Chapter 5
Chapter Five
PENELOPE
By the time the sun slides behind the apartment roofs, I’ve already changed my mind about the dress twice.
Black would be the easy choice, and it’s the safe choice.
But I stand in front of the mirror and pull the green one over my hips, anyway.
The fabric clings to me like it knows what it’s doing.
A wrap-style dress with long sleeves and a V-neck that dips just far enough to be dangerous.
I smooth the skirt, shift left, shift right.
My hair is soft and loose around my shoulders, waves I coaxed with a curling wand and a little patience.
I finish the look with gold hoops, a thin chain, and nude heels.
I look like a woman who has a plan.
I don’t. I have a problem with a smirk, and a pair of glasses who keeps popping up on campus like a bad habit.
Yesterday, there was no Sociology, thank God, but I still saw him twice; once outside the student center, once by the bookstore, and both times I slipped out of sight before he could spot me, heart racing for no good reason.
Maybe it wasn’t guilt exactly—just the sharp reminder that he’s a crack in the careful lines I’ve drawn.
What’s his angle? That’s the question that won’t sit still. One date, like he said? Or will it be more after that? Is it a power play? I get the feeling with boys like him that the end game moves while you’re watching.
I line up my lipsticks on the sink and pick the one Gideon once called trouble—a deep, wine-red. I like that he says it with a smile, not a warning. The tube clicks closed, and I smack my lips together, checking the mirror one last time to make sure everything’s in place.
I put my phone on the counter just as a text comes in.
Gideon: Just parked, Little Menace.
I smile before I can stop it. A knock follows a bit later, three taps, patient, certain. I slip my purse over my shoulder and grab my keys, dropping them inside.
Gideon fills the doorframe when I open it.
He’s all warm eyes and wicked grin, dress shirt rolled to his elbows, the edge of a tattoo peeking where his forearm flexes.
His hair’s dark ash brown, swept back but stubbornly tousled, and there’s a streak of silver near his temple that makes him look older in the best way—seasoned, not soft.
The scruff along his jaw is days old, rough and perfectly unbothered, framing a mouth that curves like it’s used to both smirking and sinning.
His eyes are storm-gray, and he looks at me like he’s already memorizing me; every line, every curve, as if he’s trying to figure out how I’ll feel once he finally has both hands on me tonight.
“Green,” he says, low. “You know what that color does to me.”
“I wanted to behave tonight,” I tell him, stepping out so he can look his fill. “Consider this a warning label.”
He laughs and takes my coat from the hook like it’s his job. “Put it on before I forget the dinner part.”
We walk down to his car, a sleek thing that purrs more than it drives. He opens my door. His palm finds the small of my back as I slide in. That touch is a switch. I push my dominant side to the back where it belongs with him. I let the bratty, soft part of me step forward and stretch her legs.
The city glows in strips of neon and shadow. I watch the lights run across his knuckles on the steering wheel. He smells like peppermint and clean soap and something darker at the edges.
“Long day?” he asks.
“Normal busy.” I look out the window as we stop at a red light. “How was your world of contracts and million-dollar kitchens?”
He smirks. “I got into a bidding war over a penthouse. The usual ego parade.”
“Who won?”
He glances at me as the light changes. “I did. Always do.”
That’s Gideon. Confident without apology. He was like that the first night I met him at Velvet House, a man who knows what he wants, who doesn’t flinch when he sees a woman who might bite back.
When we pull up to Soy his amber and smooth with a curl of citrus, mine pale pink with sugared edges and a slice of lime perched on the rim.
Gideon watches me take the first sip. “Good?”
“Dangerously,” I say.
He grins. “My favorite kind of thing.”
We skim the menu together, trading comments and pointing out things that sound good.
He picks first, tapping his finger beside the Dragon’s Breath Roll and the Black Samurai—one built with spicy tuna and jalapeno heat, the other with dark rice, truffle aioli, and seared peppered tuna.
Both sound like him: bold, sharp, a little indulgent.
“Figures,” I say. “You’d pick the ones that look like it will burn.”
He grins. “And you’ll pick the ones that look sweet but bite you later.”
He’s not wrong. I settle on a Snow Blossom—shrimp tempura with avocado and lemon, and a simple salmon roll because I always need at least one classic. “And the Kani salad,” I tell Aiko when she returns, setting my menu down.
“Would you like imitation or real crab tonight?” she asks.
“Real,” I say without hesitation. “Go big or go home.”
Gideon smirks. “Finally, something real.”
“Don’t start,” I warn, smiling anyway.
He adds, “We’ll share an order of crab rangoons and steak fried rice, too.”
Aiko nods, jotting everything neatly on her pad before collecting the menus. “Excellent choices. I’ll get this right in for you.”
When she leaves, Gideon tilts his head at me. “You and your obsession with crab. Real, fake, doesn’t matter.”
“I like what I like,” I say, shrugging.
“You do.” He leans forward, elbows resting on the table. “And when you do, you don’t leave much room for anything else.”
“Guess you’ll have to make space, then.”
He laughs softly, low enough that goosebumps cover my arms.
He starts the casual talk, the kind of rhythm that comes easy with him. “How’s school? My favorite TA still terrifying undergrads?”
I laugh. “Maybe a little. They scare easily.”
He smirks. “And the professor? Still oblivious to your chaos?”
“Completely.”
The food arrives in waves; plates that steam, chopsticks clinking softly. The crab rangoon crackles when I bite in. He pours soy sauce into the dish between us, and when our fingers brush, the spark is instant. I pretend to focus on the rolls.
It’s easy for a while, banter, food, the kind of flirting that makes us both eager to go home and get naked.
Until he asks, “Any trouble in class yet?”
I pause long enough for him to notice. “Why?”
“Just asking, but now I know the answer ‘cause you made a face.”
“Just one student. A little too curious for his own good.”
He tilts his head, eyes narrowing in that way he does when he’s reading me. “Curious how?”
“He saw me at Velvet. I don’t think he’s said anything, but… he likes to push.”
The air changes, just a little. Gideon sets his chopsticks down and leans back. His jaw tightens.
“Give me a name.”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Pen.” His voice drops lower. “If he’s harassing you—”
“He’s not. Yet. I can handle it.”
He doesn’t buy it, but he lets it go—for now. His hand moves across the table, palm up. “Then at least promise me you’ll tell me if it changes.”
I slide my fingers into his, because it’s easier than arguing. “You’ll be the first to know.”
He squeezes once—slow and sure. “Good. Because I don’t like the thought of anyone touching what’s mine.”
The word mine lands heavy. It shouldn’t, but it does. I lift a brow, tracing my fingertip along the rim of my glass. “Careful with that word,” I say. “You already share me, remember? Velvet partners, and I’m gonna start seeing someone else outside the club. You know that.”
He leans back in the booth, the corner of his mouth curling. “Your partners at Velvet don’t know you like I do,” he says. “They don’t see you outside those walls. You’re mine…and his. Unless someone else has entered the game?”
I shake my head. “No. Just the two of you. And it’s… new with him. Really new. I only just gave him my number.”
His eyes darken with something between curiosity and possession. “When do I get to meet this other guy?”
I bite my bottom lip, half teasing, half avoiding the question. “Soon,” I promise, even though soon feels like a dangerous word.
He hums, satisfied for now, and lifts his drink again. “Good. I like knowing who I’m competing with.”
I smile, soft but deliberate. “You’re not competing. You’re just playing different positions.”
That earns me a low laugh, quiet enough that it lingers between us like smoke.