Page 22

22

PENNY

After a week of nesting in my apartment, I’m ready to get out and socialize.

I thought living in the same building as Collins would be stifling with his overbearing tendencies, but he has been quiet for the last few days, and deep down I feel lost without his attention.

Granted, I’m pretty sure he is avoiding me like the plague now that I revealed my schoolgirl crush to him.

He’s probably watching me still but definitely not making it known. That’s what I wanted, right? Some independence and no smothering.

Glancing down both sides of the street, I don’t see him, which isn’t all that surprising.

It feels weird not to have a visible shadow on me. A very small part of me misses the attention.

I enter Ground Floor before I overanalyze any more things tonight and change my mind. My whole goal since getting out of Soulful Mind is to challenge myself and to step out of my comfort zone. I’m tired of being complacent. I’m tired of allowing circumstances to dictate my path.

No. Some things are definitely in my control.

Glancing around the space, I notice that the tables in the coffee shop are spread out more, but the intimate lighting is still the same. The place feels warm and inviting, with the smell of coffee still permeating through the air.

I fix the hem of my fitted black tank to rest along the waistband of my dark denim jeans. Being too afraid to have the girls help me get ready in fear my brothers would find out, I settled for Luke’s very descriptive opinion of what a man wants, which could have been summed up in two words—skin and tight.

Apparently women that try too hard or wear too much makeup are a turnoff.

So, with his advice, I chose jeans and some mascara.

The fanciest thing on me are my shoes. Luke said men are whores for sexy shoes—so I went with the high-heeled ones. They were an emotional splurge purchase that I made after I got back home from visiting Mark at the prison.

I look down at my sparkling Cinderella-esque shoes, knowing that not even their superficialness can change the fact that I’m a pathetic princess searching for her prince.

Maybe I need to lower my standards just to increase my fun. Perhaps I should be looking for a fuck boy to cope with all my horniness.

I mean, that’s why I’m here doing the speed dating thing, right? No one really does these gimmicky things to actually fall in love. This is basically a dating app but in 3D.

Women don’t go out on the prowl, signing up for speed dating events, if they are having success doing the traditional methods for meeting someone.

Nothing about this experience is casual. There’s desperation written all over my motives for being here. Good thing is, everyone in attendance should be in a similarly constructed boat.

“Penny, you made it,” a masculine voice says from behind.

I pivot and see the all-smiles Rex making his way toward me. I mirror his half hug, shifting my weight from foot to foot. “I’m here,” I respond awkwardly. “You are too.”

“I am.”

I can only hope that by the time the actual dating starts, I’ll have mentally perfected my usage of the English language. Because right now, I’m struggling to put the words together to form anything intelligible.

I forgot how awkward this would be already knowing someone present. The familiarity is bringing me anything but comfort. I might throw up.

“Well, I for one am very glad you came.”

I fix my wavy hair over my shoulders, silently wishing I had pulled it up off my neck. I can already feel the sweat beading on my forehead, as more people shuffle into the shop.

“So, what do I do? I’m new at all of”—I sweep out a hand toward those gathering along the edge of the room—“this, and you look like a pro.”

Rex smiles and moves over to a table set up along the wall. “Here,” he says, handing me a white sticker with the number thirteen printed on it.

“Could you have assigned me a worse number?” I joke.

He chuckles. “I mean, I don’t think the devil’s number will be used, as the head count will break fire code. So, at least there’s that. Oh, and here’s your scorecard.” He hands me a card with several columns listed.

“Okay…”

“It’s pretty simple. Each guy will have a number assigned to him. Just rate them as a yes, no, or maybe. They will do the same. At the end, scorecards will be compared and you will be able to set up some outside dates with those with mutual interest.”

I nod. “Sounds easy enough.” I fidget with the hem of my shirt, hoping that my breathing can calm down enough to have a real conversation.

How am I supposed to socialize when I feel like hyperventilating?

“Oh, and I’m number one,” Rex says with his megawatt smile.

I swallow hard. I knew Rex would be here tonight. I just wasn’t expecting him to also be participating in the fun. Taking the pencil out of his hand, I start to circle the no for the first number.

