Penelope
"Happy birthday, dear Connor. Happy birthday to youuu!"
The flickering firelight of twenty-nine candles dances across my brother's cheeks as our very off-key singing echoes through his kitchen, then fades into a wild round of applause.
"Make a wish, old man!" Hayes shouts, lifting his beer before tipping back whatever's left in the bottle. "You're not getting any younger!"
"But I'm getting hungrier," Caleb shouts. "And I'm gonna eat that cake with my bare hands if you don't hurry up, swear to God!"
Laughter ripples through the group, coming from everyone but the birthday boy himself, who is busy staring into the flames.
"Hold on," he grumbles, furrowing his brow in concentration. "I'm trying to think of a good one."
A jam-packed kitchen and a chocolate cake isn't at all what we had planned for Connor's birthday celebration. Just like every year, we'd planned his annual "Connor Crawl" through a strip of River North bars, complete with T-shirts and a hashtag for posting all our drunken pictures the next morning. If there's one thing my brother loves, it's his birthday, so we always pull out all the stops.
But this morning, we all woke up to a group text from him requesting a quiet night in instead. Despite my suspicions that my wild-child brother had been possessed by a demon, I threw out my Saturday morning plans in favor of baking him his favorite chocolate cake with bright blue frosting, and we all made good on his request.
Well, except for the quiet part. The guys seem to be having a hard time getting that suggestion through their heads.
"Tick tock," Hayes teases, letting out a laugh. "Any day now, Father Time."
Connor glances up with a weak smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.
With each passing second that he stares blankly into the flames, my stomach ties itself into a tighter and tighter knot. I knew something was up when he called off the bar crawl, but my bets were on a slight hangover or a gnarly pimple holding him back.
But from the second I walked through the door tonight, I knew something major was off. All night, Connor has seemed a thousand miles away, even when he's standing right beside me. Like now, his easygoing smile is nowhere to be found, and he's studying those burning candles on the cake like they hold all the answers.
After thirty incredibly awkward seconds of Connor staring down his candles, I reach over and pinch his forearm under the table. "Uh, Connor? Before the wax melts onto the frosting?"
"Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry." He sucks in a big, dramatic breath and proceeds to huff out all twenty-nine candles at once. It would be impressive if it didn't feel oddly reminiscent of a sigh of defeat.
What's going on with him? He's acting like the human equivalent of a glob of melted candle wax in a big bite of birthday cake. Not that anyone other than me seems to be acknowledging that.
"Attaboy, Connor." Caleb claps him on the back with one hand, fanning away the smoke with the other. "Twenty-nine years young and he's still got it."
"Only one more till the dirty thirty," Scarlett says gleefully from beside me. "Someone get this man a walker!"
Connor shakes his head, huffing a strand of his dark blond hair from his forehead. "If you keep giving me shit, I'm not sharing my cake with you," he mutters. "C'mon, let's cut into this thing."
Wolfie flips on the lights and appears with a stack of paper plates and forks, shouldering his way to a spot at the table to help serve up my masterpiece.
Not to toot my own horn, but I managed to pull off a seriously gorgeous cake in Connor's favorite colors with only a few hours' notice. With thick blue piping around the edges and happy birthday connor written in a kind of messy script, I might actually fool someone into thinking I bought this at a bakery. Maybe if this promotion doesn't pan out at work, I should pivot to a career as a pastry chef.
"This looks amazing, Penelope," Wolfie murmurs as he slices a knife through the thick layer of frosting, revealing the rich chocolate cake inside. "Almost too pretty to eat."
A chill rolls through me at his word choice. He sure didn't say that between my thighs last night.
No. Bad Penelope. No sexy thoughts about your brother's roommate at his freaking birthday party. No matter how incredible he was last night.
Wolfie plates an extra-thick slice, then holds it out to me. I happily accept it, enjoying the prickle of electricity dancing along my fingertips when they brush against his. Likely a side effect of the fact that less than twenty-four hours ago, this man had me gripping my bedsheets for dear life.
