Chapter 29 Penny
Penny
NOW
I’m halfway to the door, keys in hand, when my phone buzzes. One glance at the screen, and my stomach drops.
My fingers hover over the screen. This means I have three more hours alone at home with Jesse. And just like that, my stomach twists again. Not in fear, but in that tight, fluttery way.
Penny: Ok, have fun! Uh who’s Kayden?
Oh my god, I am being a mom.
Fia: He owns Good Grounds.
That tells me nothing. But at least I don’t need to worry about her getting knocked up.
The sun’s nearly gone, casting long, amber shadows across the floorboards. I flick on the hallway light on my way to my bedroom. My feet are covered in ridiculous, fluffy Christmas socks Fia lent me, and the worn wood in the upstairs hallway creaks under each step.
But then I pause.
The door across the hall is cracked open—Jesse’s room. I stare at it, contemplating what I already know I’m going to do.
It’s been six days, and I haven’t once looked inside. Not even a peek. He and Tank are out on an evening walk, and curiosity gets the best of me.
I have to know how he lives.
Did he pack light when he left California? Maybe he has weird shit hanging on his walls, or maybe there’s a photo of him and a girl on the dresser.
That thought alone moves my feet the last few steps. I reach for the door and ease it open, wincing as the hinges squeak. I hold my breath as I step in, though it’s not like it’s illegal. Technically, I own this house and he’s the tenant, so I have the right to enter.
Something like that.
Stepping over the threshold is like stepping through a time machine, and the memories hit me square in the chest.
If these walls could talk, they’d have quite the stories. Explicit stories.
Checking over my shoulder, I decide it’s safe for another minute. My heart hammers as I tiptoe around the queen bed—still covered with the same green-plaid bedspread.
Nan truly didn’t touch this room.
I run my fingers over the perfectly tucked bedspread. I spent so many hours lying here, staring up at the ceiling, complaining about school, about Danny, wishing away the days until I was graduated and free.
It smells good, too, like leather and cedarwood. I lean down to sniff the bedspread. He definitely uses a room spray or something. It’s intoxicatingly masculine-smelling.
There’s no suitcase on the floor, and when I open the closet door, his clothes are hung in even rows. His wardrobe couldn’t be more opposite mine, but I’ll never complain about the way his black jeans hug his ass.
That’s my dirty little secret, though.
A pair of running shoes and leather tennis shoes line the wall next to the tiny closet. I never understood how men survive with fewer than five pairs of shoes.
I shut the door, moving along. There’s not much to look at. It’s all pretty tidy, and the only other piece of furniture in here is the long pine dresser.
My lips curl into a smile when I see the single picture frame sitting in the corner.
It’s a black-and-white photo of Jesse and Tank sitting on the beach—a rocky beach, the Pacific Ocean, presumably, in the background.
Jesse with his signature smirk and Tank’s tongue hanging out.
Carefree and happy. I pick it up gingerly, running my fingertip over Jesse’s face, lost in the moment.
“Penelope Hanson.” Jesse’s husky growl startles me, and I drop the frame on the dresser, jumping back, only to stumble onto his bed.
I clutch my chest like it will help settle my thumping heart. Heat rushes up my neck, covering my cheeks, but there’s nowhere to hide—I’m caught.
Still on the bed, my mouth cracks open as I nervously glance up at Jesse.
He’s chill and coy as ever, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. His cheeks are rosy too—from the cold—and his forearms flex in a way that shouldn’t be so sexy.
A mischievous grin spreads across that perfect mouth when he notices me staring.
“You scared the shit out of me,” I stammer, my mind running through a million excuses, but I come up empty as he watches me like a hunter stalking their prey.
He moves into the room, eyes tracking me in a way that feels seductive. Maybe it’s just my racing heart telling me that. He stops in front of the dresser.
“I didn’t take you as a trespasser. Tsk-tsk.” His voice is low and smooth.
“I’m not.” I bite my lip and mentally curse the pulse moving lower into my core. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come in here without asking.”
Jesse picks up the silver frame I was looking at, studying it for a moment before his gaze catches mine.
My lungs constrict in this quiet space. There’s only feet between us, but somehow every inch feels thick with tension.
I prop myself up on the bed, my arms heavy against the billowy comforter. My body has no intention of moving.
“It wouldn’t be the first time you trespassed.” He sets the photo down.
