“You’re so lucky to have perfect parents. To have the perfect family." Penny's head tips up and her watery eyes find mine. "I want to give that to my baby." When she says that, my heart gives an achy throb against my ribs.
Perfect? I scoff at the word.
If only she knew the truth. No one knows the truth. The Kingston family is far from perfect. I'm the one smudge blemishing the flawless picture of domestic bliss.
That's what drew me to Penny in the very beginning, when we were kids, the fact that we had that one thing in common. I know what it’s like to have a parent abandon you. I know what it’s like to feel worthless. To be an outsider.
“Perfect is an illusion, Penny.”
She frowns up at me and her lips part like she's about to ask me what I mean. But my family's secrets are the last thing I want to talk about tonight.
So many times I’ve wanted to break down these walls, let Penny all the way inside, confide in her. But that would mean opening up to her, sharing the core of my identity with her. Not convinced it’d be worth it.
"Let's have some dinner," I say quickly. "Then, I'll help you finish cleaning up the floor."
She nods slightly and takes a step back, out of my arms. She gives me a watery-eyed smile. "I'm starving..."
After we scarf down cold burgers and soggy fries, I roll up my sleeves and join her on the floor with a sponge. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch her watching me. Her eyes rake up from my fingers to my forearms to my shoulders.
When her gaze moves to my face, she finds me staring at her. I lift a brow for an explanation and her cheeks redden almost guiltily. Damn, Penny. Are you checking me out?
Maybe that's just me being optimistic. Maybe I'm a little hopeful that she feels some of the same things I feel for her.
"I'm so grateful," she says softly. "I'm so grateful to have you in my life."
"I'm grateful to have you, too, P."
She smiles and turns back to our task.
We make decent progress on the floor, with both of us scrubbing the dirty grout lines. “We should get back here, too,” I say, rising to my feet when we’re just about done.
“That's heavy. Let me help you,” she offers, when she sees me moving toward the stove.
"I’ve got it.” I wave her off. "Pregnant women shouldn’t be lifting anything. Besides, it’s just a stove. I’ve lifted small tractors twice this size."
Her pupils dilate and she drags her bottom lip between her teeth when her gaze falls back to my arms. I'm not fucking imagining this. Penny wants me.
I turn away from her to hide my smile. Gripping the edges of the stove, I gently shift the rusty metal appliance away from the wall. That gives me a couple feet of floor space to scrub.
But then I glance at the wall space I just uncovered. “Holy shit.”
“What?” she asks, standing behind me on her tiptoes.
“Mold." I spit out. "It’s all mold. And it’s fucking everywhere."
33
Penny
I’m a pouty jerk as I follow my friend up the beaten dirt path to the front door of his cabin. “You’re overreacting, Walker,” I say for the third time.
Again, the righteous bastard ignores me. He just sets down my suitcase and rummages around in his pocket for his keys.
“It was just a little mold,” I try to reason. Definitely not enough of it to sweep me off my feet and carry me outside like my whole place had gone up in flames.
He unlocks his door like I’m not even there. Like I’m not trying to hold an adult conversation with him.
“You don’t have to move me into your house just because of a little mold.”
He pushes the door open and stands aside, sweeping an arm to gesture me inside. I huff. Loudly.
“It’s really not a big deal, Walker.” I’m moments away from ripping my hair out. He’s so freaking difficult sometimes.
I glare at his handsome, stupid face. He holds my gaze unapologetically. He's not gonna back down about this. He simply cocks a brow, waiting for me to enter.
See? Bastard.
I roll my eyes and stomp into the half-renovated living room like an angry, petulant child.
I reach for my suitcase—the one he packed for me when he wouldn’t let me re-enter my own apartment—but he grabs for it at the same time as I do. When our fingertips touch, a herd of inappropriate memories about the things we did together in this house come storming in, trampling my resolve like wild horses.
The sensation of his breaths bursting rapidly at the curve of my neck.
The sinfully delicious sting of my bottom lip trapped between his teeth.
The undulating shudder of his torso clenching against mine as he pinned me to the mattress and pistoned into me.
The feel of his velvety tongue dipping into the crease of my ass...
Holy hell. It’s too warm in his rustic little cabin. It's like the walls are throbbing with reminders of the erotic nights we shared.
This—me staying here—is a really bad idea.
With my suitcase as his hostage, Walker stalks down the hall. I have no choice but to follow him while I struggle to ignore the curve of his ass in those tight Wrangler jeans.
"I know the way..." I call out snarkily from behind him. “I’ve slept in this bedroom before.”
Well, I’ve done a lot more than just sleep in this bedroom, actually. But those thoughts make me hot and sweaty and out of breath. Those thoughts need to go away, before I make a fool of myself. Man, these pregnancy hormones are out of control.
He drops my suitcase to the floor, just inside the door. “You’ll take the bed,” he utters. His first words to me since he peeled away from my building’s curb.
He moves around the room stiffly, flipping on the old lamp and then the fan in the corner. Talk about turndown service.
“There’s extra towels in the