“That’s harsh,” he says with a laugh.

I hand him back his pencil and then meander through the shop toward the order area. If I’m going to be starting off the night this nervous, then I better have something to hold in my hands to keep them from fidgeting.

“What can I get you?” the young female worker asks.

I scan over the menu. “I, um…”

She smiles at me when I am unable to complete a sentence. “So, tonight, in addition to the coffee, we are also serving up some summer sangrias.”

I shift my weight to the other foot. I’m not big into drinking when making decisions, but the thought of having a buffer to anything stupid I say is attractive to me. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

“Peach or berry.”

“Berry, please.”

I toss a few bills into the tip jar and pay for my drink. Making my way back to Rex, I spot my roommate.

“Penny, what are you doing here?” Luke asks.

I shrug. “Stepping out of my comfort zone. I thought you were working.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “Being around ladies is work. All the hidden messages and the deciphering needing to be done to even try to figure out what you all are saying… Yup. Hardest job around.”

I smack his arm. “Why didn’t you tell me you would be here? You literally helped me get dressed tonight.”

“I’m shy.”

“Bullshit.”

“Well, you refused to tell me where you were going,” he counters.

I shrug. “This is weird.”

“Only if you make it weird. I mean, we basically bathe together.”

I narrow my eyes. “Umm…no we don’t.”

“But we could. Easily.”

“But we don’t.”

“Sure, but?—”

I hold up my hand to stop him. “We are roommates who will never date—or bathe together.”

Luke chuckles. “Only because I’m afraid to get my face bashed in by Meatball.”

A smirk breaks on my lips. “By who?”

“You know…” He sighs. “Your life coach.”

“I don’t have a life coach.”

I know exactly who he is referring to, and I’d be lying if I said I never thought of him tonight as I got ready. Collins most definitely wouldn’t approve of any of this. He’s been oddly quiet since I asked him to kiss me. Something changed that day in the gym, and I am still kicking myself for the role I played in the whole situation.

“But you have a gatekeeper.”

“Well, getting your face bashed in should be a legit fear.”

“I’m not on some kind of hit list, am I?” His eyes turn to concern. “Like, you would tell me, right? At least so I could get my funeral planned before the next economic depression?”

I think about the question, trying to keep the growing smile off my lips. “You’re not on a list yet, but”—my head moves up and down several times—“yeah, I think I would tell you.”

Luke pulls me into his side, and for a second I think he’s going to mess up my hair, but instead he just embraces me into a half hug that screams sibling vibes all over it. Relief washes over me, as I find comfort in the friend zone.

There’s no romantic spark between us, no matter how high he turns up the sexual energy. The feelings very much seem mutually platonic.

“If I get kidnapped by your stalker man and the police ask for a DNA sample, just get one from the couch.”

“Ew. That’s new!”

“Don’t worry, everything dries clear.”

“Yuck.”

He better be kidding. I’ll have to rush ship a black light just in case.

A deep voice comes on the mic, alerting participants to get a scorecard and pencil. The rules are explained and table assignments are done, with the women staying seated in one spot, while the men move through the lineup.

I take my seat at my assigned table, crossing my feet at my ankles beneath the surface. Wiggling my butt into the hard wood of the chair, I try to get comfortable. But I can’t. My fingers twist a cocktail napkin into a deformed corkscrew, and then resort to fixing my hair neurotically behind my ears on repeat.

The once intimate space now feels claustrophobic. The tables are too small, and the thought of having to converse with someone I don’t gel well with causes me anxiety—even if it’s just for a few minutes.

My fingers curl and uncurl the edges of my scorecard, softening the cardboard from the sweat forming over my skin. Taking a sip of my sangria, I watch as other nervous patrons offer weak smiles and nods in greeting. I know I’m not alone, but I feel isolated, nonetheless. Maybe I’m just making this whole event bigger in my head than it needs to be.

Relax, Penny .

And as my therapist always asked, what’s the worst thing that can happen? Sometimes facing some fears mentally head-on is the way to cope with the things holding me back.

It’s what Margo has been telling me as well.

