Wolfie
I've almost canceled this trip half a dozen times, and maybe I should have. But in the end, I couldn't just leave Penelope hanging. Plus, Connor would never let me live with the fact that I ditched his sister.
My mantra has been just smile and get it over with. And so far . . . I'm dealing.
I've just endured a tense two-hour road trip with Penelope beside me. She smells really fucking good. And she's chattered almost nonstop, giving me the play-by-play of the politics in her office. I'm not sure if it's nervous energy, or if she just really wants me to be prepared for this weekend. Either way, it's kind of adorable listening to her ramble on.
Adorable? Get it together, bro.
When Penelope sprang the news on me that she'd told her colleagues she was bringing her boyfriend, I almost swallowed my tongue. But I had little choice but to go along with it. Right?
I let out a deep sigh and grip the steering wheel tighter.
Forty-eight hours and I'll be home. Safe and away from all this nonsense.
Even as it pops into my head, I realize what a strange thought it is. Safe from what?
Feels, I decide.
Penelope makes me feel too many things. Most of them all at once.
Confused. Overwhelmed. Horny.
For most guys, that last one isn't usually a problem. Unfortunately for me, I'm not most guys.
Physical intimacy makes me . . . unsettled. Nervous. Fearful about what might happen next. Worried about what's expected of me. Guys are expected to perform. That's just the way it is.
It's probably some type of undiagnosed anxiety disorder, but I don't want to go sit on a couch and tell some overpriced shrink about my past. I know exactly why I am the way I am.
I let out another sigh and shift in my seat.
"Are you okay?" Penelope asks softly from beside me, lowering her dark sunglasses to meet my eyes.
She's way too perceptive, or maybe I'm way too obvious.
"Fine," I lie, focusing on the road ahead.
• • •
When we arrive at the hotel, I grab our bags from the trunk while Penelope talks to the valet. She laughs at something he says, and I want to throat-punch him. I'm not off to a great start.
Chill, Wolfie.
The twenty-something valet turns his attention to me. "Name, sir?" He's got mischievous blue eyes, and I doubt he has any problems when it comes to the opposite sex.
"Wolfgang Cox."
He jots something down on the valet ticket and tears off half for me. "Gotcha down. You guys enjoy your stay."
With a stiff nod, I shoulder my bag and roll Penelope's along as I follow her inside, through the sliding glass doors of the opulent resort. I've never even heard of this place, but it's somewhere between a luxury hotel and a wilderness retreat. Towering pine trees crowd the glittering glass and rustic wood building. A pond is in the back that you can see in the distance since everything is open concept. It's nice. Classy and rustic at the same time.
Penelope works at a top management consulting firm in Chicago. Of course they'd want something befitting their status and prestige for their corporate event.
"Oh, wow. Look at this," Penelope says from beside me. With wide eyes, she tilts her head back, taking in the grand lobby with vaulted ceilings and a massive stone fireplace that dominates the center of the room.
"Beautiful," I murmur, taking in her, rather than our surroundings. "You ready for this weekend?"
She meets my eyes. "Yes. And with you here," she says with a smile, "it's going to be a huge help. I can't thank you enough for agreeing to come along. I know you probably had better things to do this weekend."
I shrug. "No need to thank me. Connor is my roommate and one of my best friends. Of course I'd help his sister."
Her smile falters for a second, but then she flashes me another grin.
Let's be honest, I'm little more than an emotional support animal. And I hope to be at least half as helpful as a well-trained Labrador retriever.
Penelope stops at the check-in desk and gives her name to the clerk. We're given two room keys and then head together to the elevator.
"Shit," she says under her breath, her confident steps faltering.
"What is it?"
She nods toward the elevator bank. "That's Spencer."
I lift one eyebrow at her. "Wanna introduce me?"
With an inhale, she nods. "Might as well get this over with."
Penelope straightens her spine and dons a look like she's preparing to go into battle. I stride alongside her like some well-trained assistant as she marches toward the elevator.
"Penny," Spencer says, grinning at her when we approach.
Penny?
I give her a curious look, and she frowns. I'm not sure what I was expecting with Spencer, but it wasn't this.
The guy standing before us is barely taller than Penelope's five feet, two inches. He's dressed in an oversize sport coat that nearly swallows his frame. His hair is thin and greasy, about chin-length, and has been hastily tucked behind his ears.
"Spencer, this is Wolfie Cox."
I extend a hand toward him. "Nice to meet you."
