Page 157 of If Our Hearts Collide

“Penny…”

I don’t turn back. I just keep moving my feet, through the door and through the glass hallway of voyeurism. I pass by Neil, never giving him more than a dismissive wave.

A nearly nude waitress carrying a tray of drinks shimmies through the narrow crowd of one of the booths, and before she can notice, I grab one that looks enticing and down it with a few gulps.

The burn hits my throat last, as the bitterness settles on my tongue as an aftertaste.

Hell.

This is another reason I don’t drink much. It tastes awful.

Who actually enjoys the flavor of liquidized leather? Yuck. Not me.

But I need to dull this ache inside, and society has proven to me that alcohol can numb all sorts of problems.

As much as I hate to admit it, seeing Collins with another woman has done things to me that I wasn’t expecting. Sure, I’m still butt-hurt that we kissed the other night and then he rejected me, but I’m also mad he chose Daphne to perform a consensual act with…

Daphne…the girl who got more action in one night than I have in my entire existence on this planet.

I thought we were friends—or would-be friends. I don’t know. Do I even know how to make one?

It’s just all kinds of fucked up no matter how I slice it.

Collins might have wanted to escort me home, but I can’t be around him right now. I’m on edge. There’s a nervous energy buzzing through me, ready to ignite at the first sign of heat.

Am I jealous?

Probably. But I’ll never admit it out loud.

I’m such a fool for coming here, especially without really knowing what I was getting myself into—physically or emotionally.

Why was tonight the night I tried to be brave?

Silly fool.

I feel raw. Gutted at the seams. My mind races at how to get out of this pornographic maze as fast as I can, while my jumbled thoughts about what I just witnessed play on loop in my head.

I don’t turn back to look, but I know I have a couple of people hot on my tail, as I weave between patrons. I fly down the stairs, run past the bar, and through the orgy of people bumping and grinding on the dance floor.

I hope Daphne is okay. I can try to get her contact information and check up on her later. But right now, the only thing I want to do is get out of here.

I want to erase the feral images of Collins Stone in primal, masculine glory from my memory.

30

COLLINS

Never in a million years would I have expected to find Penelope Hoffman at Limit-X. I mean, technically she found me—but that’s beside the point.

This refuge is for people who want to get their rocks off in a safe environment, and often without being bogged down by commitment. It’s meant for people who have demons to exorcize and for those that want a space to explore fantasies that aren’t societal norms.

It’s for people who have been background checked, vetted, and held to the high standards of a club’s contract.

This place is not meant for sweet girls like Penny Hoffman, who happen to walk in and suddenly fill the space with more warmth than it has ever seen.

Darkness and Penny do not go together. Seeing her here, on my turf, in my safe place, is fucking with my head.

Dammit.

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