Chapter 21 Penny
Penny
NOW
The low hum of the heat through the vents stirs me, warm air brushing over my legs where the soft quilt slipped off.
I reach toward the nightstand, hand fumbling for my water bottle or cup—anything to quench my dry throat.
There’s a dull and rhythmic pounding in my head, making it impossible to think.
I drag my hand across my forehead, feeling grossly slick.
Shit. I slept in my makeup.
Something I haven’t done since my drunken college days.
When I sit up, gently so the nausea doesn’t worsen, I wince. The zipper of my red miniskirt digs into my ribs. I need to get this off ASAP.
Much to my surprise, the rest of the room looks orderly. Good to know I didn’t rampage through here like a bulldozer last night. Everything is in place…except for the fact that I feel like I was dropped into bed by an airplane and splattered on impact.
With my feet dangling off the side of the bed, I roll out my sore ankles.
What the hell did I do last night?
The moment I sit up and see my raccoon eyes in the mirror, the memories come in quick flashes—the rock band, dancing on stage, the sting of too many vodka sodas.
I really wish it was a bad dream, but my body screams with movement, ensuring me it was real. A really bad decision.
My black turtleneck sweater is stretched oddly across my chest. Nothing is worse than sleeping in a push-up bra.
If it wasn’t for him, Fia and I would’ve had an easy-going night out like she asked for. We would’ve been home by eleven. I can’t even tell you what time I got home last night, or how. I don’t remember anything after…
Oh my god, I think Jesse pulled me down from the table where I was attempting to dance like I was in Coyote Ugly.
It’s his fault.
When he’s around, I can’t think straight. I am completely off the rails.
Jesse makes me act reckless.
My stomach protests as I down the lukewarm water next to me. I should probably make my way to the bathroom before I throw up in bed. That would be icing on the cake.
So much for being the big sister who takes care of things.
As I swing my legs slowly over the edge of the bed, the other side of the bed catches my attention in the mirror.
Is that…an imprint in the sheets?
Why does the pillow look like it’s been slept on? A sharp twist that has nothing to do with this hangover hits me like a ton of bricks.
Did Jesse sleep in here? That would be crazy.
No, I probably just thrashed in my sleep like a wild animal.
Just then, the bedroom door creaks open.
“Help, I’m dying,” I croak, hoping it’s Fia with a bottle of Pedialyte, but it’s not.
It’s Jesse. No shirt, just gray sweatpants that shouldn’t be as sexy as they are. And a steaming mug of what smells like coffee.
I don’t know where to look—the coffee that’s a godsend or the very large, very real, tattooed proof that something might have happened last night. He’s smirking at me like he has a secret.
“What’s that?” I ask stupidly, hoping the coffee is for me. I can stomach coffee.
“I made a pot. Fia and I have been downstairs watching Christmas movies for, like, two hours.” He sets the mug down beside me. “You slept in.”
“Oh.” My voice comes out thin. I wasn’t prepared for this version of the morning. “Thanks,” I mutter.
“You talk in your sleep, you know that?” Jesse muses.
I groan in response. “I was so loud that you could hear me from your room?” I ask, bringing the coffee to my lips, needing something to do with my hands.
I glance up at Jesse, who runs a hand through his messy dark hair.
Bed head always looks good on guys. I look like I just rolled out of the back of a trash collection truck.
“You don’t remember last night, do you?” he asks, almost seeming shy. Not something I’ve ever seen him be. “I slept right next to you.”
I burn my tongue on the first sip of coffee.
That indent in my bed is real—and really not mine.
Three awkward silent beats pass by before I muster the courage to look up at him.
“Nothing…” I start, my voice cracking. “Did something happen…between us?”
He shakes his head, and I sigh in relief. “You just didn’t want to be alone.”
That’s somehow worse.
“Right,” I bite out.
The black mug burns my fingers as we remain in this loud silence, but Jesse mercifully breaks it.
“I’ll let you get yourself together.”
I nod, unable to hide my shame.
“I’ll be downstairs, join us when you’re ready?” he asks, and I nod, needing to be alone.
But my eyes catch the ink sprawled across his back as he turns to leave, and everything in me pulls tight.
“What’s on your back?” I stutter, my heart pounding unsteadily against my ribs as he freezes mid-step. He drags a hand down the doorframe, shoulders tense, then reluctantly glances back at me.
I don’t meet his eyes. I can’t.
I’m too busy tracing the lines etched into his skin.
