Page 25 of At First Smile
“Pen wouldn’t be a mistake,” I argue with myself.
Wrapping the towel around my middle, I swipe my hand over the fogged mirror. My green eyes reflect back to me, the truth written all over my pinched expression. This attraction to Pen isn’t just my cock wanting to come out to play after months with only my right hand to keep it company. I like Pen…a lot.
I like her so much that after that old man scolded us, as we hiked back down to the pool at the waterfall’s bottom, I didn’t touch her, didn’t pull her back against me. Didn’t claim her sweet and sassy mouth. My feelings for Pen keep those instincts at bay.
Those instincts almost vibrate within me. Hold her. Let her unlock me. Wipe away her tears, not pretend I don’t see them like I did today as she talked about Aunt Bea. Be the only one taking pictures of her adventures with Cane Austen. Fuck her until the only man’s name breaching her lips is mine. I want to ruin her for anyone else but me. But mostly I want to keep her safe, which means not giving into these urges, no matter how hard they thrum inside me.
I’m not the sweet man she says I am. The media circus that is my life right now and my reputation would taint her. She’stoo perfect to be sullied by me. I know this, yet I am still here thinking about meeting her.
After the hike, we grabbed sandwiches from a deli. I told Pen I needed to work on a few things and would eat in my room.
“I get it.” Her small voice almost gutted me. “I should catch up on some work emails too,” she’d said, the rustle of the to-go bag in her hand overpowering the car radio’s quiet hum.
Hands clenching the steering wheel, I fight the urge to reach over and take her hand. To unwrap her fingers from the bag and bring them to my lips. Even I know I’m throwing her mixed signals, pushing away and pulling her back. I want to assure her how much I want her, although I can’t have her. It wouldn’t be fair to her.
“Though, all work and no play makes Pen a dull girl.” Her lips quirked. “I may take up Lola’s offer and have a drink at the inn’s bar to listen to her nephew. I’m a little interested in hearing sexy Ed Sheeran. Ifyouwant to join…” The dismissive shrug of her shoulder counters the breathless challenge in her invitation.
“You mean Michigan Ed Sheeran.” The annoyed huff of my response is unmistakable.
Two hours later, here I am staring at myself in the mirror in a losing debate with my reflection. Its counsel is for me to find a movie on the TV or pull out the advance copy of Finn’s latest novel, the one that doesn’t come out until the fall that I promised him I’d read once the season was over. Instead, I’m thinking about what to wear to listen to a small-town version of a big name musician.
I pick up my mobile from the creamy quartz countertop and text Wes.
Me: Tell me no.
Wes: Why, hello to you bosom buddy. Hand Waving Emoji.
I grunt.
Me: Don’t be cute. Just tell me no.
Wes: First, I’m always cute. Have you seen this face?
I groan at the attached selfie of Wes in my tub.
Me: First, don’t EVER send me pictures in the bath. Second, are you taking a bath in my bathroom? You were under strict orders to not go into my room while you’re watching GB.
Wes: You should know that I never follow orders, which is why I won’t be telling you no. Although, guess I’m telling you no to your asking me to tell you no. What am I telling you no about? Is it about Emma? That I’ll gladly tell you HELL NO to crawling back into that she-devil’s bed.
Me: Not Emma.
Wes: But someone else??
Me: I met someone.
Even as my fingers type those three words, I know I’m fucked.
Wes: Dude, are you actually reaching out to me to process your feelings about a woman? This is facetime worthy. Incoming!
I decline the call.
Me: I’m not facetiming with you while you’re in my tub. Boundaries.
He calls again.
Knowing he’ll keep doing this until I relent, I answer. “You’re the fucking worst.”
Wes’s dark eyes sparkle with mirth as he fills my mobile’s screen. “Youloveme or else you wouldn’t have reached out. Let’s dish, boyfriend.”