"Did you get the itinerary for this weekend?" Spencer asks Penelope while not-so-subtly checking out her tits.
Asshole.
"Itinerary?" She blinks.
Spencer's mouth curls into a smirk. "I must have forgotten to send it to you."
Her eyes narrow. Something tells me there's a story here, like maybe there's a reason he forgot to send it to her. Or he frequently "forgets" to give her important information. Dick.
Spencer digs his phone from his pocket and flashes the screen at Penelope. "See? The whole weekend is laid out."
"Can I see this?" I quickly grab the phone from him without waiting for his reply and forward myself the message. My phone buzzes in my pocket with an incoming text.
No way we're going to be at this guy's mercy all weekend, or have Penelope miss critical events because he "forgot" to tell her.
"Thanks," I murmur, flashing the douche a smooth smile.
The lines around Spencer's mouth deepen as he gives me a concerned look. But that's fine. I'm not here to make friends or impress him with my manners. Fat chance of that happening, anyway.
"We're going to go find our room and get settled. We'll catch up with you later," Penelope says, pulling me away with a tug.
We step into the elevator, and when I take my phone from my pocket, she scrambles for it, grabbing it from my hand.
"Penny." I give her a smirk, raising one brow.
Her gaze snaps to mine. "Don't you dare."
We dissolve into easy laughter as she scans the itinerary.
While we locate our hotel room, she fills me in on the weekend's events. Skeet-shooting competition this afternoon. A whiskey tasting tomorrow.
Good. At least her bosses have enough sense to know that whiskey shouldn't be mixed with firearms. There's also a dinner tonight, followed by a cocktail reception.
In other words, a lot for me to endure while pretending to be the perfect and adoring boyfriend in front of Penelope's colleagues. But I said I was going to be here for Penelope, and I will.
I press my fingers to my temples as Penelope scans the keycard and steps into our hotel room.
The room is spacious with a seating area beneath the windows and a friendly bar cart parked nearby. But that's not what makes my stomach sink. A king-size bed dressed in gray linens dominates the center of the room-looming like a dark cloud instead of a bed. A bed that I side-eye the fuck out of. Because, fuck.
Penelope seems unconcerned by the notion that we'll be spending tonight together in that bed. She strolls inside and leaves her rolling suitcase beside the closet.
"This is nice," she murmurs, running her fingers along a small marble table that holds a coffee maker and an assortment of tea bags.
I make a noncommittal sound. Nothing will happen in that bed. It's just that this is the first time I've ever been alone with Penelope-for an entire weekend. It's only natural that I should feel on edge. Right?
Fuck. I'm losing it. And according to that itinerary, I'll be expected to fire a gun in a little while-without shooting Spencer or any other motherfucker who dares to look at Penelope's tits again.
Good times.
"Did you need the bathroom?" she asks, eyeing me from across the room.
I gesture for her to go ahead. "It's all yours."
She nods, murmuring something about a two-hour car ride, and scurries away. I set my duffel bag into the closet and find a spot to plug in my phone charger.
Jesus. I scrub one hand through my hair. What the fuck am I doing here?
When Penelope reemerges a few minutes later, she's changed her outfit and freshened her makeup, by the looks of it. Her lips are now painted a berry color.
Her features are delicate with high cheekbones and wide, round eyes that are curious and filled with intelligence. Her mouth is lush and full, and her honey-colored hair curls ever-so-slightly on the ends over her perky breasts. But that perfect exterior is only part of the package. She's kindhearted, and has a quick wit and a wonderful sense of humor. Penelope is a treat for all the senses.
"You ready for this?" she asks.
I glance at the time. The skeet-shooting competition starts in thirty minutes.
At my hesitation, Penelope laughs. "You're starting to question why you signed up for this, aren't you?"
"Not at all. It's going to be fine," I say, but her raised brows tell me I'm not at all convincing.
Try harder, dude.
I'm here to help her, not stress her out. You're doing this for Connor. At least try to be a decent friend.
With some directions from the concierge staff, we make it outside to the edge of a grassy pasture where the skeet-shooting competition is being held. The rolling hills in the distance are dotted with tall pine trees, and another pond is nearby where we can see wild turkeys roaming.
Penelope ties the belt at the waist of her black wool coat. She looks gorgeous. Not even remotely dressed for skeet-shooting, but gorgeous all the same. She's wearing stylish tan boots, dark jeans, and a bright red sweater.
