I wince. “D. All of the above.”
“Woof.”
“Yeah,” I say on a laugh. “And…I really miss him.” That’s been the hardest part: I miss being around Penn. So much. He makes me feel more like myself—the one I want to be.
“So, he’s not around here?”
“Actually, he is,” I say.
Penn is literally two blocks away, at Curly’s.
Theo hits me with his elbow. “Then what the hell are you sitting here with me for?”
25
Lovesick Gremlin
Penn stands behindthe bar, drying glasses. When I slide onto the leather stool in front of him, he huffs out a laugh, his jaw ticked to one side. “Rubella, did you take a wrong turn?”
“I figured I’d face down my mistakes,” I joke, gesturing to the stool beside me. “Thought I’d return to the scene of the crime.”
“Was the crime being punishably uncoordinated?” Penn asks. “Unlawfully clumsy?”
I wait for a beat. “Cool synonyms. How many more have you got?”
He shrugs. “I was running low. Glad you cut me off.” His teasing slices right into my chest. “What can I get you?”
I’m distracted, staring at his hands. Remembering what they can do. How they feel.
“Considering your turbulent history,” Penn says, “I can’t in good conscience serve you tequila. But maybe we can risk rum? You talked a big game about Rum Ruby, so she seems like someone I need to meet.”
Hope flitters in my chest.
It’s been four weeks since I woke up in Penn’s bed andmentioned Rum Ruby in passing. He wasn’t lying. He really does remember everything I tell him.
“Actually, I don’t want a drink,” I say, knocking my knuckles on the bar. “I’m here to talk to you about PennPals.”
Wide-eyed, Penn whispers, “What did you say?”
“Oh,” I say lightly. “You don’t remember telling me?”
He’s gone pale. “Telling you what?”
“That you wanted us to be pen pals. Exchange letters?”
He studies me, flummoxed, and man, I really underestimated how much fun it would be to screw with him in reality.
“I’m kidding,” I say finally. “I want to talk about PennPals, your help hotline.”
He fumbles the glass in his hands, then straightens. “I haven’t told anyone about that, and I definitely didn’t tell you. Why would I tell you?”
“You did.”
“When?”
I give him my biggest, most obnoxious sigh. “Wow. Now who needs to lay off the tequila?” Penn tugs at his hair, tormented, so I assure him, “You swore me to secrecy. I promise I haven’t told anyone. I wouldn’t.”
“Okay,” he says, slowly. “Fine. Then what did you want to talk about?”
