Page 20 of The Games We Play
My throat tightened, a knot forming so big I could barely breathe. The reaction was instant, visceral—but not the kind I wanted.
My skin prickled. My chest warmed. My heartbeat pounded in my ears.
Forcing a calm front, I took a slow step toward her. Penny still refused to look at me, determined to act like I wasn’t standing right fucking here.
This was my chance. It was fate that I spun around when I did.
She chose the wrong spot. The space she crammed into was the only stretch of bar free of sitting patrons, leaving her face to face with me. The perfect opportunity.
“Penny,” I said, wiping my hands on the towel slung over my shoulder. The fabric was stark white against my all-black outfit—black T-shirt, tattoos on full display, dark jeans to match.
She ignored me, so I stepped closer.
When I did, her perfume hit me—vanilla.
Just like that, I was back there—back to the nights we’d spent tangled together. The way she’d sighed when I nuzzled into her neck, when I kissed along the soft, sensitive skin she loved to be touched.
“Pen, come on,” I urged again, reaching out, my fingers brushing against her arm.
She yanked away like my touch had burned her, a scowl forming on her lips as she glared at me. If she had a drink in her hand, there was no doubt in my mind she would’ve tossed it right in my face.
I pulled back, my patience snapping.
This was fucking insane.
She was pissed—fine. But ignoring me like a child? Pretending I didn’t exist?
That was bullshit.
What happened—what the problem was—hadnothingto do with her.
It was about me, about choices I made years ago. A situation I thought had worked itself out, one I never imagined would come back to haunt me.
But life saw an opportunity when I had something good—something real. And, like clockwork, it shit all over it.
Penny brought her fingers to her mouth and whistled, still trying to get Dudley’s attention.
He spun, but I pointed a finger at him, my jaw set.
Dudley got the message.Stay the fuck out of it.
With Penny still leaning over the bar, I hooked my hands under her arms and hauled her over the damn counter.
She screamed, legs flailing, nearly knocking over the neatly stacked glasses on the shelf behind me.
“Let me go, you animal!” she shrieked, fists beating against my chest.
I ignored her protests, shifting her effortlessly over my shoulder as I strode toward the back.
Eyes were everywhere, watching, heads turning.
Even over the pounding music, we were causing a scene. I couldn’t bring myself to care. I was blinded by rage, blinded by the way she once made me feel, and I clung to that.
All the emotions I felt in the last few hours were surging to the surface. Anger. Disappointment. Longing. Embarrassment. There were so many I’d been harboring the last couple of months, and I’d hit my tipping point.
The moment I got her into the stockroom, I kicked the door shut behind us and let her down. She huffed in frustration, immediately scrambling back against the shelves as if the extra inches between us would make a difference.
“What the hell was that?” she demanded, throwing her hands in the air. Her face was a perfect picture of exasperation, her eyes blazing with annoyance.
