“No.” He continues to grin. “This is right where I want to be. You are more than entertaining.”
“I’m babbling. That’s what happens when I’m nervous. I babble. And oh God, I can’t believe I just told you that I’m nervous. Not that talking to you about my sex life is better. I just wish that you would stop me from talking so I don’t keep going on and on like this.” When he doesn’t say anything and instead takes a sip from his beer, I say, “Please say something, anything. Put me out of my misery.”
He chuckles, a deep throaty sound that vibrates through my bones. “Why would I want to do that when clearly this is the best company I’ve had in years?”
“Because you’re cruel.”
“Nah, I just like seeing you squirm, which makes me ask, why the hell are you nervous?”
Yeah, why are you nervous, Penny?
Oh, I don’t know, maybe because he’s a six-foot-four piece of studliness, and I’m not used to being this close to perfection. Maybe because Blakely wants me to bed this man, and now that’s all I can think about. Maybe because I wasn’t planning on being on my best behavior tonight, but here I am, trying to be professional . . . ehhh, professional would not be the correct term, especially after the sex talk.
“I don’t know,” I say instead. “Are you nervous?”
“No, why would I be nervous?”
“Uh . . . the pressure of Valentine’s Day?” I shrug.
“Never celebrate it, you know, because I’m always celebrating my birthday.”
“Right . . . right.” I glance at my drink. “You know, I think I’m going to need another one of these.”
“Then drink up.” He winks, and I swear my uterus flutters.
What on earth is happening to me? Is it because it’s Valentine’s Day, and the added romance in the air is playing with my head? Because I’ve had one-on-one’s with Eli before. Granted, they’ve been quick, and I had a task, but still, I didn’t stumble around like I am now.
Not to mention, when I’d look him in the eyes while working, he never studied my lips or grinned the way he is now, nor did he ever give me a once-over.
So what’s so different about tonight?
Chapter Two
ELI
I remember the moment I first met Penny Lawes. She was an intern, and Pacey was showing her around. We ran into each other in the hallway, right outside the locker room. I made some offhanded comment about Pacey bringing girls around the locker room and asked him if he was starting his own Brentwood Baseball tradition—they are known for taking the girls back to the locker room. His eyes grew murderous as he said, through a very clenched jaw, that the girl next to him was his sister.
You could imagine my surprise.
I mean . . . Pacey is a good-looking guy if you’re into the long, curly-blond-hair look, but his sister . . . Jesus fuck.
Hot.
She’s curvy with hips to grip on to and a full fucking rack that I could easily spend an hour exploring. And those goddamn lips, plush and begging to be bruised. Long, platinum-blond hair that I could wrap around my hand and hold on tight while I drive into her. Fucking perfection. Every last inch of her.
Later that day, when I was headed to the weight room to get some legs in after the game, Pacey body-slammed me against the wall and held me there as he told me to stay the fuck away from his sister.
Of course, I played dumb and said I had no idea what he was talking about. Which he replied with, “I saw the way you were looking at her. I swear to God, if you touch her, you’re a dead man.”
So, I’ve held on to that little piece of knowledge because although a threat, I know for certain it’s most likely a real threat. A threat I didn’t want to come face to face with.
Every time I ran into her, walking through the hallways of the stadium or working with her on one of her many TikTok campaigns, I just nodded and smiled outwardly.
But inwardly . . .
Fuck, I ate up her high heels that put the smallest dent on her short stature. I envisioned what those heels would look like wrapped around my waist. I thought about how I’d peel those high heels off and lay her back on my bed, watching as her hair fanned out across the mattress. And those fantasies have collected in my head, filed into a folder labeled untouchable. But they haven’t stopped producing, even after knowing I can’t do anything about it.
They’ve just stockpiled.
With every glance from her.
With every moment I hear those heels click-clacking down the hallway.