Wolfie
When it comes to women, not much comes naturally to me, but kissing Penelope feels like second nature.
The moment her mouth meets mine, my hand curls possessively around her hip, and the other weaves into her soft blond waves as her tongue flirts with mine. It's pure instinct, as natural as breathing. And I'd like to do it just as often.
My fingers trace the soft, silky fabric of her dress as I deepen our kiss, nipping and sucking on her lower lip. She tastes sweet from the rosé. I could get drunk on this girl in a hurry, if I'm not careful.
Penelope hums her approval against my lips. With one hand planted against my chest, she presses even higher onto her toes, trying to close any remaining distance between us.
Our height difference doesn't do us a ton of favors in terms of kissing standing up, which of course gives my dick the brilliant idea that we should be lying down. In her bed. Where I could strip her out of that dress and give every square inch of her the attention it deserves.
We've done this before, at the lake house. Why not give it another try?
Just as I'm warming up to the idea, her fingers trail down my chest, lingering on my zipper. Clearly, we're on the same page here.
But when my cock bobs in my jeans, urging me to take things further, it's like the blood stops pumping in my veins. A familiar and unwelcome zing of panic pulses through me, and I stumble back, breaking away from her touch.
Penelope's eyes widen and she gasps with surprise. "What is it? Did I do something wrong?"
"No, it's not you. It's . . ." I cut myself off mid-sentence. Was I really about to cite the oldest fucking line in the book? It's not you; it's me. This girl doesn't need my clichés, not even if they're true.
"Look, I'm sorry, I just . . ." I shove a hand through my hair, staring unseeing at the kitchen floor. I should say something. I owe it to her to say something. But the alarm bells going off in my head won't even let me form a coherent sentence, so I keep my mouth shut.
"You just what?"
Her tone is patient, not at all demanding, but I still feel put on the spot. When I finally have the balls to look at Penelope, her usual clear blue eyes are clouded with pain. Pain that I caused.
"Nothing. It's fine," I manage to say on a slow exhale.
Shit, I'm not even convincing myself.
Penelope's full lips part on a shaky sigh, her eyes desperately searching mine for the explanation that I'm not ready to give.
"Wolfie . . . you can tell me." She takes one hesitant step toward me, and I flinch back, keeping my distance. "Remember at the lake house? You told me so much, but if there's something else . . ."
Slowly, she reaches for my arm, but I pull away again, out of her reach.
I can't do this. Not now. Not with her.
"I have to go." The words cut through the air, clean and sharp. Final.
I turn, avoiding eye contact as I hurry toward the door, then shove my arms into the sleeves of my coat as I step into my boots, not even bothering to lace them up. I don't have the time. I need to get out of here.
"Wolfie, please." Penelope pleads, following a few steps behind me. "Please stay. We don't have to do that. You can talk to me."
Her words hit me like a sucker punch to the gut, but I don't so much as turn around to acknowledge them. Instead, I pull open the door and hurry down the stairs, stepping back into the biting early winter air.
The wind stings my cheeks, but I can't help but feel like I deserve it, both for letting things get so far with her and for bailing with no explanation. I don't know which is worse, but I do know that if I stuck around and took things further, I'd just be setting her up for even more pain. She's better off with me gone.
I hop on the train and ride it past my usual stop, all the way down to my favorite stretch of bars. Nothing sounds better right now than being one of hundreds of faceless, drunken strangers in a crowd. Plus, whiskey tastes better when someone else pours it for you, and I sure as hell need a drink.
My go-to spot is more packed than it should be on a weeknight, but I slip the bouncer a twenty, and in seconds I'm inside. Money talks, and I've got a few more bills in my wallet that are calling out for a Jameson neat.
Shouldering through the crowd, I make my way to the bar and manage to claim a free bar stool. I'll take it as a sign that I'm supposed to be here, drinking my problems away with some shitty club soundtrack in the background. If only I could find whoever's pouring the drinks down here.
My gaze travels down the bar and over a dozen unfamiliar faces, each of them laughing and sipping something strong. Eventually, I find my target, a guy dressed in head-to-toe black, taking an order from a dark-haired girl in a red dress.
Wait a second. I know that girl.
Suddenly, my mouth feels like the fucking Sahara Desert.
It's Tessa. I haven't spoken to her since I shut her down via text during Penelope's work retreat. Apparently, I'm staring a little too long, because her gaze meets mine and recognition flashes.
Shit. I could have looked away and played dumb, but it's too late now.
