Those Three Little Words

I remember the moment I first met Penny Lawes. She was an intern, and Pacey was showing her around. We ran into each other in the hallway, right outside the locker room. I made some offhanded comment about Pacey bringing girls around the locker room and asked him if he was starting his own Brentwood Baseball tradition—they are known for taking the girls back to the locker room. His eyes grew murderous as he said, through a very clenched jaw, that the girl next to him was his sister.

You could imagine my surprise.

I mean . . . Pacey is a good-looking guy if you’re into the long, curly-blond-hair look, but his sister . . . Jesus fuck.

Hot.

She’s curvy with hips to grip on to and a full fucking rack that I could easily spend an hour exploring. And those goddamn lips, plush and begging to be bruised. Long, platinum-blond hair that I could wrap around my hand and hold on tight while I drive into her. Fucking perfection. Every last inch of her.

Later that day, when I was headed to the weight room to get some legs in after the game, Pacey body-slammed me against the wall and held me there as he told me to stay the fuck away from his sister.

Of course, I played dumb and said I had no idea what he was talking about. Which he replied with, “I saw the way you were looking at her. I swear to God, if you touch her, you’re a dead man.”

So, I’ve held on to that little piece of knowledge because although a threat, I know for certain it’s most likely a real threat. A threat I didn’t want to come face to face with.

Every time I ran into her, walking through the hallways of the stadium or working with her on one of her many TikTok campaigns, I just nodded and smiled outwardly.

But inwardly . . .

Fuck, I ate up her high heels that put the smallest dent on her short stature. I envisioned what those heels would look like wrapped around my waist. I thought about how I’d peel those high heels off and lay her back on my bed, watching as her hair fanned out across the mattress. And those fantasies have collected in my head, filed into a folder labeled untouchable. But they haven’t stopped producing, even after knowing I can’t do anything about it.

They’ve just stockpiled.

With every glance from her.

With every moment I hear those heels click-clacking down the hallway.

With every goddamn laugh from her beautiful lips when she’s talking to someone else.

My mind has wandered. My imagination has soared, and I’ve been horny and needy whenever she’s been around.

Tonight is no exception.

Except I’m flirting with her tonight—it is my birthday, after all.

Happy birthday to me.

There’s nothing wrong with a bit of flirting, right?

“You seem to be drinking that pretty quickly,” I point out to her as she sucks on her straw, her cheeks hollowing out, making me dream of what she’d look like if she was sucking on something other than that straw.

“Am I?” she asks after she pulls away from her drink. “Well, I’m thirsty. All that babbling has left me parched.”

The fucking babbling. Normally, I wouldn’t care for a woman to go on and on about random things, but for some reason, when Penny does it, I’m enamored, and I want nothing more than for her to continue. I want to get lost in those crazy thoughts of hers.

“Do you want something to eat?” I ask her.

“Uh . . .” She glances around. “I think I’m okay. I’m actually not planning on staying long. You know, work tomorrow. I really came out tonight as a favor to Blakely and stayed out because, well, it’s your birthday. You know what we should do? We should actually roam the bar and find someone you can go home with. You know, someone who would really know how to celebrate.” She waggles her eyebrows at me, and if I wasn’t so annoyed with her trying to pass me off on someone else, I’d think it’s cute.

“I’m good with you.”

“Me?” she asks, pointing at herself. “That’s, well, you know, I’m not, uh . . . the thing is—”

“Good with hanging out with you,” I say, clearing the air so she doesn’t think I’m looking for anything other than her company. She has no idea the number of times I’ve said no to another woman’s advances because of an interaction with her on a particular day.

If she were to make a move, I’d jump on it so hard. In an instant, we’d be headed to my place with one thing on my mind—getting between her legs.

“Oh, okay.” She stares down at her drink. “You don’t think I’m boring?”

“Why would I think you were boring? You have been nothing but entertaining since I bumped into you.”

“Yes, but I’m not a super great conversationalist.”

“Not true,” I say before taking a small sip of my beer. “I’ve seen you with the guys. You’re always laughing with them, joking around, teasing.”