I'm relieved when she shoves her hands into oversized mittens. It's fucking freezing out here. I'd love to march her back inside and have her sit beside the fire in the lobby. Order her a hot chocolate, maybe.
Sometimes it's hard not to think of Penelope as my roommate's younger sister. At other times, it's hard to think of her as I should. Like right now, because she looks so good, and the idea of sharing a bed with her later is eating at me.
Connor's the one who suggested this, and if he had any inkling about the things I feel for Penelope, there's no way he would have. The temptation is real, but absolutely nothing will happen between us.
Her boss strides over and introduces himself. "David Douglass," he says, extending a hand in my direction. "You must be the boyfriend."
He's got a commanding presence about him and seems nice enough. That Spencer kid trails along behind him, wearing a shitty grin on his face.
"Wolfie," I say, returning his handshake. "Penelope's told me many good things."
David's smile widens. "Has she?"
"Yes, sir. She enjoys her position very much."
He nods once while Penelope stands quietly beside me. "That's good to hear. She's certainly been an asset to the company."
"Thank you, Mr. Douglass," she says, relaxing her posture slightly beside me.
"And what is it that you do?" he asks, directing his inquisitive stare my way again.
"Wolfie is an entrepreneur," Penelope says, jumping in to answer for me.
I chuckle. "Something like that. I started a company a few years ago with a few friends. We've been fortunate to find our niche market."
David opens his mouth to ask a follow-up question, but we're interrupted. And thankfully so-I really don't want to tell my fake girlfriend's boss I manufacture and sell the vibrator his wife probably has in her bedside drawer.
A guy from the resort comes over carrying two shotguns. "Everyone ready to get started?"
"Nothing wrong with a little friendly competition. Am I right?" David asks, placing one hand on my shoulder.
"Not a damn thing. Let's do it," I reply confidently.
Penelope flashes me an uncertain look.
"We've got this," I whisper, resting my arm around her shoulders and giving her a gentle squeeze.
About a dozen of us are divided into two-person teams. I'm paired with Penelope. David and Spencer are together, and then the rest of Penelope's coworkers couple up.
We're given our instructions and a short safety briefing by the guy from the resort, and then it's time to begin. We watch as David fires off a succession of perfect shots-obliterating each clay pigeon that arcs into the clear blue sky.
"Nicely done, Uncle Dave," Spencer says, getting into position for his turn.
He nearly shits himself when the gun goes off the first time, and totally misses the target.
"Pull," he says again, his face red with embarrassment. He misses again. And again.
The smell of gunpowder hangs in the air, and everyone is quiet for a beat. I almost feel bad for the guy. Then I remember his treatment of Penelope earlier, and I'm back to not caring in the least if he makes a fool of himself.
"Wolfie. You're up," David says next, his voice stern.
I take the shotgun and get into position, squaring my shoulders while everyone watches. I haven't fired many guns in my life, but surely I can perform better than Spencer. I hope.
I inhale slowly and look through the sight. When I take my shot, I'm rewarded with a satisfying crack as the pigeon explodes.
Penelope gives a little cheer from beside me.
I walk to the next station and fire again. This time I miss. But I make the next several shots, and end up just behind David in the rankings.
When it's Penelope's turn, I can't help but feel a little nervous for her. Like maybe in David's eyes, there's more on the line than just a friendly competition.
Everyone is quiet as she steps up and gets into position. Penelope lifts the shotgun and widens her stance.
"Pull," she says, her voice clear and steady. The explosion of her shot follows, but the clay pigeon she was aiming for remains intact as it falls to the ground a distance away.
She missed. I release a slow breath.
"Pull," she says again.
This time there's a satisfying crack, and pride bursts through me. She aims and fires, shattering the clay pigeons again and again.
Over the course of her turn, she outshoots both Spencer and me, coming in only behind David. Her boss looks pleased by her performance.
It doesn't surprise me in the least. Penelope is good at everything she tries, as far as I can tell.
"You were good at that," I say once she hands the shotgun to a coworker who looks nervous to follow her.
She smiles. "Why don't you seem surprised?"
I chuckle. "Because I'm not."
Meeting my eyes with a soft expression, Penelope parts her lips, quietly watching me.
Pride gives way to another emotion. Something darker and more primal. Lust.
Stop. I won't let myself entertain the fantasy of Penelope and me tearing up the sheets in that bed upstairs.
I swallow past a lump in my throat.
When the results of the competition come in, it's no shocker that her boss, David, won. It's become obvious why he chose this place for the corporate retreat. But Penelope and some older guy in management have tied for second place.
