I felt the warmth of it spread through my chest.
I wanted to speak, but if I did, I’d admit things, and if I admitted what I wanted to admit, the feeling could be gone just as soon as I’d earned it. So instead, I cupped her cheek and slipped my fingers into her hair, bringing her closer to kiss her with more intention.
Penny communicated through sex and through ink, and maybe I could do the same. Maybe I could telegraph how I felt through my lips alone. Maybe she could feel my heart through the tips of my fingers.
I hoped she could. Because the game we’d been running was long, and I felt the end coming too soon. There would be a moment when we couldn’t avoid it anymore, when the words wouldn’t stay inside me any longer.
The chances of her feeling the same were slim, and I knew it. I’d known my odds when I stepped into the lion’s cage and started this dance with her.
But that didn’t stop me from hoping.
12
WILD HORSES
Penny
“So when’s your boyfriend coming?” Ramona asked my reflection in the massive mirrors of the bridal suite.
“Hopefully the second I can get my dress hitched up,” I answered without missing a beat before sipping the champagne in my hand to punctuate the joke.
Ramona and Veronica laughed, and I shimmied my rack in my bridesmaid dress with one hand.
“Seriously, my boobs look amazing in this. Maybe he’ll come before I can even get it pulled up.” I turned to inspect my ass, which was on point. “Anyway, I’m not calling him that. I don’t like that word.”
Veronica raised one brow. “And what are you calling him?”
“My slam piece. ‘Cause he’s Sexy Like A Motherfucker, and he can slam me all night. Like, literally all night. My vagina has never been slammed on the Bodie level.”
She snickered. “Slam piece? I mean, whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“No wonder he somehow tricked you into being his girlfriend.”
Ramona was baiting me. I was no dummy even if I was a sucker.
Oddly, the moniker didn’t make me want to puke up my champagne and donuts like it had a couple of days ago.
“Slam piece,” I said flatly. “You act like I’ve pledged my undying devotion to him. God, a girl can’t even get steady dick anymore without everyone starting a pool on when she’s going to get engaged.”
Ramona laughed — she was cool as a cucumber, which was beyond all reason, considering she was an hour away from getting married. We stood in the middle of a regal room with a chandelier the size of Delaware and more French antiques than I’d ever seen in one place outside of a museum. She looked beautiful, blissfully happy, and without a single indicator of nervousness, which was impressive seeing as how she was about to walk down the aisle.
She touched my arm, her eyes and smile full of love. “I’m happy for you.”
I smiled back, my heart so furry and warm and full that I didn’t know if all the happiness would stay in my chest. “You too. Are you ready for this?”
She shrugged. “I’ve been waiting for this day forever, but I’m just … I don’t know. Zen as fuck. I don’t even care how things go — in an hour, I’ll be his wife. And then we’ll eat and drink and dance and fuck like rockstars in the Kennedy suite.”
“Yeah, you will,” I said, gyrating my hips.
“Everything is done and taken care of.” She hooked her arm in mine and hung her other around Veronica’s shoulders. “I have you two. I have Shep waiting for me at the end of an aisle to promise me forever. There’s nothing else I could possibly wish for.”
I misted up. “Ugh, you’re so happy it’s disgusting.”
Ramona laughed. “I know. Isn’t it amazing?”
I rested my head on her shoulder and took in the sight of the three of us in the mirror. “It’s kinda the best thing in the whole world.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket — my dress had pockets, guys; winning hard. — and I pulled away, reaching for it.
The photo displayed behind Bodie’s name lit up my phone and my insides; I was nuzzled into his neck laughing, and he was laughing too, his dimple flashing.
Veronica laughed and pointed at my screen. “Oh my God. Boyfriend.”
I rolled my eyes and answered the phone, smiling. “Hey,” I said as I stepped off the platform, passing the tornado that was Ramona’s mom on my way out. I swear, I think she was shouldering all the nerves for both of them.
“Hey,” he echoed, his voice rumbly and low and velvety.
My body reacted immediately to that one mundane syllable like it was a secret password.
I hadn’t seen him in two days, since after the strip club. We’d been too busy with wedding stuff to have a free millisecond.
“Are you here?” I asked.
I could hear him smiling. “I am. Just got here.”
“Meet me by the bar.”
“Already there.”
My grin stretched wide as I rushed to the door, calling over my shoulder that I’d be right back.
I hurried through the garden where people were milling around, waiting for the ceremony to start. The venue was gorgeous, an outdoor garden with a big tent for the reception and a gazebo in a hedge alcove that felt like a fairy land. There was a rope swing and a massive bar that had been imported from a pub in France, all brass and mahogany and gorgeous and elegant.
But not as gorgeous as the man standing in front of it.
His dirty-blond hair had been cut short on the sides, kept longer on a top, combed back and to the side in a gentle swoop, and I nearly stopped in my tracks at the transformation. The laid-back surfer in a muscle shirt and sneakers had been replaced by a clean-cut masterpiece of power. The gravity of the vision of him pulled me toward him like a tractor beam. He looked like he’d stepped off a magazine cover with tan skin and eyes shining a shade of sky blue that felt infinite. The suit he wore fit him perfectly — charcoal gray swathing every angle of his broad shoulders and chest, one button of his coat fastened, his shirt crisp and white, and tie thin and black. One hand rested in his pocket, his coat bunched up at the seam where his hand and hip were, and the other held a scotch.
I was nine hundred percent sure my uterus whispered his name when he smiled at me, popping that dimple and my ovaries with a simple flicker of cheek muscles.
I might have floated into his arms, slipping mine around his neck as I kissed him. There was quite literally nothing else I could have done when I saw him standing there, dressed like that.
His lips were so warm and familiar and soft and sweet. The two measly days we’d been apart felt like a month.
I pulled away, humming, but I didn’t give him his neck back, just fiddled with the short hair at the nape, marveling over the soft bristling against my fingertips.
“Your hair,” I whispered, smiling as my eyes scanned him in wonder.
“You like it?”
“I love it. If it wasn’t combed, my fingers would be buried deep, deep in it.”
He laughed softly, the sound rumbling through his chest and into me. “Later we’ll bury all kinds of things in all kinds of places.”