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His groan is low and pained and I’d bet anything he’s stroking himself.
Men.
“Don’t say vagina, Penelope.”
“It’s the appropriate medical term, Jake.”
The guest bathroom seems a million miles away. I’d use his, but I need my toothbrush. ASAP. And as bad as I want to be just like every other typical heroine in a romance novel, I don’t want it bad enough to use Jake’s toothbrush.
There are some things I just won’t do.
The blinds in Jake’s room are closed, but the ones in the guest room give me a full view of the ominous gray sky. It looks like a scene from The Day After Tomorrow. Everything is still. Cold. Creepy. It pains me to look at it. But not as much as it pains me to see my own reflection in the bathroom mirror.
I have that just-fucked glow without the glow. My kissed-too-hard lips are a little dry. Messy and crazy, thick, untamed curls are everywhere. Day old mascara clings to my lashes and is smudged beneath my eyes.
Not that I’ve looked at it, but I’m pretty sure my vagina is in the same just-fucked state as the rest of me. I fear it may be ruined. I’d hike my leg up on the counter to visually survey the damage if I weren’t so scared of what I might find.
Mouth clean, bladder empty, I dig through the Miss Sims wardrobe hanging in the closet in search of something normal. I spot something gray toward the back and get excited. I think it’s sweat pants.
Please let it be sweat pants….
It’s…pants. Comfortable looking ones. With a matching top that has a C looped through a backwards C logo on the front. I feel like I should know what that is. I’m pretty sure it’s Coach. I look at the tag.
Chanel.
I thought they just sold perfume.
“Oh my God this feels amazing.” I can’t stop from running my hands over the fabric. It’s so soft. I don’t even know what kind of material it is. But I love it.
I find some Chanel slipper shoe things and slide those on—over socks, because I’m fashionable—and head to the elevator.
Nose to the wall, humming my song, I distract myself by thinking about what food Jake ordered. I hope it’s not anything healthy like an egg white omelet or turkey bacon. He looks like the kind of guy who eats that shit. Although he is also the kind of guy who cooks real bacon shirtless. So, what do I know?
The lobby is warm and welcoming. The man sitting in his car honking the horn? Not so much. I thought he was supposed to come inside the lobby. Does he? No. He’s a dick. And I’m forced to walk outside in the snow and meet him at his car.
And it’s minus forty-two degrees.
The young punk that can’t be a day over fifteen rolls down the window and I want to snatch the food, give him the finger and tell him to go to hell. Then I remember I have to pay him. And I have no money.
“I f-forgot your m-money.” I wrap my hands around me to hold in the warmth while he stares at me like I’m stupid.
“You Mrs. Swagger?”
Mrs. Swagger.
Well, now…that has a ring to it.
“Y-yes.”
“You paid with the app, lady.” He holds his phone up like I’m supposed to understand the shit on the screen.
“Oh, w-well in that c-case....” I snatch the food off the seat. Give him the finger and stutter the best insult I can manage with frozen lips and jittering teeth. “G-go f-f-f-fuck yourself, you l-little shit.”
“Penelope?” I straighten to find Jim Canton staring at me. Then his eyes move to the Uber driver. “Is everything alright?”
“Y-yes s-s-sir.” Shit. Fuck. Damn.
“You better get inside, girl. It’s freezing out here. Where is your jacket?” He holds open the door and ushers me inside, casting uneasy glances over his shoulder until the car drives away.
I move to the massive fireplace in the lobby. My bones are frozen. I’m sure of it. And I’ve only been outside a couple minutes. I’ve never felt cold like this. It’s not right.
“This weather is something to get used to, isn’t it?” He pulls off his thick jacket, dusts the snow from it and places it around my shoulders. Such a gentleman. Man, I miss the south.
“I have n-no intentions of g-getting used to it.”
“So summers here and winters in Mississippi?”
“W-what?”
He pulls a chair closer to the fire and gestures for me to sit before getting a chair for himself. “You and Jake. Are the two of you going to spend winters in Mississippi? To avoid the cold?”
I manage a laugh. “Oh. I’m not sure what we’re going to do. Or what we even are.”
“Ah. I see.”
Anxious for a change in subject, I nod toward the leather briefcase in his hand. “I didn’t know you and Jake had a meeting this morning.”