Sure, I could be seated across from a narcissistic jerk who only wants to talk about how awesome he is or some nerdy dude with an alphabetized stamp collection. So be it. I can just circle no, wait out the allotted time to elapse, and then hope the next person in the rotation is better than the last.

When I put it like that in my head, I think I’m ready to embark on this self-discovering journey.

I pull back my shoulders, take another sip from my liquid courage, and watch as the first guy—number five—takes his place opposite me.

“Hi,” he says, reaching out his hand.

I relax my spine, take a deep breath, and offer up a smile. “Hi.”

“How did everything go?” Rex asks, bumping me gently with his arm.

I laugh. “Better than expected. After we had our session, things started to pick up.” So did the intake of my alcohol, but at events like this, I imagine some level of intoxication is expected. Granted, I’m just slightly tipsy. It’s just enough to feel warm inside and a bit carefree.

Luke joins us, putting an arm around my shoulders to complete the man sandwich. “I just hope the fifteen hotties I circled yes for are matches.”

“Fifteen seems like a lot,” I comment, eyeing him for any sign of humor.

He shrugs. “It’s all about increasing my odds.”

Rex laughs. “Then why not just circle them all for yes?”

“Ew, I’m not a slut. Plus, I’m out of practice with this whole dating thing. I’m so used to showing my goods and then getting offers. This all seems backward.”

I feel like this is the perfect opportunity for Luke to explain his line of work to Rex, but who am I to judge? I am living for these jaw-drop moments.

I make a face at my roommate. “You’re a weirdo.”

“Well, how many did you circle?”

“Nine.”

Luke and Rex each step back to look at me and wiggle their eyebrows, making it awkward. I shake my head at them and then excuse myself to the ladies’ room.

When I return, there’s an energy moving through the venue.

“I got matched with six people,” Rex says with excitement.

I know one of those people is not me. I’m just hoping that a handful of my circled men reciprocated their liking for me. I know of at least two guys who made it obvious that I was a yes by showing me their cards as they scored them.

Talk about an ego boost.

One of the male participants even slipped me a postcard looking thing and made me swear not to look at it until I’m home.

Who doesn’t enjoy a little mystery and intrigue?

I turn to Luke, who seems to be busy doing math. “It’s just adding. Why are you acting like you are solving some difficult calculus problem?”

“Eleven,” he says with the cheesiest grin. “It’s basically an entire orgy if I invite them all over for”—he points to his groin—“introductions tonight.”

I groan. “Ew.”

Rex leans into me. “You better buy some stock in cleaning products. A solid sanitizing wipe can go a long way.”

Luke shakes his head at us. “Don’t worry, the chances are slim. I’d need them all to wear name tags, that’s for sure. That all sounds like too much work. I’m in my lazy-lover mode era. I’m simple in the way that I just need one woman and both pairs of her lips.”

When the host hands me my results, I look over the slip, trying to decipher what I’m actually seeing. This can’t be right…

“Excuse me?” I say, causing him to turn around. “Is there some kind of mistake?” I lower my voice. “It appears that no one actually chose me.”

He shifts his body weight to his other foot, glancing down to get a better look. “Huh. That’s weird. That’s never happened before, and I’ve been doing this event for nine years.”

A warmth rushes up my neck to my cheeks, but the rest of me is chilled. Without another word, I pivot and move straight to the front counter, where I order another sangria—downing it with just a few gulps and nearly choking on the cut up bits of fruit.

This is so embarrassing.

A buzz fills my ears, causing me to shift on my feet. I grab the counter, straightening my body.

I need to get out of here. Now.

The air in here seems thicker, like I’m trying to suck mashed potatoes through a straw.

Reaching into my handbag, I pull out my phone, seeing that my ride isn’t scheduled to arrive for another hour. Glancing around the space, I see couples chatting amongst themselves, probably setting up future dates. I thought tonight was going to go differently. I thought that I was here to banish some social fears and maybe start dating again.

Margo would be proud of me if I wasn’t mentally spiraling into a full-blown freak-out moment.

The only thing I accomplished was to drink a little too much and to chip away more at my self-esteem. I keep building it up, just to break it down. If I don’t have my brothers breathing down my neck, squashing all of my past dating possibilities, then I have my own insecurities creeping in through any crack in my exterior.

