty beer garden. The lack of patrons out here is odd, considering how many of them there are inside, but I’m not complaining about the privacy.
This joint could do with some updating, though. Better yet, Mawson Lakes could do really do with a new pub. This place may be busy, but that’s only because it’s the only option for the locals. It’s dingy and a little musty smelling, and everything inside and out looks as if it was purchased from Ikea ten years ago.
I allow Beckett to pull out my plastic chair for me as we reach the closest table, like some kind of chivalrous giant, and sit down, making note of the lack of décor out here. There’re plenty of cigarette buts on the floor, but no plants, no decent lighting other than the blinding floodlights installed in each corner of the open space, and although the tables and chairs are clean, everything else is either covered in dust or cobwebs.
The food here is good, though, and the drinks are dirt cheap. I guess that’s what keeps the owners in business.
“You going to let me feed you, considering we’re at a pub and not a restaurant?” Beckett asks as he sits opposite me, putting the small white table between us. I raise an eyebrow, and his emerald-green eyes sparkle in response. “C’mon, I’m hungry. Don’t make me eat alone.”
My stomach rumbles at the thought of food, and so, instead of pushing back on the idea of eating with him, I concede and allow him to buy me dinner.
Generous, I know.
One hour, two cheeseburgers, a bottle of water, and almost three serves of fries later, I come to the realisation that Beckett is… funny .
Like, makes me belly laugh without caring about who’s listening or watching, funny . He’s easy to talk to, to laugh with, to tease. He gives as good as he gets, and I really like that.
The fact has alarm bells ringing in my head, so I excuse myself and head to the bathroom, needing a minute to get my shit together. After fixing my lipstick and finger combing my freshly waved hair in the mirror, I say a quick hello to Jake, a regular at Coffee Leaf , as I pass by his table, and then re-enter the beer garden, to find a fresh bowl of fries waiting for me.
“You know that guy?” Beckett asks as he stands and pulls my chair out for me.
“Oh, yeah,” I say, sitting and immediately grabbing a fry. “He’s a regular at the café. He was just asking me who you were. Locals are nosey. Haven’t you realised that yet?”
“I’ve noticed,” he says, sitting back down. “What did you tell him?”
“That you’re my older male friend.” I grin as I pop another fry into my mouth, and Beckett feigns offense.
“How do you know I’m older than you?”
I cock my head to the side. “I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Ah, I see. You’ve got a type, do you?”
Sure, I prefer older men.
They’re usually less messy and generally know what they do and don’t want.
“You could say that.”
“I’m thirty-three,” he says with a smile, picking up a small handful of fries. “In case you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t.”
We grin at each other for a moment before he asks, “You want that drink I promised you now?”
I nod, throw another fry in my mouth, and chew as quickly as possible as he waves over the staff member, wiping a table across the beer garden, so that I can tell him what I want, but instead of waiting, the man orders for me.
I bite my tongue, remain silent, and finish my mouthful as he speaks into the waiter’s ear, passes him his credit card, and then turns to me as if nothing happened.
Instead of bitching him out for assuming what I want, I shovel more food into my mouth, and I wait. That is until the waiter brings us our drinks.
“An Espresso Martini?” I ask as my glass is placed in front of me, a little coffee bean sitting right on top of the caramel-coloured foam.
The corners of his mouth twitch as he thanks the waiter. “You work at a coffee shop-”
“ Own ,” I correct him, picking up my drink and bringing it to my lips. “I own a café slash indoor plant business.”
There aren’t many twenty-three-year-old women in Adelaide, let alone Mawson Lakes, that own and run a successful business, so I make a point of ensuring that detail is very clear.
I watch his smile widen further, and his eyes sparkle with mischief. “My mistake,” he says, raising both hands in surrender. “You own a shop that serves the best damn coffee I’ve ever tasted.” He nods at the glass firmly clutched in my right hand and continues. “Considering you’re the one who makes said coffee , and your eyes practically rolled into the back of your head earlier when you took a whiff of the one you made me, I took a stab in the dark and assumed you’d enjoy that.”
“Still, fairly presumptuous of you to assume you know what I like, don’t you think?”
The smell of his clean, crisp cologne surrounds me, and I want to squirm in my seat as he moves closer, hunching his wide shoulders and placing his thick, corded forearms on the table. “I think if you give me a chance, you’ll find I’m very good at giving you exactly what you like.”
“Is that right?” I say, chuckling at his unwavering confidence, even though the heat in his comment makes me want to fan myself.
The tension between us feels like a physical mass as he looks into my eyes, his gaze unwavering.
Just when I think he’s about to pick me up, throw me down on this table and fuck me right here for everyone to see, he surprises me by gently tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear with one callused finger, and then wrapping his hand around the back of my neck.
“How’d you know my name?” He asks, glancing down at my mouth. “At the café,” he clarifies. “How’d you know who I was?”
I run my tongue across my now dry bottom lip and shrug. “Mollys mentioned you. You were wearing an Inked-on Agnes t-shirt, and as far as I know, only two of you work there. You’re not Ryan, so…”
“Ah, she’s beautiful and smart.”
“Oh, please.” I snort at his lame attempt at a compliment and try to move back a little, to put some space between us, but I stop the moment his hold on my neck tightens, feeling the pressure of his fingers much further down.
“You’re fucking beautiful when you let that guard down and laugh, Penny,” he whispers. “You know that?”
Trying to ignore the fact his thumb is now gently rubbing at my pulse point; I search his face for a sign of insincerity, but his expression is giving nothing away.
My inability to read him irritates me. If he was just saying what he thought I wanted to hear or dropping a decent pickup line, that’d be one thing, but…
“You don’t know a thing about me.”
“That may be true.” The deep rumble of his voice as he hums out his response has me tingling in all the right places. “But I have a feeling I’d really like to.”
That statement alone has my chest feeling funny and my stomach flip-flopping, so instead of allowing this line of conversation to continue, I do what I always do.
I lean back, breaking free of his hold, and down the rest of the martini in one big gulp as he watches me, and then I stand, feeling more powerful from this position. “Your place or mine?”
Forward? Yes. Necessary, also yes.
His eyes trail up my body, lingering on the swell of my hips, the curve of my waist, the depth of my cleavage thanks to this top, before finally returning to my face.
The way he grunts his response lets me know that I’ve got him exactly where I want him. That the ball is back in my court now, as it should be.
“ Mine .”