“Yes, well . . . that’s different.”

“How so?” I ask while leaning in closer to her. From my position, I catch a whiff of her heady, exotic perfume, and it hits me in my goddamn chest.

She glances away, and I can tell whatever she’s going to say won’t be the truth. And I want the truth from her. It’s rare when I talk to her like this, so I don’t want anything to hold her back.

I lift my hand, and with two fingers, I rotate her head so she’s looking at me. “Tell me the truth. Why is interacting with me different?”

She visibly gulps as her eyes search mine, bouncing back and forth until she says, “Because you’re, uh . . . because well . . .” She swallows again. “You’re attractive.”

Bingo.

Just the thing I wanted to hear.

Never hurts a man’s ego to hear the woman he’s been lusting after for two years thinks he’s attractive. Nope, I’m going to keep that little nugget of info very close to my dick.

“Well, not that the other guys aren’t attractive, because they are, but you’re just different, and I don’t know why I admitted that. I’ve only had two drinks. It’s not like I’m drunk or anything, so my lips shouldn’t be that loose. Honestly, how about we forget I even said that?”

“No fucking way.” I let my hand slide back down, only to settle close to hers on the table. “I’m tucking that snippet of knowledge away forever.”

She sighs heavily. “Why do you have to rub it in like that? Clearly, it’s embarrassing for me to talk about—”

“Rub it in? I’m not rubbing it in. I’m basking in the glory of Penny Lawes thinking I’m attractive.”

“Why on earth would you do that?” she asks with a pinch of her brow.

“Uhh . . . because you’re a fucking goddess and being recognized by you feels really fucking amazing,” I say before I can stop myself.

Her mouth falls open, shock written all over her expression.

“But we don’t have to talk about that,” I say quickly, not wanting to scare her away. Dropping that hint is important, though. I want her to know that I’d worship her if she let me, but I don’t want to make it awkward either. “Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

She blinks a few times, and then she sits back on her stool while crossing her arms over her chest. Inquisitively, she glances around the busy bar with bustling singles just looking to hook up with someone tonight. Finally, she quietly leans in and whispers, “Is this some sort of prank show that I’m on, and I don’t know about it?”

“What?” I ask, confused.

She motions between us. “This . . . this can’t possibly be a real thing, so do you have me on a prank show? Oh God, is this for the team? Are there cameras?” She looks around again, lifting out of her chair to get a better look.

I settle my hand on her shoulder and push her back on her seat. Looking her in the eyes, I say, “There is no prank show, Penny. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

She studies me again, her expression a mixture of humor and confusion. I’m not quite sure if she’s about to lay down an onslaught of questions or burst out in laughter.

She chooses the latter.

It starts slow. A chuckle. A small ha . . . until it turns into a full-on guffaw followed by a litany of outlandish laughter so obnoxiously loud that people around us start to glance our way.

The laughter takes over every last inch of her body, shaking her from head to toe to the point of actual tears. Freaking tears. With a napkin, she blots at her eyes, pauses . . . glances at me, and starts laughing all over again.

Annoyed, I take a long, hard gulp of my drink until nothing is left while she continues gripping her stomach and gasping for air. I see a server crossing by us and wave him down for another round for the both of us while Penny attempts to gather herself.

Attempts being the key word.

After another minute, I ask her, “You done?”

She takes a few breaths, lets out a few more chuckles, and then sips her drink through her straw just as the server brings us a new round. He takes our empty glasses and then disappears.

After a few more seconds, she dabs at her eyes one more time and nods. “I’m done.” She smirks.

I wait to see if she breaks out in laughter again, but when she keeps it together, I say, “Then would you mind telling me why what I said was so funny to you?”

“Because it’s unbelievable,” she answers. Straw pinched between her fingers, she sips from her new glass now. “Ask everyone in this bar if what you said is believable, and one hundred percent they would say no.”

