Page 21 of Penn

This can’t be happening. I try again, yanking and shimmying the dryer, only to let out a frustrated grunt that becomes a flurry of curses. “Stupid piece of shit—why the—ugh!”

Panic starts as a slow simmer in my chest, but frustration builds fast—hot and tight, coiling beneath my skin like a fuse burning toward a powder keg. I hate this. I hate feeling helpless. I hate that my life has spiraled so far out of control that even my hair is now turning against me. Every time I think I can catch a break, something happens. In this instance, something ridiculous and humiliating that reminds me how close I am to unraveling.

This isn’t just about the dryer—it’s everything. The threats. The isolation. The way Penn looked at me like I was a burden. I can feel it—this wild, seething volcano of emotion bubbling in my throat—and no amount of deep breathing or rational thought is going to hold it back.

I brace myself, gather all my frustration, and scream. Not a dainty yelp. Not a feminine cry.

An all-out, banshee wail of rage and despair, and I let it go on and on and on until I run out of air. I suck in another lungful, because that wasn’t enough of a purge, when the door slams open so hard, it bangs against the wall.

“Mila!”

Penn’s voice is fierce, panicked—and there he stands in the doorway to the bathroom like he’s ready to throw down with an intruder.

I scream from the surprise of it and nearly leap out of my skin, realizing I’m wearing nothing but a mop of wet hair with a dead hair dryer glued to my scalp.

“What are you doing?” I shriek, trying to cover my breasts with my free hand. No, wait… more embarrassing to have my lower lady bits exposed, and my hand goes there.

Penn doesn’t seem to notice and instead roars back at me, “What amIdoing? I thought someone was attacking you!”

We stare at each other. I’m naked, tangled up in a broken appliance. He’s wide-eyed, jaw clenched, looking one second away from Hulk-smashing someone into drywall.

And that’s when he notices I have no clothes on. He doesn’t seem confused by the burned-out blow dryer stuck to my head but instead, his eyes travel slowly down the front of my body. My breasts are fully exposed and damn my treacherous nipples harden under his gaze. Over my belly, eyes flashing slightly at my piercing there, and then landing for a long moment on my hand covering my crotch.

I’m embarrassed, flustered and… slightly turned on by my predicament. I mean, Penn Navarro is as gorgeous as they come and he looks like a deity of vengeance with his heaving chest.

It’s completely awkward though and I break his trance by saying, “It’s stuck.” I’m not sure if it’s my response or the panicked sound of my actual words, but his eyes fly up to meet mine. “I can’t get it out.”

He looks from my flushed face to the dryer, and I see his expression shift from horror to confusion to barely restrained amusement.

“I swear to God,” I growl, “if you laugh…”

He coughs, straightens, then glances away like he’s tryingveryhard not to notice I’m naked. I watch as he nabs a fresh towel from the small linen closet beside the shower and holds it out to me, keeping his eyes averted.

“Thank you,” I murmur as I take the towel, but I have no way to wrap it around my body. I can’t let go of the hair dryer as I’m afraid the weight will pull out my hair. “But… I can’t get it around me.”

“Why not?” he growls, clearly uncomfortable.

“I can’t let go of the hair dryer and I need both hands to wrap the towel around me.”

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, and with his head still turned away, he sidesteps cautiously toward me, extending his arm. “Let me hold the dryer.”

It’s awkward but I take his outstretched hand and guide it to my hair’s captor. When he grabs hold, I quickly position the towel around my body, tucking the corner in tightly at the center of my chest. I catch a glimpse of us in the mirror and I’m shocked to see Penn watching me in the reflection. So much for the gentlemanly action of turning his head away. He was getting just as good a peep show in the mirror.

Irritation flashes through me, not because he copped an eyeful, but because there’s no way he did it because he’s attracted to me. He considers me nothing more than a pain in his ass.

“Can you help get this out of my hair?” I snap, causing his neck to twist so he can look down directly at the problem.

“How the fuck did that happen?” he grouses, tilting his head left and right to see how badly I’m stuck.

“The protective screen came off,” I mutter.

“How did that happen?” he presses.

“The stupid thing wasn’t starting up and so I hit it on my palm a few times. It must have knocked it off,” I retort angrily.

Penn chuckles and it’s a surprising sound. While I don’t know anything about this modern-day Penn Navarro, he hasn’t once given me any indication he emerged from our shared trauma with his sense of humor intact. Apparently, I’m wrong.

“Penn… please get this off my head.” His eyes come to mine and while I see a bit of humor, I see a little pity.

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