Page 110 of The Games We Play
“Fine.”
“Yes!” Penny squealed, lifting up on her toes and pressing a quick, triumphant kiss to my lips. “You’re the best. Now I really have to get planning.”
33
MAC
Penny. Penny. Penny.
She was all I could think about.
I was at the bar, hands working on autopilot as I wiped down a rack of clean glasses, but my mind? It was nowhere near The Tequila Cowboy. I was stuck in the last few days with her—replaying each moment, each look, each stolen touch that had somehow grounded me and set me on fire all at once.
I was entirely, hopelessly gone over Penny Hudson. And that wasn’t a revelation, it was a quiet truth I’d carried for the better part of a year.
If there were two things in this life I knew were meant to be mine, it was this bar and Penny. Lately, both had been weighing heavily on my mind, but one was starting to feel possible again… the other, not so much.
I placed a polished glass on the counter, reaching for the next. I had some time to kill before Aspen was coming to the bar for acheck-inabout how things were going with Penny. Her idea, not mine.
The silence of the bar was almost peaceful without Lizzie buzzing in my ear, which gave me time to think. We hadn’tspoken much since our last blowout, and I preferred it that way. Since I’d called her out for throwing a tantrum and micromanaging everything I touched, she’d kept her distance. It was easier. Quieter. Less tense.
Until now.
The familiar chime above the door rang out, a cold draft sneaking in behind it. I didn’t even need to look up to know it was her—Lizzie, her pristine look and pinched expression.
Funny how quickly the mood could shift. A moment ago, I was riding the warmth of memories with Penny. Now, the room felt ten degrees colder.
She approached the bar with practiced confidence, her dark bob curled perfectly at her chin, one side tucked neatly behind her ear. The sight of her always pulled something tight in my chest—reminded me too much of our mother. Staring at Lizzie was like staring down my lack of childhood in heels and lipstick.
I kept wiping the glass in my hand, pretending she wasn’t there.
“No smoking inside?” she asked, dropping her oversized purse onto a barstool as she slid onto the seat.
It would be much easier if she ignored me as much as I was trying to ignore her. Instead, she always fucking sat down—commanding attention like she was entitled to it.
I rolled my head from side to side, working out the tension her presence had instantly brought with it. With a sigh, I placed both hands on the bar and let my head hang for a second before meeting her eyes.
“No, Lizzie. But now that you mention it, I am craving some menthol.”
I didn’t move to grab the pack from my back pocket, though. Just stared her down.
“Don’t get mad when I ask this,” she started, and instantly, I was already mad. Nothing good ever followed that sentence.
“What now?”
“I saw Penny leaving the other morning.” She tilted her head slightly, watching me too closely. “Is there something going on between you two?”
I stood straighter, shoulders rolling back. “I’m not sure what to call it, but that’s none of your business.”
There was no way I was about to open up to her about something so personal, not when we barely managed to share floor space. She didn’t get access to that part of me.
“Right,” Lizzie muttered. “I didn’t see you walk her out. What if she stole something? People shouldn’t just be walking through the bar unattended, especially people you aren’t sure about.”
I stared at her like she’d grown a second head.
“Are you fucking serious?” I asked, disbelief thick in my voice. “Penny Hudson? You really think she’d steal from the bar?”
“I’m just trying to protect the business,” she replied, lifting her hands in mock surrender.