“I see.” I rub the side of my jaw, trying to maintain my composure because now she’s really fucking irritated me. I’m a pretty chill guy and can joke with the rest of them. I prefer it, actually, but this conversation has grated on my nerves. It’s not only insulting to me, but it’s degrading to her. She’s so goddamn hot, it’s painful being near her and not being able to make a move.

But that very well might change tonight.

I lean in and rest my hand on her bare thigh, sliding it inwardly as I say into her ear, “For your information, from the moment I first met you, I’ve wanted to fuck you. Don’t believe it if you want”—my lips graze her ear—“but it’s fucking true. Those lips of yours, I’ve wanted to own them. Your tits, I’ve wanted to worship. And your pussy, I’ve wanted to taste it.” Her breath hitches as I allow my thumb to move across her silky skin. “Every time I’ve run into you, every time I’ve made eye contact with you, or anytime I’ve been close enough to smell your perfume, I’ve thought about all the dirty, naughty, delicious things I could do to you. Dreamed about it. Wondered what it would be like to have you riding my cock, your tits bouncing near my face, your pussy pulsing against my length. So don’t for one goddamn moment think what I said was a joke. I’d never joke about fucking you . . . ever.”

And with a nip to her earlobe, I pull away and drag my hand off her thigh before grabbing my drink and lifting it to my lips. The whole time, I keep my eyes on her.

Cheeks flushed.

Lips parted in shock.

And her chest is actually heaving just as her eyes slowly lock in on mine.

“I . . . uh . . .” She wets her lips as her face registers shock. I can only imagine what’s going through her mind. Hell, I wasn’t expecting to lay out my desires for her like that, but she irritated me, and I needed, at that moment, for her to understand the truth. To understand the torture I’ve endured ever since I met her. Finally, she finds her voice. “I . . . uh, I was told I’m bad at sex.”

What the fuck? It’s really loud in here tonight, so I must have heard her wrong. Surely, she didn’t suggest someone told her she was a lousy lay. But looking at her face, at what looks like utter mortification, maybe I did hear her right. “Penny, did you just say—”

“I know I claimed earlier that I was good, a decent roll in the sheets, but that was a lie to save face. My last boyfriend said I was bad, so . . . you know, just thought that might help your fantasies. No good over here. A no-fly zone for pulse-pounding sex. Sorry.”

Bad at sex?

Some dipshit told her she was bad at sex?

Who the fuck says that to a woman?

The only reason a man would say that is because he’s the one who’s actually bad at sex and is placing the blame on someone else so he doesn’t have to face reality.

Anger pumping through my veins, I say quietly as I close the space between us, “I don’t believe that for one goddamn second.” I reach up and push a stray piece of hair behind her ear, lingering at her cheek. “Let me ask you this. Did he ever make you orgasm?”

Visibly uncomfortable, she shifts on her stool. “Well, when I assisted him.”

“Assisted him?” I ask, intrigued with exactly how she would do that.

“You know, if I massaged myself while he thrust into me from behind.”

The image of her playing with her clit while being fucked runs through my head like a goddamn motion picture on the big screen. I can see it, feel it, but instead of some fuckup behind her, it’s me, and the only reason she’s playing with her clit is because I demanded that she did, not because she needed it.

I’m so turned on. Facing her, I rest my feet on the rungs of her stool and place my hand on her back, closing her between me and the high-top table. “Did you have to do that every time? Massage yourself?”

She doesn’t look at me. She averts her eyes to her drink where she plays with the condensation, dragging her perfectly manicured finger over the dewy droplets. “You know, we don’t have to talk about this. What about, uh . . . your birthday. Get any good presents?”

“Not yet,” I answer. “But I’m hoping I’ll get a really good one by the end of the night.”

Her eyes shoot to mine, and I hold her gaze, letting her know how fucking serious I am.

She’s off limits.

I’ve been warned.

And I’ve kept my distance.

But there’s something about tonight. Something driving me closer and closer to her, and no matter how many times I try to conjure up Pacey’s angry face or threatening words, they’re quickly washed away by my desperation.

I. Want. Her.

Need. Her.

Bad.

And I’m not sure anything can stop me from having her tonight.