16. Say goodnight to me again #2
My tight black jeans hug my hips and thighs, and the light blue top I have on feels flimsier now that he’s standing in front of me. His gaze catches briefly on the black velvet choker at my throat before lifting again.
“You’re gonna freeze, Pen,” he says, as though that’s the most pressing issue in the room instead of a damn compliment.
I blink at him. “Excuse me?”
“It’s cold out,” he clarifies, already reaching for the fridge. “You can borrow a jacket.”
I fold my arms loosely. “I own a jacket.”
“You’re not wearing one.”
“I’ll survive,” I shoot back.
He glances over his shoulder at me, his eyes moving down my body. “You won’t.”
There’s a small spark under his tone, and I feel the challenge of it.
“I’ve survived colder,” I say lightly.
He plates up his dinner, jaw ticking slightly as though he’s deciding whether to push it.
“Still,” he says after a beat. “Take one. Preferably mine… It’s big. Roomy.”
My stomach dips at that, because I’m just starting to realize how damn possessive this man is, even when he won’t outwardly admit to it.
Elle looks between us.
“Penny’s going out,” she informs him, in case he might’ve missed that detail.
“I know,” he says.
“Doesn’t she look pretty, Daddy?”
His eyes move back to me, softening as he takes me in. “She’s beautiful, bug.”
A small smile curves my lips. “Thank you.”
We look at each other for a beat, but let it pass.
“So,” he says evenly, grabbing some cutlery. “Girls’ night, huh?”
“Yep,” I say. “Wild behaviour no doubt, but still probably home before midnight.”
His mouth twitches.
“Just at Neverland,” I add.
“I know,” he says quietly, and when I frown, he clarifies. “Colt told me, and Fletch’s been whining about it all afternoon.”
Before I can respond to that, Frankie’s car horn cuts through the moment, sharp and impatient from the curb, and Elle gasps.
“They’re here!”
“Okay, okay,” I laugh, reaching for my bag.
Elle shuffles toward me, wobbling in my heels still.
“Heels, please,” I say gently, crouching to slide them off her feet.
She holds onto my shoulders while I ease them away, her small toes flexing against the rug as I set the heels down in front of me. I hesitate before slipping my own feet into them, and Evan watches the entire exchange from the kitchen counter without saying anything.
Then I straighten, adjusting the strap of my bag and smoothing my top down.
Elle throws her arms around my waist. “Have fun, Penny!”
“I will,” I promise, pressing a kiss into her hair. “You be good.”
“I’m always good.”
“Debatable,” Evan mutters around a mouthful of pasta.
She spins toward him in outrage. “Daddy!”
I laugh, placing my bag back down as I reach for my jacket from the back of the chair.
“Told you,” he says, placing his fork down and nodding at me.
I roll my eyes, but slide it on anyway. “You’re very smug for someone who doesn’t even own a scarf.”
Elle watches us with open curiosity, and I crouch to her height again.
“Bed soon, okay?” I press another kiss to her cheek. “And that’s your goodnight kiss.”
I take a moment to adjust my jacket, and Evan walks out from behind the kitchen island and steps closer to me, his hands tugging the collar as he straightens it for me. His fingers brush the hollow at my throat, and I know he can feel my pulse thundering under his touch.
“Daddy,” Elle says thoughtfully. “You should give Penny a goodnight kiss, too.”
My entire body stills, and Evan’s hands drop immediately. He clears his throat, then steps back, glancing down at Elle.
“Penny doesn’t need a goodnight kiss from me, bug,” he says lightly.
Something small and painful ripples in my chest, because actually—I do. I would very much like one. But before I can decide what to do with that, Frankie toots the horn again.
“Okay!” I call, snatching up my bag again. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”
Evan moves to the front door and holds it open for me, and I brush past him close enough that I feel the heat of him again.
“Have fun,” he murmurs.
I wait for a beat, pausing just in front of him, but he doesn’t move closer. Doesn’t touch me again. Doesn’t even say another word, just nods with those warm hazel eyes of his.
And I don’t know why that stings so much, but it does.
I turn, the cold biting instantly at the strip between where my jacket meets my jeans. Damnit, he was right.
“Penny!” Elle appears next to Evan as I look back. “Love you to Pluto!”
My smile trembles slightly. “Love you to Pluto and back, bug.”
I head down the steps, then glance back one more time to see him still standing in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, watchful and restrained. Then I turn and slide into the back seat of Frankie’s car, shutting the door as she whoops excitedly.
“Finally!” she says. “Okay. Why do you look like that?”
“Like what?” I ask, buckling in.
“Like something happened,” Remi says, twisting in her seat to look at me properly.