“We were pretty devious, weren’t we?” I let out a quiet chuckle.
“It was one of the hardest things I ever had to do,” Jesse says, his voice strained, sexy.
“What, keeping your horny teenage self under control?” I tease, cocking my head to the side, baiting him for an answer.
He shakes his head ever so slightly, a lock of dark hair falling loosely over his forehead. “Pretending every single day that I wasn’t fucking obsessed with you.”
My breath stutters. I stare at his mouth, afraid to believe the words that came out. Afraid to believe what they might mean.
We stay staring, and something silent passes between us. A dare. A plea. I don’t even know what I’m asking for—but I know I need it.
I need his hands on me. I need to kiss him, in this room, where it all started.
Maybe just a kiss will heal what time hasn’t been able to.
Maybe one kiss with his hands in my hair, one breath from him, will close the circuit that’s been opening, hurting me.
It’s the only rational thing I can think of as he stares at me like he wants to eat me.
“And now what? You still obsessed with me?” My voice is raspy, but there’s no tease in it anymore.
I lightly scrunch the bedding under my fingers, inhaling the smell of Jesse that surrounds me.
If only to remind myself this is real. With my heart on my sleeve, I gaze up at the man who broke my heart ten years ago, the one who still holds every potential to break it all over again.
He takes three slow, torturous steps toward the bed. And then he inches onto it, and I don’t move. My chest rises with each lessened inch between us until the lines of his jaw, the gold flecks in his green eyes, are visible.
Jesse moves forward on all fours, and like a scale, I fall back as he comes down on me. His elbows land next to my ribs, boxing me in, his large frame hovering over me, and I have no escape.
But there’s nowhere I want to go.
Silence encases us as I lift a finger, tracing the ink on his throat up to the softness of his parted lips. His green irises stare right into me, like they see everything.
He kisses my fingertip, and I drop my hand to the side of his face, admiring the way his jaw fits in my palm.
“You want the truth?” His voice pulls my gaze back to him, and I nod. “I never stopped being obsessed with you.”
His confession crashes into me, breaking down a wall with such force that all I can do is shiver under his touch.
Jesse trails kisses across my palm.
“Is this wrong?” I ask, worried I just ruined everything by asking.
Worried that what we are doing is so wrong.
That it’s going to hurt me even more. That it’s a temporary Band-Aid on my heart.
That I’m treating Jesse like an easy fuck when the truth is he holds a piece of my heart I never got back.
His eyes grow darker, a small grin pulling on the corners of his delicious mouth.
“If this is wrong, I don’t want to be right. I’m a good man, Penny, but I want to be bad right now.”
“Show me how bad you want to be,” I whisper back against all my judgment, and for a moment, he hesitates.
Like maybe he thought I wouldn’t agree to this, and he’ll jump up and say “gotcha!” or that our time has passed, there’s too much hurt, too many years between us. That doing this would be irresponsible.
But he doesn’t do any of that.
Instead, he laces his strong hands through my wild hair, gripping me tightly, trapping me under him, and lays his lips on mine.
His kiss isn’t soft and sweet, it’s rough and needy.
He sucks my lip into his mouth, and the breath in my lungs no longer belongs to me.
I moan, and he releases my mouth, smiling against me.
He smells like I remember, like leather and musk.
His tongue darts into my mouth again, and I hold on to his neck.
It’s thicker than it was ten years ago. He is solid and steady, and I’m filled with a desire to claim him right here, right now.
His biceps flex against the fabric of his shirt, and logic leaves my body—disintegrating into thin air, because all I want is to see what’s under his clothing.
I want to run my fingers over every line of ink covering his torso. I want to kiss the column of his throat, I want to scrape my nails down the valleys of his back.
I want to remember, just for tonight, what it feels like when Jesse Rivers is all mine.
We strip down until there’s only my lace panties and his black boxers between us. The air is cool on my skin, but the heat of his body makes me feel wild. Ravenous.
Jesse rakes his eyes over my body as I inch back on the bed. He grips my thigh, and I stare down at the tattooed hands wrapped around my pale, unmarked skin.
I love how we contrast, love how he still remembers where I like being touched. He massages my inner thighs as I writhe on the bed, bucking my hips, desperate for pressure on my aching center. But Jesse takes his time, studying me as he does.