I expect Penny to fall asleep fast, but, of course, she doesn't. She squirms and moves and bucks that tight, plush ass against my cock for the next forty minutes.
"Penny, go to sleep," I warn.
"I can't. I don't feel good," she whispers.
I don't know why, but I find myself beginnin' to hum a tune that I didn't even realize I knew ---Penny Laneby The Beatles. This seems to soothe and relax her almost immediately.
"You remembered," she whispers before fallin' asleep.
I remembered? Remembered what? Maybe the song means somethin' of significance for us, because I sure as hell never hummed that song before to anyone else. It would make sense, though. Her name is in the title of the song.
We lay there with her in my arms for a long time. Our soft, rhythmic breathing is the only thing breaking the silence. My eyes gaze down at the top of Penny's head as she rests on the pillow beside me. She feels so damn good in my arms. It feels so natural to be holdin' her like this, and it makes my heart ache for something that I can't even wrap my mind around.
"Why can't I remember you?" I whisper the question out loud when I'm sure she's asleep.
For the first time in the past five years, I want to remember somethin'. I want to remember her. But I know the consequences of rememberin'. More memories will come, and then I'll start to remember all of the people and things that I have lost over the years. I shake my head and bury my nose in Penny's hair. No. I can't remember her. I never will…but maybe we can create our own memories now so that I don't have to live in the past.
I can offer her that much at least.
I can offer her my future.
CHAPTER 15
PENNY
I WAKE UP the next morning with a throbbing headache and a mouth that feels as if it's full of cotton. I cough, roll over and catch myself before I fall over the edge of the small bed. I groan and stand on shaky legs as I make my way to the bathroom.
Over the next several minutes all I can do is groan and grunt like a caveman as I attempt to brush my teeth and wash off my makeup. When I go to the fridge in search of a bottle of water, I notice a note stuck to the refrigerator door.
When you wake up, come to my house. ~ Colt
I stare at his writing, my fingertips softly grazing over each letter. Colton used to write me poems. No one ever knew that about him, but Colton James Crawford had a soft side. He was incredibly loving, and I received more love from him during our short relationship than most people have in a lifetime.
Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I open up the fridge and grab the water. As I'm drinking, I glance at the note again. I wonder why he would have been here last night…or maybe this morning?
A vague memory of him carrying me up the stairs last night hits me, and I practically spit the water out of my mouth. "Oh, God," I moan. I was drunk last night.Verydrunk, in fact, and Colton brought me home.
I stand in the kitchen forcing myself to remember. "Oh, God," I groan again. We kissed. Or maybe I kissed him….or maybe I vaguely remember pawing at his clothes and his belt. I put my head in my hands. "I'm never drinking again," I vow. It's the same vow I make every time I wake up with a hangover, and I'm always very quick to break it. But this time I want to mean it so badly.
I take a quick shower and get dressed, and then I make my way to Colt's house with a heavy heart and a sick stomach. When I knock, I hear him yell, "Come in!"
I open up the screen door, and the smell of greasy food hits me. My stomach growls both from pain and hunger. I can't tell which. As I step into the kitchen, my jaw literally drops. "You're…You're cooking," I say, but it sounds more like a question.
He turns away from the cast iron skillet that's currently frying up several pieces of bacon and smirks. "Yeah. So?"
"But you don't cook," I respond in disbelief. When I knew Colton James way back when, he couldn't use a microwave, much less a stove. His mama used to say the men of the Crawford house could burn water, and she didn't even let them near the stove half the time in fear of them burning the house down.
"Well, when dad got sick, I had to learn how to cook for us. We couldn't eat take-out every night from the bar or the same burger joint down the road."
His words slowly sink in, and I instantly feel sad. Colt has been through a lot, and sometimes I forget about all of that because…well, because I wasn't here. And that makes me feel even worse.
"Sit," he says, motioning with a fork to the breakfast nook.
I take a seat and watch in awe as he makes eggs, bacon, sausage and toast. When he puts a heaping plate of food in front me and a glass of orange juice, my eyes grow as large as saucers. "I'll never be able to eat this much!" I protest.
He grins a crooked grin and says, "You may surprise yourself."
A few moments later, he joins me with a heaping plate of his own. I've already eaten my eggs and a piece of toast by the time his butt hits the bench seat across from me. He looks down at my plate and smiles. It's nice to see him smiling instead of being so damn grouchy all the time.