Admittedly, I'd drag him down the hall and give his bedsheets the same treatment if not for the fact that we'd have quite the audience out here to hear it all. An audience that includes, of course, my brother. Who is still oblivious to the fact that Wolfie and I are anything but friends.
"You're really gonna give the first piece to my sister on my birthday?"
Speak of the birthday boy and he shall appear.
Connor tugs my plate out of my hands, giving Wolfie and me some serious side-eye before disappearing into the living room.
Suddenly, I'm struck with a very real, very nerve-racking thought.
Maybe it's not the age thing that's bothering Connor tonight. What if the reason he's acting weird is because he knows about Wolfie and me? Just the idea sends panic sweeping through me, leaving all my nerve endings raw.
It would certainly explain him canceling the bar crawl, that's for sure, but he probably would have kicked Wolfie's ass halfway to the suburbs by now if he knew the truth about us.
I swallow my panic long enough to help Wolfie serve up and distribute the rest of the cake. Once everyone has a plate in hand, the group spreads out throughout the apartment, breaking off into a handful of separate conversations, any one of which I could easily join. But there's only one person I should be talking to right now.
My brother.
As I head for the living room, Wolfie follows close behind me, and I turn on my heel, gently pressing my palm against his chest for a moment. Not long enough for anyone to notice, I hope.
"Stay here," I whisper. "I need to talk to Connor alone."
Wolfie dips his chin in a firm nod, his gray eyes filled with sweet understanding. "I get it. Good luck."
"Thanks," I squeak back. "I might need it."
In the living room, I find Connor hunched over on the worn leather couch, pushing a glob of frosting around his plate, which is resting in his lap.
"Is buttercream more of a twenty-eight-year-old thing?" I tease.
He snorts, not even glancing up at me. "Nah. Just no appetite, I guess."
Now that's a red flag if I've ever seen one. The man who stole my slice of birthday cake isn't even eating it? He may as well be spelling out SOS in the frosting. But if I'm going to get him to talk, I need to get him totally alone first.
Operation Evacuate Birthday Boy from his Own Party is a go.
I clear my throat, vying for his attention, and set the bait. "So, can I give you your present now?"
As I hoped, it sparks Connor's curiosity. He looks up from his cake, his gaze narrow and probing. "What are you talking about? We stopped giving each other presents back in middle school."
I open my mouth to protest, then pause, smacking my forehead with the heel of my hand. "Shoot, I just remembered I left it in the car. Can you come get it with me?"
Connor frowns, lifting one suspicious eyebrow.
Jeez. Would it kill him to play along for once?
I plant my hands on my waist, popping one hip to the side. "Fine. You can stay here. But if something happens to your little sister on the streets of Chicago at night, just know it's your fault."
As predicted, that's enough to get him up from the couch. Moments later, we're slipping on our coats and heading for the door.
"We'll be back in just a second!" I promise over my shoulder on our way out. And, God, do I hope I'm right.
The cold November air hits almost as hard as the irony of the moment-stepping out onto the busy streets of the city just to get a bit of privacy. Chatty, unfamiliar faces wander up and down the block, probably heading toward the same bars we were planning to go to tonight.
But Connor doesn't even notice them. He just squints up and down the street, cringing against the wind. "Where's your car?"
"Nowhere." I push my shoulders back, feeling more than a little proud of myself. "I took the el. I just wanted to get you out here away from everyone else for a moment."
His eyebrows lift as I plant one hand on my hip.
"Now, want to tell me what's going on with you?"
He whips his head toward me, his lips pulled into a tight frown that matches the disapproval in his eyes. "So you dragged me out into the cold, and there's not even a present?"
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Of course that's what he's hung up on.
"Sorry. That was kinda cruel. But I spent two hours making you a homemade cake today. And now my present is my love and concern. Seriously, Connor." I sigh, mirroring his crossed arms. "You've been acting weird all night. What's going on?"