She mutters something to the bartender that I can't hear from this distance. Moments later, she's sauntering my way with a glass of Jameson and the kind of smug smile that irritates the hell out of me.
"Long time, no see." She slides the glass across the bar and straight into my palm.
Lord knows she's the last person I want to see right now, but I'm not turning down free booze, even if it is compliments of an old hookup.
"Hey, Tessa," I choke out. My grip on the glass tightens, and I knock back half of it in one swallow, letting the familiar punch of heat hit my stomach. It feels good in the worst way.
"You haven't been out lately." She props her elbows on the bar in a way that's clearly intended to showcase her tits.
"I've been busy."
"Too busy for me?" She bats her thick black lashes at me, jutting out her lower lip in a pout.
I'm not dignifying that with a response. As I stare into my whiskey, she wiggles in closer until we're inches apart, close enough that I can smell the whiskey on her breath.
"Listen, Wolf. Let's cut to the chase and get out of here." She trails her fingers from my shoulder to my bicep. "To your place?"
I can't shake her hand off me fast enough. "We're not doing that anymore, Tess." I look up from my glass in time to watch her lips pull into a tight frown.
"Why not? We had fun, didn't we? Why not have fun again?"
She squeezes my thigh under the bar. I have no choice but to physically lift her hand from my leg and move it away.
"I said no, Tess." My tone is firmer this time.
She scoffs and rolls her eyes at me. Luckily, she doesn't have a drink in her hand, or she might have thrown it in my face. But before she walks across the bar to flirt with the next unlucky bastard, she can't help but get in the last word.
"There's something wrong with you."
Her words sink into me like teeth. She's right. But she doesn't know the half of it.
Gulping down what's left in my glass, I flag down the bartender and get myself another Jameson, this time on the rocks. I need to slow myself down somehow, and the ice should keep me from tossing the whole thing back. But no amount of drinking could make me forget Tessa's words.
There's something wrong with you.
I've always known that to be true, but it hurts a whole lot more hearing someone else say it out loud. Even if it is an old hookup whose opinion shouldn't matter much.
It hasn't always been this way, though. Once upon a time, I was a normal horny teenager eager to experience sex and pleasure. But then one night when I was sixteen, I broke.
My dad's girlfriend came into my bedroom in the middle of the night, and I woke up to a hand that wasn't mine gripping me inside my boxers. It was foreign and strange, mostly because no one had ever touched me before. What made it even more so was she was someone that I'd looked at like a mother figure in my life.
At first, I was so stunned, I just lay there. My body wouldn't cooperate.
I wanted to shout at her to get out, but my voice wouldn't come. I wanted to push her hands away, but instead, I lay there motionless, unable to move an inch. I wanted her to know that my body's condition wasn't in response to her touch. I'd often woke up hard and aching, and now my body was betraying me.
Finally, I moved, rolling over to face the wall, and she quietly left. But the damage was done. Something clicked off inside me after that.
The Wolfie I used to know was long gone, replaced with someone I hardly liked. Someone distant from his friends and from his own libido. The kind of guy who can manage to spend one night tangled up with the most beautiful girl he's ever laid eyes on, and be totally unable to let her touch him less than a week later.
If it were you, you'd probably be drinking alone on a weeknight too.
But the hurt in Penelope's eyes when I left tonight . . . Fuck, that destroyed me.
Penelope.
Just thinking her name makes my heart ache, and my body hum to life in new and strange ways.
She's different. I can see it in her expression and the hope that fills her wide blue eyes when she looks at me.
She thinks I'm a good man, a kind man, that I'd be a loving boyfriend who enjoys romantic movies and stolen kisses. The kind of man you could bring home to meet your parents, who would shake your dad's hand and say, you've raised a hell of a daughter, sir. And then everyone would have a good laugh.
But I'm none of those things. To be honest, I'm barely functioning most days. I work, sleep, and hit the gym, filling my time so I don't have to sit around and think about why I'm so broken. And when the ache inside me becomes too much to bear, I get drunk and fumble my way through a quick fuck that only leaves me feeling worse. Guilty and confused.
Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
I've been this way my entire adult life. And now Penelope with her pretty mouth and her shining optimism wants me to change? To smile at her and pull her into my arms and hold her while we make love?
It just doesn't work that way.
Soon enough she'd discover what a piece of shit I am, all about my fucked-up past and why I couldn't even keep Tessa happy. Then Penelope would leave too, and I'd be alone again, which is exactly the way it's supposed to be.