Page 50 of The Player's Obsession

Well, that isn’t going to work on me anymore.

I know it will only be a matter of time before he turns up like a cold sore.

I will admit our childhood was isolating and traumatic. I watched movies for hours to escape my reality. Years later, I have a catalog of one-liners in my head. Often, I don’t even know I’m quoting a movie line.

The people on the big screen ended up feeling more like family than my own. I read all the tabloid magazines from cover to cover. I’m still a sucker for paparazzi pictures that pop up on my phone's browser. There’s something about Hollywood stars and the glamour that fascinates me. I don’t want their life, but I wouldn’t mind having financial security and vacations in Europe.

I look at my fitness watch and realize it’s time I start getting ready. I turn on the shower and step in when the water is hot enough. I make sure to shave areas that need maintenance. I wash my hair, turn off the water, dry off, and apply lightly scented moisturizer, making sure to cover every inch of my body instead of racing through it like I normally do.

My vacation has officially started. It’s time to pamper myself.

I grab the birth control from my dresser and pop it in my toiletries bag. I gather my lotion, hairbrush, hair clips, toothbrush, and toothpaste.

I blow out my dark hair and like how it falls in natural waves. I take care to match my panties to my bra before getting dressed. I press the button to illuminate my Hollywood makeup mirror. It was a big splurge, but it was worth it. It gives me the perfect lighting to do my face. I start by using what looks like a big paintbrush to apply foundation to my skin. I’ve watched internet videos of women demonstrating how they use makeup to make their eyes and cheekbones pop. I wish I had their skills, but I’m not a magician.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m done. I step back and examine my work in the mirror. I did a decent job. It looks natural.

Now for shoes. I find socks with no holes, tug them on, pull on my boots, and close the zipper. I roll my luggage to the door and drape my long coat over the couch. I still have time to touch up my nails before Oliver arrives.

CHAPTER23

Oliver

Standing in front of Penelope’s door, I try to ignore the gremlins in my stomach. I’m not sure why I’m here early because women are never on time. I got used to being late for everything when I was with Melanie. She always had to make an entrance, no matter how big or small the affair, and that required hours of prep.

As soon as I knock, the door flies open.

“Hi, Oliver. Come on in. Can I get you a drink or something?” Penelope’s enthusiasm is infectious. Her skin is glowing, and she smells like a warm vanilla candle.

“I’m fine. Thanks. Are you ready?” She looks ready to walk out the door, but you never know with women.

“Yes, I’m ready, luggage, coat, and purse,” she says, pointing to the items before us. “Thank you for the luggage and the new wardrobe. I hope I look my best for you—I mean, the team and your ex.”

“You don’t need clothes to look pretty.” I regret the comment immediately. It sounded more creepy than complimentary. Embarrassed, I busy myself collecting her luggage. “You gonna look great no matter what you wear.” I give her a weak smile and head for the door.

Hallelujah, we’re on time. This would have never happened with Melanie. There was always a last-minute detail that required an extra twenty minutes or more. It’s a good thing she’s a model and not a train conductor.

Penelope grabs her coat and purse before she locks the door to her apartment. She double-checks it, and I wonder if she’s had a break-in.

On our way to my BMW, she’s ahead of me. I call out, “Wait, I’ll open that door for you.”

My mother raised us to be gentlemen, and I left the car running to keep it warm. Snow is expected. I don’t know why Melanie and Nathan couldn’t wait until summer to get married like everyone else. But then again, that’s Melanie, impetuous with a flair for the dramatic and a need to be different.

Penelope waits by the car door until I can catch up and open it. She thanks me and slides into the heated seat. Her boots hug her shapely calves, and my mind races. I want to know what her body looks like naked. I can’t ignore my desire when we’re close to each other. She’s been on my mind every night before I fall asleep. What the hell has come over me?

I open the trunk and move my bags to make space. When I loaded her luggage, I noticed they matched mine. Cool. We both like Louis Vuitton. As I settle into the driver’s seat, I see her coat in the backseat next to mine and it makes me happy. It’s probably a coincidence, but I’m taking it as a sign that she’s warming up to me.

Penelope is well-endowed and wearing a sweater that showcases her breasts perfectly. I assume they’re natural because she doesn’t impress me as the type to buy breasts. From seeing her small apartment and old car, she’s down-to-earth and practical. Even with a college degree and well-paying job at Genzdime, she’s not above taking a job cleaning houses. I read her full bio on the company website and was impressed she reports directly to the CFO.

"I've programmed the hotel address into the navigation system. We should get there in about two hours, weather permitting," I tell her to make her comfortable. I know she likes details.

“Great,” she replies, her ruby-red lips catching my eyes. I’m so tempted to lean over and kiss them.

Instead, I buckle up and back out of the parking spot. She fastens her seatbelt and folds her hands in her lap. In minutes, we’re on the highway heading north.

“What type of music do you like?” I ask her and pray to God she’s not into jazz. That shit puts me to sleep.

“I like modern stuff, some country.”

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