Page 5

5

PENNY

“Of course. It’s hard to forget when a pitcher for the Yankees decides to throw a pie at you?” His face is close to mine, his brown eyes a mixture of anger and amusement. Inhaling through my mouth to avoid another attack of his scent, I throw my head back and laugh.

“Maybe you should refrain from calling said pitchers ‘darling’ and then they wouldn’t feel the need to throw pies at you.” My heart is thundering in my chest. My mouth is dry. But I won’t let him win. Not after the subtle little reminder he gave to everyone that he basically owns this damn town.

Well he doesn’t own me. And I won that money fair and square, no matter what he or Director Allen think.

He inches closer to me, taking me out of my thoughts, but his eyes never leave mine. My insides do a weird flip thing when he grins at me. I’m not a fan of my emotions’ antics, and they need to stop.

“Normally when I call a beautiful girl darling, they’re more…” He lets his gaze rove over my body and my cheeks blaze at his blatant perusal. “Appreciative.”

I tilt my head to the side and scoff gently. “You need to stop assuming that all women are girls.” When his jaw clenches and he sucks in a sharp breath through his nostrils, I know I’ve hit a nerve. “Or maybe you should take the time to learn people's names and you wouldn’t have to resort to calling people darling. ”

A loud whoop goes through the crowd. “You tell him, Buttercup.”

Spotting Jenson’s grinning face, I glare at him for using his nickname for me and step back from the devil in front of me, pasting on a smile for the crowd.

Mr. Elias does the same, taking the microphone from me and allowing his fingers to brush against mine. Ignoring the buzz of electricity that shoots through my arm, the same zing I felt when he held my elbow a minute ago, I lower my lashes to guard my eyes so he can’t see the arousal dancing in them. What the actual fuck is going on with me? How can I find someone so attractive and think they’re a massive douche at the same time?

“As you can see, Buttercup here is a bit of a spitfire—something she gets from her dad.”

I grit my teeth at the name and take a mental note to murder Jenson for it. I square my shoulders and continue to smile into the gazing crowd. These are my people, not his, and I’ll get him back for the Buttercup comment. If he wants to play, that’s fine. But I play to win. Something Jenson had to learn a long time ago as well.

“I'm sure Penelope will use my money to help produce some talent for the Spartans. We need a few more home grown players.”

“Yeah, I can’t keep holding it down on my own. You need to up your game, Pen.” Jenson heckles and I glare at him in the crowd again. I’m met with nothing but grins from him, the shithead. He is in for it when this is over.

“Exactly, Jenson. We need more of you. We want the next generation of Spartan players to be strong both physically and mentally. And I know I speak for Penelope as well as myself when I say my money will go a long way to helping this happen.”

Applause goes through the crowd and I shoot him a glare. I don’t appreciate people talking for me, even if what they're saying is something I’d agree with. He quirks his brow at me, confusion resting in those brown orbs, and then proceeds to look me up and down again.

The same blush creeps up my neck and emblazons itself across my cheeks as he smirks and then replaces it with a smile. His perfectly straight, white teeth are all I can focus on as I force the arousal and embarrassment away. They’re probably caps. No one’s teeth are that straight and white, rich bastard.

Before he can speak again, I force a smile on my face, completely over this whole charade, and raise my cup toward the ceiling. “To Dad. You’ve worked your butt off these last twenty years. You’ve gone above and beyond for the Spartans, and it’s nice to see just how many of us appreciate you. You’ll be missed while you’re recuperating, but I’m sure Mr. Elias is big and ugly enough to look after himself for a while. To Dad.”

The crowd raise their glasses amid cheers of “hear hear!” as I place the microphone back in the stand.

“Come now, Penelope. We both know you don’t find me ugly.” His breath tickles the shell of my ear and my whole body reacts to the closeness of him. “And if you ever want to find out if I’m ‘big enough’ all you have to do is ask.”

And without another word, he’s striding from the stage, through the crowd and out the door before my heartrate has a chance to slow down. Fucking Mr. Elias.

I thought my luck had changed and he’d left after our little sparring session on stage, but nope, it seems he’d only stepped outside for some air. So instead of being able to enjoy the rest of my evening as the party dwindles down, I’m forced to endure him and his fake ass snaking around my family and acting like he’s the perfect gentleman. Another eye roll as Mama laughs and swats at his bicep and Pops chuckles makes my scowl turn into a glower.

“If the wind changes, your face will stay that way and then you’ll be the ugliest Brady. Let Jaxson keep his crown, Sis.” Jameson nudges me with his elbow and I lean my head on his shoulder as he rests against the wall.

“Where’s Jonathan?” With my eyes closed, a heavy sigh leaves my lips, the weight of my secrets weighing heavily on me, especially around Jameson. He’s always been the closest Brady to me. I love them all, but there’s something special between us. He’s my best friend and has been since we were tiny.

“He had a patient to see. What’s up?” His voice is the normal kind and caring one he uses with me, and I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from crying and spilling everything to him.

“Nothing. I’m just tired.”

“Hmmm, you should try again with a little more oomph if you want me to actually buy that, but I’ll skip on by. Different question. What’s up with you and ‘Big Ben’?”

This time I snap my head up from his shoulder and scowl at him. “You used to be my favourite. Now it’s Jaxson.”

I turn away from him and walk over to the snack table, grabbing a handful of nuts and shovelling them into my mouth to avoid talking. It doesn’t have the desired effect in making Jameson fuck off as he stands in front of me, brow raised and arms crossed over his chest, waiting. Always waiting.

I swallow down the nuts, take a swig of my coke and throw my free hand on my hip. “Fine. I don’t like him. He’s a condescending, arrogant, egotistical, a-hole, I don’t like being around him, let alone having him speak for me.”

I’m stopped in my tracks when that British accent growls out, “It didn’t seem that way when you were hyperventilating on that stage. You were quick enough to depend on me then.”

This time I don’t even try to hide the displeasure on my face. My brows fuse together, my lips turn down in distaste, I mouth ‘motherfucker’ to Jameson—who’s grinning ridiculously—and I spin on my heels and glare at the British douche. “Believe me when I say you would be the last man I’d ever depend on. Gloating about your donation and all the money you have. All that up on that stage was you trying to make your overinflated ego even bigger by jumping at the chance to rescue a damsel in distress.”

I step closer to him, point my finger into his rock hard chest and lock my eyes on his. “And I am no one’s damsel to rescue. No matter how much ‘distress’ you may think I’m in.”

And with an imaginary pat on the back, I spin away and stride from the party, heading out into the parking lot. Take that Mr. Big shot.