"Daisy," Penn says through clenched teeth. "You donned a wearable blanket the other night, and all I wanted to do was duck my head under it. Please believe me when I say your very existence makes me want you."
That stops me short. Sends desire racing through me, but not the physical kind. Desire for an emotional connection. Something I won't have with Duke. We'll have friendship, sure, something good and solid and time-tested, but we won't lie in bed at night and recount our day. The realization is distressing.
And then I look at Penn, and the secondary realization I have is far more of a bombshell.
I would have that with Penn. With someone I loved.
Dammit. What am I thinking?
I'm marrying Duke in less than two weeks. My mother's dress has already been altered to fit me. The cake is chosen, the venue is booked, Vivi has picked her dress. I can't go back now. And my mother…
Pushing those crazy thoughts aside, I tap Penn's chest, right above the NAVY lettering. "Sailor, you don't have to talk your way into my thong. I'm a sure thing."
But Penn knows, doesn't he? He sees deep down into me, and he knows I'm deflecting, using sex to keep us from tumbling down the rabbit hole, to keep me from throwing away everything Duke and I have worked for, the deal we designed to satisfy familial responsibilities.
Penn lets me slide, yielding to my cover-up, knowing I cannot yet face what I'm really doing with my life. That maybe, I never will.
"Let's get that bathroom re-tiled." Penn inclines his head toward my room. "Did you get everything from that list I sent you?"
"It's all back there." I thumb behind myself.
We work, and we work. From what I've read, tiling a wall doesn't take a great deal of knowledge or special talent, but it does require precision and patience. I am low on both, but luckily, Penn has it in spades.
Following instructions from a video, we use a trowel to apply a coat of thin set. Penn pushes a tile into place, and I hand over spacers. He applies them to the four corners of the tile, and we keep on like that, placing tile and spacers until we're done.
Penn works hard, barely stopping for the water I bring him. His eyes flash to the front of my shirt as I hand him the cup, but I put my hands up and promise no more wet T-shirts until he tells me he wants one. "The ball is in your court, Sailor."
He frowns at this, but gets back to work applying the grout. Taunting and teasing Penn is fun, but I want him to be a part of it, too. I understand where he's coming from about not wanting to touch me while I'm engaged, and I respect that, so if he wants me to make it hard for him to say no, he's going to have to tell me.
Penn and I finish up the grout, and he applies a waterproof protecting agent to the tile while I start cleanup.
"Whoa," I say, waving a hand in front of my nose. "The smell of that stuff is not pleasant. And it's really strong."
Penn's making a face too, increasing his pace so he can finish faster. "Wait for me in the living room, Daisy. You don't need to be in here smelling this." He looks down at the debris I'm sweeping. "None of that is going anywhere."
He's right. I hustle from the room, and Penn follows five minutes later.
"I turned on the ceiling fan in your bedroom," he says, heading for the fridge. He grabs the pitcher of filtered water and refills his cup. "I was starting to get a headache from that stuff. Do you have anywhere you can go for a few hours? I don't think it's toxic, but it probably won't be fun to sit around and smell it."
"Duke is working, and so is Vivi. I have quarterly taxes to work on, so I can go into the office for a little while."
Penn's lips twist like he's considering something. "Or, you could go for a drive with me."
"A drive? Like we're eighty and it's a Sunday afternoon?"
He laughs. "More like we're almost thirty and I have to be back in two hours for a play rehearsal I am still vehemently opposed to."
I grab my purse. "When you can't change your circumstances, change how you feel about your circumstances."
"Is that one of those bland inspirational quotes you have up in your office?"
I gasp and punch him in the arm. "How dare you?"
He keeps going. "When life hands you lemons?—"
"Add vodka," I interject, pushing him out the front door.
"That is definitely not what the sign in your conference room says."