But really, who needs Nic and Graham to scare away guys, when I have a personality that seems to be doing the job equally as well?

Seriously though… What turned everyone off so I can keep that shit under wraps?

A pang of regret hits my stomach that is compressing into knots, after the surge of alcohol hit it. I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t have put myself in this vulnerable position to get humiliated.

Making my way toward the exit, I push open the door and breathe in the fresh night air. I swipe my hair behind my shoulders and rock on my heels, thinking about where to go and what to do next.

It sucks not having friends in the city. I guess I could ask Luke or Rex for a lift, but they are busy flirting with their matches inside. Who could blame them? It’s an exciting time—at least for those who have made mutual connections.

Calling Angie or Claire will alert my brothers, who will just crack down on more shadowing for me.

Looking down at my feet, I try to think of how tonight got so off course. I had really good conversations with so many of the guys. I wasn’t shy, and I don’t think I gave off any negative vibe.

But what do I know?

Obviously, nothing. I know nothing about the opposite sex.

Staring at my hands, I realize I no longer have my handbag, which has my phone and house keys.

Shit.

I must have dropped it.

Turning on my heel, I make my way back into the coffee shop to find it in the shadow of the door.

Looking up, I see a couple of the guys I expected to be matched with loitering in some sort of testosterone circle. We all had really good conversation, so not having any of them select me is really mind-boggling.

“Hey, Penny,” one says, separating himself from the group.

I give a weak smile and a wave and then start to make my way back to the door. But before I can exit, I turn around and clear my throat.

“I just need to know”—I prop my hands on my hips—“why not me?”

The tall, dark-haired man frowns. “I was wondering the same thing about you. We had good conversation and I was shocked when we weren’t matched. I figured you saw some”—he gestures into the air—“red flag.”

“What? No. I never saw anything.” But lately, I never do. I’ve been caught off guard so many times that I’m honestly questioning my intuition. “Well, that’s weird.”

When I go to leave, he follows me outside while I stand on the curb of the sidewalk.

“I most definitely said yes to you, Penny. You even watched me circle my response.”

“When we weren’t matched, I figured you just did that for show and changed your answer when I wasn’t looking.”

His eyes light up. “I would never do that. And I still say yes. Why not come hang out at my place? Not sure why the scoring system failed us, but I’d like the chance to get to know each other better.”

Staring up into his eyes, I see the potential for an impulsive decision teetering on the edge of my tongue. “I don’t know…”

“C’mon. Clearly we both like each other.”

This doesn’t feel right. It feels like I am betraying my own heart’s desires.

Sure, he seems nice. But now that the adrenaline from the night is wearing off, I’m not so sure my feelings match what they were an hour ago.

“I just am?—”

I stumble backward as his lips attach with mine, stealing my next words before they get the chance to be vocalized. I’ve been kissed before by a guy, but this seems nothing like what I expected from past experience. This is rougher. A tad bit aggressive. And?—

Where are his hands going?

No.

Stop.

Please stop.

I gasp for air just as his lips part so his tongue can go deeper.

It’s slimy.

Ew.

Stop!

My handbag slips from my fingertips, as I struggle to keep my balance.

I squeeze my eyes shut, and I muster enough courage to push at his chest. “Mrrph…”

His moan comes out ragged, and the smell of alcohol on his breath lets me know that he was drinking heavily. His proximity burns my nostrils, making them flare as I try to push against him again.

But he’s too strong.

His mouth crashes with mine, stealing from me my ability to consent verbally.

Tears fight for release at the corners of my eyes. “Staaa…”

And then suddenly his lips are ripped from mine. I suck in some air, flopping forward with my hands on my knees. And then I look up between my now soaked eyelashes to see him through my fog of tears.

Vibrant.

Enthralling.

Livid.

Collins Stone.

I blink to clear my vision and verify I’m not hallucinating.

“You came,” I say in shock, my hands clutching at the fabric of my shirt over my heart.

My breathing is erratic, as if my lungs suddenly forget how to work.

The energy of Collins flows around me, coating me with the weight that can only come from someone with power.

“I will always come for you, Penelope.”