Page 16 of My Brother's Roommate (Frisky Business 2)
I lift a brow. That feeling inside my chest returns because I don’t know how to reply to that. I never thought I’d stand a chance with a girl like Penelope. She’s sweet and caring and personable, all the things that I’m not. Which just solidifies the fact that she’d only end up hurt if she got involved in my mess.
“I thought maybe you wanted the same thing I did,” she says, blinking up at me with wide, pleading eyes. She’s eager for a response, but I’m strapped for answers.
Of course I wanted that. Rather, I want that. Look at her, for fuck’s sake. She perfect. But it’s not that easy. I’m not the man she thinks I am, and I’m more broken than she’s bargaining for. I can’t put that on her.
Penelope clears her throat, her gaze dropping to the pine floorboards. “Sorry. I guess I was wrong.”
Shit, Cox. You’re hurting the girl already.
“Let’s just forget about it, okay?” I finally murmur. It’s directed as much at her as it is to myself.
A gentle sigh leaks from her lips, and I don’t know if it’s from relief or disappointment. But with a roll of her shoulders, she finally drags her gaze back to mine, the slightest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
“Okay. Fresh start.” She chuckles, chewing at her lower lip in a way that’s too fucking tempting. “Sorry I followed you all the way up here just to tell you that. I guess I’ll let you have the place to yourself.”
I nod, pushing up from the couch to show her out. Not that I want her to go, but if she keeps biting her lip like that, it’s going to be a long, frustrating night.
“Text me when you get home, okay?” I call over my shoulder as I head for the door.
But when I tug it open, it’s pretty fucking obvious that Penelope won’t be going anywhere tonight. The snow is falling horizontally, whipped by the wind and building up by the minute.
“Shit.” I gulp down the thick ball of nerves that’s tightening my throat, my eyes locked on the snow quickly piling up on the porch. “Well. I guess we should get comfortable for the night, because you’re not going anywhere.”6* * *PENELOPE“Maybe if I drive slow, it won’t be so bad.” I drag my gaze away from the disaster unfurling outside and give Wolfie a sideways glance, which he meets with one of his famous scowls.
“I can’t let you drive in this,” he mutters, gesturing toward the window. “You wouldn’t make it back to Chicago. Hell, you wouldn’t make it out of the driveway.”
When I left Chicago, a few gentle flurries were coming down, sure, but hardly anything to worry about. The snowflakes melted as quickly as they hit the pavement, nothing that gave me cause for concern on the drive. But now, the view from the window is nothing but white. It looks like a freaking blizzard out there.
“Maybe I can wait it out. It can’t snow forever, right?” I pat my pockets to locate my phone and pull up the radar. But one look at the all-red screen makes my stomach tighten. “Oops. Maybe I spoke too soon.”
When Wolfie lifts a brow in my direction, I turn my phone toward him, letting him see this nightmare for himself. He lets out a long breath, slowly shaking his head in disapproval.
I can’t help but be affected by him. His nearness. His bulky masculine form. The scent of his cologne that hangs lightly in the air.
He said we should forget about the little incident we had on my work retreat, but so far, I’m not doing the best job. I fully blame those smoky dark gray eyes. One look into them, and all my better judgment disappears. And somehow, I don’t think a cozy evening trapped in a snowed-in lake house together is going to help the situation.
With a huff, Wolfie stalks toward the fridge, tugging it open with more force than seems necessary. “I’m having a beer. You sure you want to stick to tea?”
I bite my lower lip, thinking back to the last time we were at the lake house in June. I seem to remember stowing away a certain bottle of bourbon that my friends refused to drink with me. “Actually, I think I may have something stronger.”
A quick trip to the downstairs bedroom proves my memory right. In the closet, tucked behind a plethora of vintage jigsaw puzzles and sleeping bags, I dig up a half-empty bottle of bourbon from its four-month-long hiding place.
As I march proudly back into the kitchen, I lift the bottle high in the air. “Ta-da! I knew nobody would ever look behind those dusty old puzzles.”
Wolfie chuckles, giving me a crooked smile. “Where the hell did you get that?”