I turn toward the window instead, catching one last glimpse of him through the glass as the car pulls away.
“Nothing happened.”
That’s the problem.
***
The doors of Neverland swing shut behind us, and warmth rushes over my skin, layered with the smell of beer and citrus cleaner and something fried.
Music hums low under the chatter, glasses clink somewhere to my left, and Gwen gives us a friendly nod from behind the bar.
Frankie drags us toward the pool tables.
“Okay,” she says, dropping her bag on the edge and turning to me. “Start talking.”
“I literally just got here.”
“Exactly,” Remi says, racking the balls. “We need to catch up on details.”
I shrug out of my jacket, folding it over the back of a chair. “There are no details.”
Frankie lets out a sharp laugh at the same moment the cue ball cracks hard into the triangle, scattering color across the table. “Bullshit.”
Remi’s eyes drag over me, taking in the heels, the jeans, the top. “You don’t dress like that for no reason.”
“I'm dressed like this because you told me to wear something cute!”
“We said cute,” Frankie says. “Not ‘I want my man at home losing his mind’ cute.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “He’s not losing his mind, and he’s not my m—”
“Mason says otherwise,” she shoots back.
“Colt, too,” Remi adds, leaning her hip against the table. “Apparently, he’s been weird about you for weeks.”
I grab a cue stick, buying myself a second. “Weird how?”
Frankie grins. “Hovering.”
“He doesn’t hover.”
“He hovered at Sunday Roast,” she says immediately. “You got up to grab a drink, and he tracked you across the bay like you were about to fall into a well.”
I line up a shot but miss it.
“That’s not hovering,” I mutter.
Remi smiles faintly. “And then at the rink?”
I don’t look at her, instead signalling to Chip for some drinks.
“He watched you the whole time,” she says. “Even when he was playing. And when he took you skating? Jesus, girl. The first time I did that with Mason, we ended up in the firetruck, and—”
She pauses, realizing we’re both looking at her with wide eyes.
“—and he… very professionally showed me all the equipment.”
We both scoff, and then I roll my shoulders, looking back down at the pool table. “You’re both reading too much into it.”
“Are we?” Remi raises a brow.
I glance up to see they’re both looking at me now, waiting. I exhale, tapping the end of the cue lightly against the floor.
“Okay, it’s not… nothing,” I say. “But we’re just—we’re figuring out where the lines are.”
Frankie makes a face, then leans in to take her shot. “That sounds like something has happened.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I say quickly.
Remi tilts her head. “Penny.”
I hesitate, because I can feel it sitting there, right on the edge. The thing I’m not saying but want to share. That we’ve kissed and that I like him. A lot. And I’m terrified.
But I’m also very aware of how private Evan is, and how much of his life stays contained. So I tread carefully.
“We’re just a bit closer than we were before.”
“That is the vaguest sentence you’ve ever said,” Frankie replies.
“It’s the only one you’re getting… I don’t wanna mess anything up,” I add. “For him—or Elle.”
Frankie softens a fraction. “You’re not going to, Penny.”
I lean forward to take my shot again.
“Has he kissed you?” Remi asks.
I miss, and she presses her lips together as I straighten slowly. My eyes find hers, and I tilt my head back with a sigh.
“Yes,” I breathe.
They gasp as I cover my face with my hands, meeting each other’s eyes with glee before turning back to me.
“Do you want him to do it again?”
“Yes,” I admit through my palms, surprising myself with how easily it comes out.
Frankie hums, satisfied. “Good. Progress.”
“It’s not progress,” I say. “It’s complicated.”
“Why?” Remi asks gently.
I exhale, letting my hands drop to grasp the cue again, and rolling it between my palms, watching the blue felt instead of them.
“Because I don’t want to be the reason something cracks,” I say finally. “He has a life, he has Elle. He’s careful for a reason.”
“And?” Frankie presses.
“And I have a history of misreading situations and bringing bad luck.”
Remi’s expression shifts, interested in my reasoning.
“I don’t know.” I shrug, but it feels thin. “I just think maybe I’m not always great at knowing when I’ve stopped being welcome somewhere.”
“What does that mean?” Remi asks gently.
I stare down at the pool table for a second before answering.
“My stepmother used to say I had a habit of bringing bad luck and making things harder,” I admit. “That I got too attached, and every time something went wrong, I made it messier by trying to fix it.”
Frankie’s face darkens immediately. “That’s bullshit.”
I hum, unsure. “After a while, you start wondering if maybe there’s some truth to it, especially when things keep falling apart, or people die.”
The music swells around us for a second, muffling the crack of another pool game somewhere behind me.