Page 88 of The One
As I stared at Penelope while she sat in the bow of the boat, my mind spinning with far too many thoughts, something made me lift my phone from my side. Something made my thumb swipe the screen. And something made me point the camera at Penelope and hit Record.
I’d just hung up with Lainey, and she’d asked me to take photos. I was going to give her something even better.
A fucking video.
And the star was her twin sister, holding the rolled-up bill to her nose, snorting each line of the powder she’d cut.
I let several seconds of footage roll before I ended the recording and shoved my phone into my pocket.
I wasn’t going to yell at her even though I wanted to.
I wasn’t going to take the mirror and the bag of blow and throw them into the water because, knowing her, she probably had a lot more with her.
I wasn’t going to tell her that watching her do drugs on the floor of my family’s boat when we weren’t even partying confirmed everything I’d feared.
Penelope Taylor was a fucking mess.
As I continued to stand here, reeling, I thought about what Penelope had said just a few minutes ago.
“No, you’re shit out of luck because I don’t share.”
The coke—that was what she had been talking about. If I’d had some, she’d have snorted mine. But since I didn’t—and I didn’t mess around with that stuff—she’d use what she’d brought, and she wouldn’t share it with me.
She didn’t need to.
But what she needed to do was stop, so I walked over to her and said, “Penelope, you need to slow down with that shit.”
She finished the last line and cupped the end of her nose, rubbing it, like the insides were burning. “I’m having some fun. You should try it, you snore.”
The baggie of white powder that sat on her lap was still practically full.
“Put it away, Pen.”
“It? That’s what we’re calling it?” She bit her lip, releasing it to smile. “The same title as Timothy? Now, that’s just mean.”
My patience was running out. “Pen?—”
“Because this isn’t anit.” She held up the baggie. “This is expensive-ass?—”
“I don’t care what it is. Put it away.”
“God, you really are a snore.” She slipped the mirror into her bag, along with the coke and rolled-up bill, and stood. “All right, captain, I’m all yours.” Her hands went to her hips. “What do you need me to do?”
She really thought I would assign her a task at this point?
Now, that was funny.
I pointed at the center double-wide captain’s chair in the middle of the boat, which was unfortunately the only seating. “I need you to sit, and do not move.”
“Don’t you need me to tie something? Or untie something? Or start something? Hell, I can’t remember what you said, that was, like, five hours ago.” Her jaw was swinging, her pupils so big that I could see them from several feet away.
“No, I need you to sit. I’ll do everything else.”
She came toward me and put her hands on my shoulders, leaning up on her tiptoes to get closer to my face. “You sure? I can be super useful. I’m good at all kinds of things?—”
“Go sit. Now.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re the worst.”