Congratulatory handshakes are shared all around as the event wraps up. Penelope leans against me, resting her head on my shoulder, and all the thoughts in my head vanish.
"Congratulations," I murmur past the lump in my throat as I place my arm around her shoulders.
She makes a noncommittal sound.
"You okay?" I ask, my voice coming out deep and gruff.
She lifts her head, meeting my gaze. Her eyes are so expressive. They're like the ocean at sunset, unpredictable in their depths. You know a lot is happening beneath the surface, but you're never sure exactly what.
"I'm fine."
"Your feet bothering you in those boots?"
Her lips part as her eyes widen. "How did you know?"
I chuckle and shake my head. "Just a hunch."
They look new. And now she's leaning against my shoulder, happy to let me support her body weight, so it wasn't hard to guess.
"I think we're about done here," I say. "Should we head inside? Warm you up a bit?"
She nods, and after we return our equipment, we head inside.
• • •
That night at dinner, I'm in awe of Penelope.
As she introduces me to more of her coworkers and I watch her work the room, it becomes obvious. Penelope isn't just book smart-she's people smart. She can easily read the situation and tailor her approach. She knows how to talk to people, how to make conversation-both the small-talk stuff that I suck at, like in line at the coffee shop, and the bigger stuff like politics or science-without getting emotional or offending someone.
I'm in awe.
But I also have to work to keep my frustrations in check.
Not only did her misogynistic boss ignore her most of the evening, but anytime she tried to bring up new ideas in the conversation, he was belittling, almost as though he was thinking let the grown-ups talk, Penny.
Seriously, what the fuck is with everyone calling her Penny? I know for sure she doesn't like the nickname. But she just kept clenching her jaw all night and enduring it, so I did the same.
Now that we're back in our hotel room for the night, Penelope sits on the bed to remove her heels one by one.
"What a disaster of an evening," she mutters, rubbing the arch of her foot.
"It wasn't that bad. You kicked ass at shooting."
She smirks. "I kinda did. But believe me, it was still a disaster. David sees me as little more than an overpriced intern."
I can't defend David because he is kind of a dick, so I do the next best thing I can think of. Strolling over to the bar cart, I select a bottle of Jameson and grab two glasses. I know I can't fix how she's feeling, but maybe a glass of something potent will help relax her a little.
Penelope raises her eyebrows as I pour her a glass. "You sure drinking whiskey is a good idea when we'll be sharing a bed?"
I shake my head at her, feeling unsettled, even though I'm sure she's kidding. A girl like Penelope would never be interested in me. "I promise to keep my hands to myself."
Her eyes flash with some unreadable emotion.
When I cross the room and hand her a glass, she accepts, then settles back against the pillows. I take a seat beside her with my own glass.
"Thanks, Wolfie." She lets out a long sigh and takes a sip of her drink. "I hate not being taken seriously. Being looked down on."
I nod. Penelope and Connor grew up without much, and she's been through a lot. As a result, she's driven to overcome her past. To prove herself. And I get that.
Scowling, she says, "I hate when people assume I won't amount to much."
I meet her eyes. "So prove them wrong."
She smiles, her full mouth lifting. "Oh, I intend to."
She licks her lips, still watching me, and for a second I'm sure she wants me to kiss her. But that can't be . . . can it?
Muttering something about getting another drink, I scramble toward the bar cart, needing to put some distance between us. When I return, Penelope has finished her drink.
"You want more?" I ask, settling in beside her again.
She shakes her head. "Sleepy." Scooting closer on the bed, she curls into my side and lays her head on my shoulder.
"Just rest then."
She nestles closer, doing just that. It's been a long day, and tomorrow will prove to be even more challenging.
I'm not used to this-being someone's comfort-but Penelope seems content to use me as a pillow, and I don't have the heart to move her.
When my cell phone buzzes in the pocket of my dress pants, I shift carefully so as not to wake her and pull it out. It's a text from Tessa.
You up?
A sinking feeling settles inside me. Even if I were home, there's not a single part of me that's interested in a hookup with Tessa right now.
I look down at the sleeping girl beside me, and my heart aches. I'll never be good enough for someone like Penelope, but giving nothing more than scraps of myself to Tessa isn't fair either. They both deserve more.
I swallow the last of my whiskey and type out a reply to Tessa.
I'm sorry, Tess. But things are over between us.
She doesn't even bother to reply.