Page 43 of One Pucking Wish

With that, she’s gone.

Grabbing the pliers, I exit the closet.

The second I step outside, there’s a round of hoots and hollers as the team cheers.

Well, shit…

CHAPTER

SEVENTEEN

PENELOPE

The drive home from the kennel is a complete blur. My mind races in an attempt to make sense of my choices over the past hour. Seriously, what was I thinking?

Take your hair down.

Tell me to take off your shirt.

Tell me to take off your bra.

His words echo in my mind.

How about no, Dreven! We’re in a freaking closet with everyone we work with right outside these doors!

“No.

“No.

“No.

“No.”

I say the word over and over in a variety of voices. It's such a simple word, yet it escapes me when I’m near Gunner.

I’m supposed to hate the guy, not fit in a mind-blowing quickie between screwing in light bulbs. In a closet. At work. Wouldn’t want to leave those two details out. They seem awfully important to my insanity plea, which, let’s face it, is all I have to go on at the moment.

After parking my car in the drive, I run up to my front door, let myself inside, and make a beeline for my bed, where I hide beneath my covers. Maybe if I stay here long enough, I’ll eventually wake up to discover this was all a very bad dream.

At this moment, I hate myself. I truly do. I’ve never been the girl to hide and wallow in self-pity. My life has not been easy—says the daughter of the town alcoholic, but I’ve always held my head high. Always.

More than anything, I’m embarrassed that I allowed Gunner to make me so weak.

Knocks sound on my door, and I ignore them.

“Go the fuck away!” I scream into my pillow.

The intrusive sound continues until, eventually, it stops. Relief doesn’t find me because in a few seconds, my front door opens, and seconds after that, Iris walks into my room, holding a key in her hand.

“I found your spare key. Hope you don’t mind.” Her voice is entirely too chipper.

I sigh. “So I suppose everyone knows, then?” Mental note: Kick Bash’s ass.

“Not everyone.”

I sit up and lean my back against my headboard. “Great.” This position and the little stretch my pants provide make me very uncomfortable. If I’m going to be talking about feelings and crap—which Iris will insist on—I need to change. Scooting off my bed, I remove my shirt and grab an oversized T-shirt.

“I knew something was there.” My back is to Iris as I pull on a pair of yoga pants, but I’m sure she’s grinning from ear to ear. I can hear it in her voice.

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