Page 32 of The Games We Play
I was a determined son of a bitch, and she was about to find out what lengths I’d go to get what I wanted.
9
MAC
JANUARY. FOUR MONTHS AGO.
Why the hell was I checking my hair?
I stood in front of the tiny mirror in my bathroom, running a hand through the unruly mess on top of my head. My reflection stared back, brows pinched in confusion as I tilted my head left, then right. With a huff, I wet my fingers and smoothed down the stubborn flyaways—not too much, just enough to look somewhat put together.
Not that Penny cared.
She liked me a little rough around the edges, liked when I was unkempt and untamed. But I cared. I wanted to impress her. Somehow, against all odds, I was completely and utterly smitten. A word that had never once existed in my vocabulary until Penny Hudson crashed into my life like a beautifully reckless storm.
Trouble.
Smirking to myself, I checked my teeth in the mirror next, swishing some mouthwash for good measure before flicking off the light and stepping back into my apartment.
I had a pep in my step since October—since the night I finally snapped, pulled Penny into me, and let my desire for her take the lead. I’d always been the type to go after what I wanted,never one to hesitate, never one to care too much about how people saw me. Their expectations didn’t mean a damn thing.
But lately?
I cared aboutherexpectations. I cared about what Penny thought and how she felt. Enough that I was making sure I looked decent just to show up at her door.
That was the thing about Penny.
She was trouble—the kind that settled deep under your skin, the kind that made a man obsessed without him even realizing it. That woman had a pull like no other. She walked into a room, and people noticed. She didn’t ask for attention; she commanded it. And somehow, against every odd, I was the lucky bastard who got to have those deep brown eyes locked on me.
Damn, if that didn’t make me the richest man in the world.
Stepping into my cowboy boots, I tugged my jeans over the tops and adjusted the Henley that clung to my frame. With my keys, wallet, and phone in hand, I strode out the door.
Jogging down the steps to the main bar, I wove through the crowd that had already gathered. Tonight was my night off, and I planned on taking full advantage of it.
Dudley was behind the bar, working alongside Jolie, their movements fluid as they kept up with the steady stream of orders. I threw up a lazy salute in Dudley’s direction, and he returned it without missing a beat, already pouring a drink for the next customer.
The night sky was thick with clouds, swallowing up the stars and leaving the town cast in an eerie half-darkness. Rain threatened on the horizon, the kind that could roll in fast and leave you drenched before you had a chance to curse at it. Penny didn’t live far—just a few blocks—but I wasn’t about to risk getting soaked walking home later.
Rounding the corner, I picked up my pace, making my way to my truck. The old beater sat under the dim glow of a flickeringstreetlight, its rusted fenders and dented body a familiar sight. When I yanked open the door, it let out the same ear-piercing squeak it always did.
Sliding behind the wheel, I turned the key in the ignition. The engine grumbled to life before throwing it into drive. The town was quiet, the streets nearly empty with the occasional light glowing in the distance.
Within minutes, I was parked a few doors down from Petal Pusher, the flower shop Penny lived above.
Parking a little away from the shop was imperative so people wouldn’t put together that Penny and I were seeing each other.
Neither of us wanted that.
The rain started to fall, fat droplets splattering against the windshield.
Ducking into the vestibule, I shook the dampness from my hair and glanced toward the warmly lit shop. Before heading up to Penny’s door, I poked my head inside.
“Sandy!” I called out, ruffling a hand through my wet hair before tucking a strand behind my ear, and making my way inside.
From behind the counter, Sandy held up a finger, silently telling me to wait while she finished counting the register. I smirked and rocked back on my heels, slipping my hands into my front pockets as I took in the shop.
The exposed brick walls, the bursts of color from the carefully arranged displays, the lingering scent of fresh blooms—it was cozy, a stark contrast to the storm creeping in outside.
