Page 46 of The Games We Play
“Grovel,” I muttered to myself, rolling the word around on my tongue like it was foreign. Well, because it was.
Tapping a pencil against the edge of my small dining room table, I stared at the blank sheet of paper in front of me. My phone lay open beside it, the search engine filled with articles, forums, and desperate advice from men who had clearly screwed up just as badly as I had.
The more I scrolled, the more I realized one thing—I’d never done this before. Not once in my life. I didn’t even know where to begin.
I could think of a million small, subtle gestures, but none of them would do.
Penny deserved more than easy. She deserved something real. Something that made it crystal fucking clear that I wasn’t just sorry—I was hers, if she’d still have me.
After she’d thrown down that challenge, she all but shoved me out the door, making it clear I’d overstayed my welcome. And yeah, maybe I’d pushed her, worn her down, forced her handinto giving me the slightest crack of hope. But I wasn’t ashamed of it.
I was a man who knew exactly what he wanted.
And I wanted Penny Hudson—desperately.
Sitting in my apartment, drink in hand, I let the possibilities race through my mind. All the ways I could show her. Prove to her. Win her back because one thing was certain.
I’d make groveling my bitch. I’d dowhateverit took.
Losing her for good? That wasn’t an option.
And my end goal? To take whatever we had and mend it into something more. Something real.
No more sneaking around, no more stolen moments behind closed doors. I wanted her in the daylight, out in the open, where everyone could see that this was more than just a passing fling.
I was about to kick this groveling shit into high gear.
I’d flirt, I’d charm, I’d win her over because Penny was going to be mine again, for good.
But first, I needed a plan. A damn good one.
I sat at my dining table, pen poised over a blank sheet of paper, ready to map out my strategy. Stage one—small, thoughtful gestures to break through the walls she’d built around herself. I couldn’t come on too strong, couldn’t lay my entire hand on the table just yet.
Patience was key.
Instant gratification wasn’t an option this time.
Next to me, Angus sat with a heavy sigh, watching me with those big, soulful eyes. His pink tongue lolled out, while I was here, drowning in my own indecision.
“What do you think?” I asked, waiting like he’d actually answer.
When he didn’t, I dropped my pen onto the table and reached out, rubbing behind his ears. He tilted his head into my touch,groaning like he didn’t give a shit what I was going through; all he wanted was for me to keep giving him the attention.
“What can I do?” I mused, thinking out loud.
My mind was blank.
Not just blank—completely useless, like that damn cartoon monkey clashing cymbals together inside my head.
I needed inspiration. Guidance.Something.
With a sigh, I bent down and kissed Angus on the snout. He licked my chin in return, tail thumping against the floor like he approved of whatever scheme I was about to cook up.
Laughing, I gave him one strong pat before standing up and grabbing my pen again. I started pacing, tapping the end of it against my chin.
“Think, Mac. Think.”
Flowers? Too cliché—but let’s be real, I’d probably end up buying a hell of a lot of them anyway.
