A loud laugh erupts out of me from how ridiculous he sounds. “The absolute horror.”
“Exactly. So, I say we plan a two-year marketing project of showing bits and pieces of my ankles until the grand reveal of a full-on thirty-minute video showing clips of just my ankles. Talk about the ultimate apex. Think of the relief these fans will feel.”
“Like a pent-up, edged-out orgasm.”
“Precisely,” he says, his voice growing deeper.
I glance up at him, and when our eyes connect, all I can see is a yearning in his. I point my finger at him. “Don’t even think about it.”
“What?” He holds his one hand up in defense. “I wasn’t thinking about anything.”
“You are such a liar.”
We’re silent for a moment, and then he mumbles, “You’re the one who said orgasm.”
“Yeah, and you were the one who alluded to it.”
“I alluded to nothing. That’s just your filthy mind at work, Penny.”
ChapterFour
ELI
Let’s be clear about one thing—any woman I take to bed is a willing, consensual partner.
Do I flirt shamelessly to get them there? Of course.
But do I make them go against their own will?
Never.
That’s not how I fucking roll.
I want the woman to want me just as much as I want her.
So the way this evening is going with Penny is excruciating because I sense how this night might end. I’ve crossed a line with flirting with my best friend, my teammate’s sister and for nothing.
She’s too shy.
She’s too levelheaded.
She might be attracted to me, but she’s not going to give in.
Am I disappointed? Absolutely.
But that doesn’t mean I’ll ditch her and find someone else. I actually like her company. She’s funny. Interesting. When she’s more comfortable, she jokes around, and I like that. She’s just a cool person to hang out with.
Honestly, I’m glad I ran into her. She’s made my birthday enjoyable when usually it’s just a mindless day of me trying to forget I don’t have much family, nor do I have anyone who calls me on my birthday other than my teammates.
“Where is this place?” Penny shivers next to me.
“Just around the corner.” Releasing her hand, I wrap my arm around her shoulder, bringing her in close to keep her warm.
It’s not just cold out. It’s borderline bone-chilling. Hat, gloves, heavy jacket kind of weather. My ankles are cold, so I can’t imagine what she must be feeling right now.
I turn the corner, and the little bakery that I’ve grown very fond of has a neon sign in the window stating they are open. Just in time.
“Right there,” I say, pointing ahead. We pick up our speed, and when we reach the shop, I open the door for her. I like to say this bakery is the best-kept secret in Vancouver. It’s an absolute hole in the wall, a narrow building with a bakery case running the length of the shop, chipped and scuffed black and white tiled floors, and of course, an old man working the front register who has seen his fair share of flour spilled all over the ground.
