“Ohhhhh, I’m sure you do,” she says with a giant roll of her eyes before walking away.
“Where are you going?” I ask her.
“To your place. There is no way I’m staying out in the cold any longer. I can barely feel my feet.”
Smiling brightly, I jog up next to her, pie in hand, and wrap my arm around her. “That’s a great idea. Glad you thought of it. And of course, after dessert, I’ll help you get back home.”
“Uh-huh, sure,” she says with a feigned annoyed tone that only makes me smile even larger.
* * *
“You know,I thought your place was going to be more sterile than this,” Penny says while glancing around my apartment.
“Sterile?” I ask as I flip the switch to my fireplace. It roars to life in a second, offering a faint orange hue to the dim-lit room.
“Well, you know, like a bachelor pad. Neon signs, beer posters, no texture to your design at all, bland. But look, you have candles and a throw pillow and curtains. And look at that.” She points at a picture on the wall. “That’s actual art.”
I laugh. “I grew up living in the attic of a barn. I told myself when I got older, I’d have a place that felt like a home, so I spent time making this place just that, a home.”
She turns around to face me as I rest a blanket along the floor. “You grew up in a barn?”
“Long story,” I say, not wanting to get into any aspects of my childhood. Not many know about my childhood, especially the fans and organization, and that’s how I want it to stay.No pity party for me, especially on my birthday.I set the pie down on the blanket along with two forks. “What can I get you to drink? I have hot chocolate, and I can add a splash of Baileys to it.”
“You have Baileys and hot chocolate?” she asks, stunned.
“Yes, why is that so shocking to you?”
She’s still wearing my jacket, casually walking around my apartment. “I just pictured you as, I don’t know . . . someone who might lean more toward a dark stout or maybe a whiskey than a hot chocolate and Baileys.”
“I’m not the cold man you think I am,” I say while making my way to my open-concept kitchen that looks over the entire main living space of the apartment.
“I don’t think you’re cold,” Penny says while following me. She takes a seat on one of the stools at the island. “I just had a different impression of you is all.”
“Maybe you should start to get to know your players a little better,” I say while I start heating up some milk. “Might help with what you post.”
“And how do you envision me getting to know the players better?” I turn to see that she has one eyebrow raised at me.
I chuckle. “Well, with me, I say an evening here would be the best way. But with the other guys, a solid questionnaire will do.”
“Uh-huh. And why an evening with you?”
“I’m complex. The other guys are superficial. But with me, you really have to dive deep. The more time spent with me, the better. I’m up for an all-nighter if you are.”
She shakes her head with humor. “Wow, you never stop, do you?”
“Stop what?” I ask innocently. “I’m just trying to help you do your job better.”
“Well, aren’t you a benevolent knight in shining armor?”
“I’ve been known to be called that before.” I wink and then grab two mugs from my cabinet . . . and I wait for a reaction . . .
“What on earth are those?” Penny asks. Just as I expected.
I hold the mugs up. “These are my bosom buddies. Taters got them for me one year as a Secret Santa gift.” I flash the mugs of a bare chest, one set of dark nipples, one set of light. Both beautiful. Both doing the job of holding hot liquid. “And before you refuse to drink from a pair of breasts, let it be known that these are the only mugs I have.”
“You know, I take back my comment about your sophisticated side. This”—she waves at the mugs—“this is what I expected from you.”
“Glad I didn’t disappoint,” I say. She shivers and pulls my jacket closer together. “Do you want to borrow a sweatshirt? Maybe some pants? Get yourself warm?”