He lets out a long, slow sigh.
My heart stills as I watch him decide whether to respond. I've never been so afraid to hear the answer to a question. But if he knows about Wolfie and me, I should be the one to take the heat. I'm the reason any of this happened, after all.
Connor pushes out a slow, shaky exhale, his shoulders dropping as he scrubs one hand through his messy blond hair. "It's . . . it's Beth."
A cocktail of relief and pure confusion shoots through my veins. So it's not me. It's . . . a girl?
"Who's Beth?"
"Exactly. I hardly know her. We met last May at a bar in River North. You might remember her. Brown hair, kind of short."
I chomp down on my lower lip, holding back a laugh. "You're describing literally every girl you've ever hit on."
Connor huffs, shoving his hands so far into his pockets, you'd think he was trying to break through and touch the concrete. "Whatever. The point is, she's pregnant. Six months pregnant."
Oh. Whoa.
My heart outruns my breath, leaving me dizzy and unbalanced. "Is it . . ."
He nods somberly. "The paternity test came back yesterday morning. I'm the dad."
Those last three words lodge in my chest like a pill I can't quite gulp down. My brother, a father? My brain won't even fully register the thought.
"What are you going to do?"
"The right thing," he says firmly, his tortured expression fading to give way to a more serious one. "Whatever Beth wants me to do. I want to be involved as much as she'll let me. I mean, Jesus, this is my daughter we're talking about."
A lump of emotion forms in my throat, and I can barely squeak out my reply. "Daughter?"
The smallest smile pulls at his lips. It's the most joy I've seen from him all night, and something inside my chest squeezes.
"Yeah," he whispers. "It's a girl."
Something about knowing the gender makes the whole thing seem much more real. I try to imagine Connor picking out little pink onesies, learning how to master the art of hair bows and playing pretend with Barbie dolls.
It warms my heart, to be honest. He's been such a good big brother to me. I can only imagine that will transfer well to being some lucky little girl's dad. Maybe the circumstances aren't ideal, but a baby is a blessing, no matter what. Plus, I know I could throw a mean baby shower.
Which brings me to my next question. "Do your friends know?"
Connor laughs. "Hell no. But they're sure as hell going to find out when I start shopping for a car seat."
I barely suppress a smirk. "You know you can't put a car seat on a motorcycle, right?"
He nods. "That's why I sold the bike."
My jaw nearly hits the concrete. The only thing less believable than my brother getting some girl pregnant is him selling his precious motorcycle.
"No way," I whisper, shaking my head.
"Yes, way," he says. "Wolfie's helping me pick out a car. I guess it's time to finally grow up."
Pride swells in my chest, mixing with the rest of the emotions fighting for my attention. Surprise. Confusion. And love. I love my brother. And I'm proud of him. I never envisioned him becoming a single father, but I know that anything he puts his heart into, he'll be great at.
"How are you feeling . . . about everything?"
Connor shrugs and runs one hand over the stubble on his jaw. "Honestly? I don't even know. It's a lot to process."
I nod. "I get that. And you and Beth? Are you . . ."
He shakes his head. "No. She's actually dating someone else. Says she's really happy."
"That's good, I guess."
I can't even begin to imagine the complexity of having a baby with someone, let alone someone who's now dating someone else. What if Connor doesn't like the new guy who's going to theoretically be spending a lot of time around his daughter?
But before I can contemplate it further, he interrupts my train of thought.
"They're both med school students. Beth's going to be a pediatrician. I remember being impressed that she was in med school. We talked about it that night."
I shift my weight. "Was it only a one-time thing between you two?"
He shakes his head. "No. We saw each other for a few weeks. It was casual, kind of a friends-with-benefits thing. She was too busy for anything else, but I was fine with that."
I smirk. Of course he was. My brother the playboy, ladies and gentlemen.
But now it seems he's found out the hard way about where babies come from. I've never dwelled on it, but yes, my brother has had a lot of casual sex. Although I can't help but wonder if maybe those days are behind him.
