Page 50 of My Brother's Roommate (Frisky Business 2)
And while he’s been spilling his guts like I’m his damn therapist, I’ve been anything but honest with him for weeks. I’m not sure what’s worse, a hypocrite or a liar, but I’m pretty damn sure I’m both.
“Speaking of Penelope,” Connor says, interrupting my shame spiral. “She’s the only other person besides you who knows so far. And Beth, of course, and anyone she’s told. But don’t go spilling to the guys yet. I’m not ready to hear a whole bunch of opinions on it.”
“All good,” I say, choking out my response through the guilt rising in my throat. “Take your time.”
“Thanks, dude.” He smiles, clapping me on the shoulder. “You’re the best.”
Too bad I feel like the fucking worst.
With the kitchen cleaned up, Connor disappears to his room to hop on a call with his real estate agent, so I head for the shower to try to scrub some of this shame off me. Unfortunately, it’s a bit more than skin deep. I keep the faucet turned cold, shuddering against the reality I’ve created for myself, the reality I desperately need to escape.
By the time I shut it off and step out, I know what I have to do. There’s only one way I’m going to stop my stomach from churning, and it starts with calling Penelope.
“Hey there, hot stuff.” Her voice is cheery and sweet on the other end of the line.
Usually, I’d think that hot stuff nickname is cute, but right now, it produces instant nausea. Better cut right to the chase.
“Can I come over?” I ask gruffly.
“Duh,” she says with a laugh. “But only if you bring over my cake stand. I think I left it there last night.”
Perfect. A decent excuse to go over there without having to lie to my roommate again.
“Sure,” I grunt. “Be there in half an hour.”
I throw on whatever clean clothes are at the top of my hamper, then grab the cake stand and head for my car. Traffic is light on Lake Shore Drive, which is a once-in-a-blue-moon miracle on a weekend. Nice of the universe to let me have one good thing today.
I’m at Penelope’s apartment in record time, and she buzzes me in, greeting me at the door as I come up the stairs. A slouchy gray pajama shirt hangs off her petite frame, covering up most of the tiny sleep shorts she has on underneath them.
God, who gave her the right to look so cute first thing in the morning? Especially right now, of all times.
“Yay, you brought it!” She takes the round dish, then presses up on her tiptoes, leaning in for a kiss, which I barely dodge. It’s a shrewd move that instantly makes her pretty blue eyes cloud over with worry. “What’s wrong?”
“A lot is wrong,” I grumble. “Your brother is gonna be a dad.”
Her brows shoot up to her hairline, a hint of a smile ticking at the corner of her mouth. “So he told you? Here, come inside. Let’s talk.”
She steps back from her door frame, but I keep my feet firmly planted where I stand. I need to keep this short and sweet. Well, as sweet as something so bitter can be.
“Listen, Penelope. We need to talk.” I feel like such a jackass parroting Connor’s words from this morning, but they’re the first that come to mind.
Her reaction isn’t as lighthearted as mine was this morning. Her brows furrow into a tight V, her lips parting just enough to make me wish I could kiss the confusion right off her face. But I won’t. I can’t. I came here on a mission, and I’m not going to fail.
“Talk? About what? Please, just come inside,” she says, reaching for my hand.
But I pull back, like she’d be hot to touch. And in some ways, she would be. I know how warm and sweet her hand feels in mine. I can’t go there right now. Not with her. Not again.
“We have to stop this,” I say curtly, dodging her gaze.
“Stop what?”
I gesture to what’s left of the space between us. “This. All of this.”
Penelope takes a tentative step toward me, chewing nervously on her lower lip. “If you don’t want to keep secrets, we could always tell Con—”
I hold up a hand, stopping her where she is. I can’t let her get any closer. Not physically, not emotionally, not at all. Her friendship is one thing, but this is headed down a trajectory I can’t go down.
“But what about Friday?” she says, frowning. “When you showed me the neighborhood you grew up in, and we . . . we . . .”
She won’t say it, but I don’t need her to. I know what happened. We had sex. After I told her I don’t sleep with people just for the sake of getting off. I told her that physical shit means more to me. And now I’m going back on my word.
