Page 29 of My Brother's Roommate (Frisky Business 2)
Is he ashamed? Or worse, is he going to pretend that nothing ever happened?
The longer he stares at the floor, the more I feel like I’m about to break. But then a low, breathy chuckle comes out, and he slowly shakes his head, raking his fingers through his chestnut-brown hair.
“I don’t regret any of it.” The words are directed at my kitchen tile at first, but then his eyes meet mine, a spark of something warm and genuine dancing in them. “Not a single thing.”
Relief rushes through me at a dizzying speed. “Really?”
Wolfie shifts closer to me, his fingers brushing my hair behind my ear, then slowly tracing down my cheek. “Yes, really.”
He trails a thumb along my lower lip, then leans in and presses a kiss there instead. Then another. And another.
Soon, I’m lost in him again, pressed up on my tiptoes, reaching for every bit of him he’ll allow me to take.11* * *WOLFIEWhen 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.