It’s unmistakable.
“Move closer,” I command, and he does.
Lucky Penny is scribed in black ink, settled deep into his skin, right beneath the bench. Our bench. A magnolia tree shelters both.
This whole time, it’s been there, intertwined with all his other tattoos…our story, my name, on his skin for the whole world to see.
Jesse turns the rest of the way around, and I see the magnolia branch stretch over his shoulder, vining across his chest until it stops—right over his heart.
Though I’m barely moving, it feels like this bedroom is spinning around me.
“Why do you have that tattoo?” I ask, not sure I truly want to know the answer.
He’s covered in ink—a whole life catalogued across his skin. But I don’t have to clarify which one I mean.
His gaze finds me again, and it locks. Everything I’ve buried starts clawing its way up. Every unspoken thing. But it gets trapped right at the tip of my tongue.
“Some things I never wanted to forget,” he says quietly. “Some stories are permanent.”
The floor creaks behind him, but neither of us break our gaze. My lips part, breath half-caught, teetering on the edge of something more.
Then the door opens with a soft push, and Tank’s black nose comes through first, with my sister close behind.
“Glad to see you’re alive, Pen,” she remarks, sassy and unaware.
A shower and two more cups of coffee bring me back to life—enough to throw on lounge clothes and join Jesse and Fia. But before I do, I pull out my phone, needing to discuss the life-shattering tattoo news I discovered an hour ago.
Penny: On a scale of 1 to 10 of “WTF” what would you rank discovering that your ex-boyfriend has your name tattooed on his body?
Mere seconds going by before three little dots appear.
Audrey: 100!? Your name? I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me. That is not normal high school boyfriend activity.
Penny: Oh nothing about this is normal. I have to go, but just needed to see if I was in the right for feeling like I’m losing my mind.
Audrey: Don’t hate me, but I’m kind of living for this. Are there other lovers’ names on his body? Because if not, and it’s not covered up, he is 100% still in love with you.
Penny: Please don’t call them lovers.
The sounds of crackling wood and Fia’s laughter pull me into the cozy living room, and I slip my phone into my pocket. Fia keeps her eyes on the screen—Elf is playing, her favorite Christmas movie. She probably watched it a million times as a kid.
At the opposite end of the khaki-slipcovered sofa is Jesse, casually taking up so much space. He glances up as I enter the living room, and his green eyes settle on me. We haven’t spoken about what happened at Rebel Tavern.
We didn’t talk about the way he held my hand under the table, or how he slept next to me all night.
I don’t mention the enormity of my name being inked on his body either, even if it’s all that occupies my mind as I look at him.
Instead, he pats the empty space next to him, like he was expecting me.
“She lives,” he says with a small smirk.
“Barely.” I sit next to him, the few inches of space between his body and mine making my alarms go off.
“No work for you two today?” I ask, needing to draw the attention away from the fact that Jesse puts his arm up across the back of the sofa, and if I just lean a bit to the left, I’ll fall into the curve of his chest.
“I work tomorrow and have to pick up a Saturday morning shift. But today is my day off,” Fia replies.
Jesse’s eyes wander out the window. “Work gets quiet for me closer to Christmas.”
I nod, sucking in a deep breath, and look toward the kitchen.
“Is that a stack of waffles on the island?” I ask in disbelief, though I know I smelled cinnamon and vanilla.
Fia pulls the fleece blanket up to her chin, and that’s when I realize Tank is curled up on the other side of her. He is as close as he can get to her without crawling into her sweatshirt.
“Yeah, I made breakfast. Not all of us did shots last night,” Fia shoots back, brows raised.
I close my eyes temporarily, if only to block out my sister’s expression. “I did shots?”
“You had fun,” Jesse adds, and I turn my head to stare at him, wondering if he’s teasing, but his eyes are gentle, his mouth relaxed.
We’re too close with my head turned, so I scoot to the edge of the sofa and lightly clap my hands together. “How about a game?”
“A game? Has hell frozen over?” my sister asks, and I narrow my eyes at her.
I play with the knotted ties on my pale-pink hoodie and avoid eye contact.
“I figured it’s cold, and no one probably wants to do anything today.
” Wishful thinking, since neither of them are hungover like me.
And if I was at my condo, I’d be binge-watching Netflix in bed and getting a smoothie delivered. Ultimate laziness and pure bliss.
Jesse leans forward on his elbows, brows pulled down, and turns to me. “What game?” His tone is serious.