It must be fear that keeps me there, frozen, while Penn stares up at me, his chest touching mine with each breath, colorful lights flashing across the sharp lines of his features.
Our hips are pressed together, our legs entwined. The heat of Penn against me is another reminder that this is not a dream. And I’ve been close to him, but never like this.
For a heartbeat, both of us remain still, our eyes locked.
Abruptly, then, Penn shifts sideways, rolling out from underneath me.
I don’t move because I can’t, struggling to get my lungs and limbs and somersaulting thoughts under control. Finally, I manage an upright position, and Penn sits beside me, his elbows resting on his knees.
His smile is slow and satisfied. “Guess you’ll have to teach me at your own risk, Wynne.”
I stare back, watching the lights dance across Penn’s face, my pulse thrumming inside me like a ticking clock. Because I can’t afford to weigh out every option with Penn.
Here, I don’t even have time to look; I just need to leap.
8
Accidentally Hot
Bridget holds upa green top with so many strings, I’m convinced it’s a ball of yarn.
“No way.” I shake my head. “I’ve seen pasties that offer more coverage. I may as well just flash him. Or carry a sign.Hi. Please Notice Me.”
Bridget exhales and tosses it to the floor of my closet, where I sit in a pile of flashy fabrics. “You’re trying to look hot, Ruby, and that shirt is hot.”
“I’m trying to look accidentally hot,” I remind her. “There’s a difference.”
Considering Penn’s preference for “nothing serious,” how little time he has for anything but work, and the many movies in which a kiss is all it takes to spark a little magic, I’m shifting the goalpost from love to lust. Kissing Penn was never going to mean anything to me, obviously, but maybe it doesn’t have to mean anything to him, either.
Maybe he can be the “other half” of a totally casual, unserious kiss. First base only. The stuff MASH games are made of.
Problem is, I have zero experience in casual. Or unserious. So I’ve recruited Bridget’s help, because if my mission is to somehow seduce Penn, then I have my work cut out for me. Yesterday, when I had him pinned to the rink’s floor, he couldn’t roll away fast enough.
Bridget points to the paper calendar tacked to the wall of my closet. “According to your little detective board, there’s no time for ‘accidental’ hotness.”
She’s got a point. Today is Wednesday, my fourth day in MASHland. I spent all day yesterday analyzing the rink’s finances and vendor contracts, looking into possible renegotiation opportunities. And while I’m confident I can get the business into a better position, there’s no instant fix. So, if a quick kiss might be enough to get me back to reality, I’m willing to put more of my eggs into that terrifying basket.
“You’re right,” I say. “There’s no time for ‘accidental.’ But there must be a middle ground between sweatpants and is this a corset, technically?”
“You and your middle grounds,” Bridget mutters, shoving velvet hangers along the rack. “What’s Penn’s type, do you think?”
Unclear. In reality, he’s dated everything from a buttoned-up professor to a nightclub promoter who may as well have been nocturnal. His exes must have something in common, though, so I decide to ask the expert. Ryan.
How would you describe Penn’s type?
Since when are you a matchmaker?
I met someone who might be into him.
And you didn’t tell her to run away?
Please just answer the question.
Easygoing? Fun?
Perfect. I’m 0 for 2.
You know Penn. He just likes to be liked.
