She's beautiful. Sexy. Glamorous. But then she fucks around with losers like that.
She drops back against her cushion and folds her arms under her perfect tits. "Well, I don't see any better options lined up at my door."
"That's no excuse to settle, Penn."
She seems to shrink in on herself, interpreting my concern as a chastisement. We coast onto the dark highway, back in the direction of Crescent Harbor, our 5000-person hometown tucked against the coast of Lake Michigan in Northern Illinois. We ride in silence. Penny pouts and flips aimlessly through the glossy magazine in her lap while I stew. Literally stew. She has the heat on full blast, and I’m roasting in this freaking turtleneck. She may think it looks good—and apparently the porn star from earlier did too—but quite frankly, I just feel ridiculous in it.
I roll to a stop on the curb outside her apartment.
Penny doesn't look up when her embarrassed voice squeaks through the cabin. "You think I'm an idiot, don’t you?"
I glance over at my sniffling friend. “What are you talking about?!”
"I know this looks bad. I'm thirty-three. I should know better than to get myself into these types of situations and need rescuing from my best friend in the middle of the night. It's just that..." she sighs roughly and tries to gather the right words. "When my life is over, I want to be able to look back at my life and know that I life'd the fuck out of my life...y'know? But these days, I really don't feel like I'm life-ing. I'm working a dead end job. I never used my degree. And my love life..." She looks up at me through wet, makeup-smudged eyes, silently begging me to understand. "I just want someone to love. Someone to talk with and laugh with and share my coupons with. And sex, of course. Lots of sex. That doesn't make me a bad person."
She's rambling. She never rambles. Penny is usually perfectly composed and put-together. It's obvious that she should have stopped drinking several drinks ago. I hate the idea of her out here alone and drunk. That’s not safe for a woman, especially not one as beautiful as her. But what pisses me off most? Just imagining all the guys in that sleazy joint who probably tried to take advantage of her tonight.
"I'm sorry for annoying you," she whispers.
I reach across the console and cup her cheek in my hand. Fuck, she's so warm. Soft.
"For the record, I don't think you're an idiot. And nothing you do can ever annoy me." Silly woman.
I’m frustrated, yes. But it’s only because she deserves more than what she settles for. I don’t get it. She’s perfect. She’s got everything—all the beauty and the smarts. Yet, she gives her body to drunk idiots. I can’t help it if it pisses me off.
My hand slides down from her cheek to the back of her neck. My fingers tangle in her red, silky, perfect hair. Everything about her is perfect. "Hey, look at me..." I wait for her to make eye contact. "I will help you life the fuck out of your life,” I promise softly. “Just tell me what you need. Tell me how I can help." That earns me the littlest, prettiest smile.
Penny's gaze grips onto mine like a drowning woman clinging to a life raft. I see something there I've never allowed myself to see in all the years we've been friends. A hungry desire. And I know it's fuelled by the mind-swirling alcohol in her blood.
Her eyes snap down to my mouth and I just know...my very drunk best friend is about to kiss me...
And I want it so fucking bad. I'm praying to God for the decency to pull away. It's just the alcohol. I'm not her type. I'm not her type. I repeat it like a mantra.
Penny leans toward me. But instead of putting her mouth on mine, she swipes her thumb across my jaw. “Lipstick, huh?” She tilts her head back to inspect me better. “And the fancy sweater you swore up and down you'd never wear?...Walker Kingston, were you on a date tonight?”
Fuck. I can’t lie to her. But I hate the truth. “Yeah,” I mumble, flooded with guilt in an instant.
Penny’s hand lands softly on my arm, squeezing. “God. I’m sorry. I should have called an Uber.”
“No. No, you should have called me,” I huff. I don't want her alone in a stranger’s car. Especially when she’s so drunk she can barely stand.
“Walker, you were on a date. I definitely should have called an Uber,” she insists, stubborn as she is.
I put an arm around her headrest and get close, forcing her to look at me. “Listen—when you're in trouble, of course you call me. We’re friends. That’s what we do for each other.”
She purses her lips, nods in resignation, knowing she won't win this fight. "Yeah, we're friends." She pauses, stares at my mouth again. Something morose passes over her features. Then, in a snap, her eyes light up with gossipy interest. "So, how did the date go?”
“Fine.” I ease out of her personal space at the reminder of Karen.
Penny’s manicured eyebrow arches up. “Fine? That’s all I get? After I poured my damn drunken heart out to you?” she says, annoyed. "You are frustrating as hell, Sir Grumps-A-Lot. Having a conversation with you is like...like...pulling teeth out of stone." She blinks. "Wait—what?...Anyway, you know what I mean."
I shrug, ready to talk about anything else in the world. I know it makes me a hypocrite. I get mad about her flirting with big hairy losers when I was ten minutes away from having meaningless sex with some vapid woman. I’m a fucking jerk, and it doesn’t make any sense.
Nothing makes sense when it comes to my feelings about Penny.
I can't talk to her about another woman. I just can't. Not when I want her this badly. Not tonight.
I force a gentle tone. "Let me walk you to your door."
At the abrupt change in conversation, her face drops. She huffs and toes on her shoes. Then, she's opening the passenger door and sliding out. “Don’t bother,” she spits