Nodding gently, I touch Connor's arm. "I know that no matter what happens, you're going to be an amazing dad."
He swallows hard. "Thanks, Pen."
Before things start getting too mushy between us, I motion back toward his apartment. "All right, let's go enjoy what's left of this party. Gotta live it up for the next three months before your Saturday nights start to look a whole lot different."
He winces. "Do you have to rub salt in the wound?"
"I'm your sister." I shrug. "Isn't that my job?"
Upstairs, the party is still buzzing along like it was when we left it-music playing, friends laughing too loud. But now, with a heavy weight off his chest, Connor is actually able to enjoy his evening. He finally digs into his cake, even going for a second slice, and sips on one of his favorite craft beers while singing along to some old nineties hip-hop song Wolfie included on tonight's playlist.
I can't help my gaze from straying over to Wolfie every so often. He looks like all kinds of naughty fun with his serious expression, dark eyes, and the way his long-sleeved T-shirt hugs his muscular arms and stretches across his chest-a chest that I love burrowing into.
Wait, is burrowing the right word?
I don't know, but I do know I love the feel of being in his arms. It's safe and comfortable. A few times during the evening I feel his eyes on me too, and it sends a little thrill zipping through me to think about our secret tryst that no one knows about but us.
There are so many things to like about Wolfie. I like the way he looks at me. The way he listens when I talk, with utter and complete interest in what I have to say. I like that he wanted to take things slow between us rather than rush into bed like a lot of guys would have at my offer. He's thoughtful in everything he does, even if that thing is hooking up.
Being with Wolfie, overcoming the obstacles holding him back, watching him open up to me . . . it makes me feel all warm and flushed inside. I know this was only supposed to be about sex, about scratching an itch, but it's not anymore. I'm not sure when things changed, but it's obvious they have.
I might have told him that I didn't have time for a relationship, that I only wanted to exchange an orgasm or two with someone other than my vibrator, but it's already become so much more. And I have no idea what to do with that information.
Does Wolfie want more too? Is he even capable of that right now? And what will we do if and when Connor finds out? Will it ruin everything?
When the rest of the group filters into the living room to encourage this impromptu karaoke, Wolfie grabs my hand, pulling me into the kitchen for our first moments away from prying eyes all evening.
"Is everything okay with Connor?" Wolfie asks, brushing my hair behind my ear and sending a trail of goose bumps racing down my neck.
"It's . . . complicated," I say, lacing my fingers tight into his and pulling him closer. "But it has nothing to do with what's happening between you and me."
"So he doesn't know?" Wolfie lifts one dark brow. "About us?"
I shake my head, trying to ignore how much I love the sound of him referring to us as . . . us. "Doesn't seem like it. He's got bigger things on his mind."
More like smaller things. Tiny little third-trimester things. But it's not my secret to share. And to think I was worried my brother's sour mood was about me and Wolfie. We're the least of his worries.
But we'd still be a worry, if he knew.
Wolfie grips my hand a little tighter, letting the other float to the nape of my neck, guiding my mouth to his in a quick, sweet kiss that makes my toes curl in my wool socks.
"Good," he murmurs, his lips buzzing against mine. "That means we can have a repeat of last night sometime soon."
My skin heats beneath his touch at just the mention of last night. I want a repeat. I need a repeat. If last night were a song, I'd let it play and play until I'd memorized every note.
"Soon," I say, touching his scruffy jaw with my palm. "Please."
"Wolfie, get in here!" Connor's sharp voice cuts through the air, and we stumble back from each other in a panic. "Come do a duet with me!"
Our wide, startled eyes meet for a moment before we break into full-on laughter.
"Can't say no to the birthday boy," I remind Wolfie with a waggle of my finger.
He shrugs, a coy smile pulling at the corner of his mouth as he rakes his fingers through his dark hair. "Seems like I also can't say no to his sister."