I try to keep my focus on the task at hand, but my thoughts keep drifting back to Penny.
It’s been a couple weeks since that night she showed up at the cabin unannounced. From then, we haven't spent one night apart. Sometimes, I'm waiting in the parking lot with my dick hard when she finishes her late shift at the bar. On the nights when her shift gets cut short, she shows up at the cabin in those short dresses of hers and in a matter of minutes, I've got her pinned down on my bed. We've spent so much naked time together that, by now, I can point out every freckle on her body with my eyes closed and Penny jokes that I'm developing abs on my tongue from licking her so much.
We keep telling ourselves this is what we have to do. It’s just a part of the process. The more sex, the higher the chance that she’ll get pregnant. I may not be a fertility expert, but that logic sure makes sense to me.
I could complain about my exhaustion but trying to knock up my best friend definitely hasn't been a chore. The truth is, these past few weeks with Penny have been the best moments of my existence.
So what if I’m enjoying all this hard work? I’m pretty sure she is, too.
For years, I wondered what it would be like to touch her, to kiss her, to fuck her. But none of my fantasies even came close to the reality of getting to enjoy Penny Merlini's body in real life. And to be completely honest, it's not just the sex I'm addicted to. It's the cheek-splitting grin on her face after I bring her to orgasm. It's the way she tugs the blankets all for herself and curls up against my side in her sleep. I like seeing her in my bed first thing in the morning. I like when she ambles into the kitchen at the break of dawn and perches on a stool to watch me make my coffee instead of just sleeping in.
I'm addicted to her.
I'm starting to rely on her companionship. I mean—we've always been friends, but this space we're in now feels different, better, intimate. I never realized just how much I'd been craving that type of connection.
Would admitting that out loud make me lame?
I keep trying to remind myself that Penny is only doing this because she wants a baby. Getting her pregnant should be my sole focus, too. But I'm slipping. Every time I kiss her, every time she puts her hands on me, I feel my control slipping more and more.
I sort of wish I could talk to someone about this. Back in the day, I'd go to Eli but my brother is currently occupied being a convicted felon and all. When it comes to Cannon and Jude, I'm not desperate enough to discuss this with either of those two jokers. I would turn to Dad but I can't because he warned me that these feelings would crop up and I didn't listen. As for Ma, she says she's not mad at me but ever since she practically caught Penny and me with our pants down, she's been giving me the cold shoulder.
So, I guess I'm stuck trying to figure out this confusion and frustration on my own.
I’m bent over the top of the tractor, pouring in just a bit of water to see if the radiator is running right, when my phone rings in my back pocket. My heart rate picks up and I secretly hope it's Penny calling. She's working at my house today. About an hour ago, I left her at the kitchen table, listening to loud pop music, wearing some curve-hugging leggings and one of my old shirts as she sews colorful new casings for the living room cushions on her little sewing machine.
I love seeing her at work on my remodeling. For years, I only got to see the primped and preened and dolled up version of her. But there's something sexy about the sweaty, messy, focused side of her, passionate about bringing her dreams to life.
Anyway, I'm grinning as I reach for my phone. But when I glance at the screen of my device, it's Bert Peters calling me. Again. Instantly, a filthy feeling covers me from head to toe, strangling my good mood like it does every time he calls. And lately, he's been calling often.
I'm sick of this shit.
Every few years, he pops up out of the wood work, causing trouble in my life. I just want to put an end to this crap once and for all. So, I accept the call.
"Some assholes really can't take a hint, huh? I figured that ignoring your previous ten thousand calls would have gotten the message across. I was wrong."
His words come out fast and desperate. "Walker, please. I’m in town for a little while. I just need a few minutes to talk. Please."
I grip the device so hard, I'm surprised it doesn't snap. "We have nothing to talk about so don't you fucking call me anymore."
“This time, I’m in real trouble. Walker, hear me ou—”
I end the call and drop my phone onto the dashboard.
The last time, I promised myself I wouldn’t get mixed up in that man’s shit again. I plan on sticking to that promise. From now on, he’s going to have to deal with his bullshit on his own.
I scrub my hands down my face and try to get rid of this damn feeling. The toxic mix of anger and bitterness and self-loathing that has hung over me like a cloud all my life. I try not to let it all suck me in. I try to rise above it.
Footsteps crunch across the hay behind me and I'm pulled from the cesspit of my
