“I do.” A slow smile tugs at his lips. “I don’t think you know how to be anythingbutyourself. You’re pretty committed to the role.”
I struggle to swallow.
He’s wrong,I think, picturing the kaleidoscopic rooms in this house, and remembering the colorless apartment back in reality.The neon lights in the diner, and the buttoned-up uniform I wear to the office each day. MASH Ruby and me, we’re not the same. She’s committed to being her biggest, boldest self. But I’ve put myself into a box, trying to feel safe.
I’ve grown smaller. More afraid.
Then again, I’ve always been myself with Penn. I’ve never had to be careful with him or pretend. And I’ve certainly stayed stubbornly true to my path back in reality, too. I have no doubt Real Penn would agree.
Maybe I’ve just been committing to the wrong path.
“What’s wrong?” Penn gives me a lazy, lopsided grin. “I have more compliments in mind, if that’s what you need.”
I shift closer. “We’ve been over this. I don’t need you. I want you. Just like this.”
“I’d tell you that I want you, too,” he says, a smile in his voice. “But I think I made that pretty damn clear.”
My laugh is soft and bright.
“You’re it for me, Ruby,” Penn whispers suddenly, and sparklers go off in my chest. Alarm bells, too. He studies my face while I struggle to breathe. “I mean it. If this is all you want from me, then I get it. I’m okay with that. But I can’t pretend this doesn’t mean more to me, because it’s…” He swallows back the thought.
There it is again: that caving-in of my sternum.
I look into the eyes I’ve turned to again and again to feel tethered here—to feel like myself—and realize this is what it feels like, real intimacy. A true knowing and trust in another person. Something I’m pretty sure I’ve never had.
Choked up, I bring a hand to Penn’s creased brow and touch the scar that’s still there. The memory that’s still ours, even here.He presses a kiss onto my wrist and my heartbeat quickens, forcing me to face who Penn has been to me all along.
He’s the one I track in crowds, whose stare I crave like a spotlight. Who gets a rise out of me with a single glance and the simplest touch. I know it now, and I can’t un-know it.
I wish I could say as much to Penn, but I can’t. Until I know the rules of the game, I can’t risk telling the truth of how I feel—or how deeply I feel it.
So I play it safe. I nod.
Penn nods back, his eyes welling up, and when he kisses me again, soft and slow and as delicate as I feel, I tell myself not to worry about the goodbye that might be ahead of us. Right now, while I can, I have to be here, with Penn.
My inevitable other half.
17
Bad and/or Weird News
Sunlight slips throughthe curtains. My limbs feel heavy, my body blissfully wrung out.
Penn’s breath is warm against the back of my neck, his arm draped over my hip. When he shifts closer, I try to say “Good morning,” but all I manage is mumbled nonsense.
He lets out a tired, raspy laugh, then plants a kiss on my bare shoulder. “Go back to sleep,” he whispers. “I’ll make breakfast.”
I fall in and out of a strange, dreamless sleep until I finally wake feeling more rested than I should, considering. Last night, Penn seemed determined to prove he’s fluent in my love language. And while moving into rated-R territory did not get me out of the game, it did get me out of my head, which is nearly as big a feat.
Recalling Penn’s whispered instructions, I’m worked up all over again, ready to claw at him when he slips through my bedroom door carrying a tray of food.
His hair’s a mess. He’s wearing a white T-shirt, basketball shorts, and a shy smile I’ve never seen. A new, bigger yearning blooms in my chest.
“I didn’t know what to make, and I didn’t want to wake you.” He slides the tray onto the mattress beside me and sits on the bed. “So I just kept cooking.”
Eggs, bacon, toast. Sliced avocado. A pile of banana pancakes. A bowl of berries. A ramekin full of butter. Another full of syrup. “This is an entire breakfast menu,” I marvel. “The Cheesecake Factory of breakfasts.”
“Ah, that’s what I forgot.” Penn clicks his tongue in feigned disappointment. “Dessert.”
