Little creases form between her brows. “Too hot for me.”
Okay, time to stop playing games. When I tug my hand again, this time she lets go. Instead of waking up, she slides onto her back and rolls on her side. Snuggling a pillow to her chest, she breathes heavily with a slight snore.
Unless I throw a glass of water over her head—which sounds like a great idea—she’s not moving. Shit! I should have left her in the hallway. But no, I had to stick my nose in her business. Now I’m stuck with her.
There’s no chance I’m sleeping on the floor or the uncomfortable-looking sofa. This is my room. My bed. I could leave her here and go to her suite or book another room, but I’m too exhausted. Jetlag is settling in, and doing anything else feels like too much trouble.
Kicking off my shoes, I then strip out of my jeans and t-shirt and toss them onto a nearby chair. My fingers hesitate at the waistband of my briefs. Should I take them off? I always sleep naked. If I’m sharing a bed with Penelope, I should leave them on. I wouldn’t want her accusing me of indecency or some shit.
Sliding into bed, I prop my head on the palm of my hand and stare at the ceiling. Not in a million years did I think I’d end up in bed with Penelope Aldin. Ten years ago, I never would have helped her with the paparazzi. I would have walked past her without giving her another thought. She got me expelled from high school, which completely change my life. I lost my chance of getting into college and playing football. A career path I was working toward. Luckily, I’m doing something I love more than football, and that’s being the head photographer and part owner of Alessi Fashion.
I look at Penelope and the old rage still simmers underneath the surface. I’ve switched my passion for football to photography, but that doesn’t mean I’ll ever forgive her.
Not only for my career, but for the death of my best friend.
The next morning, I wake to the sound of my cell phone vibrating on the nightstand. I scrub my hands over my face and prop myself into a sitting position. It’s then I remember Penelope. How could I have forgotten? Twice during the night I woke up with her arm flung around my waist and her leg wrapped around mine. Feeling her warm, soft body pressed against mine made for a difficult night’s sleep and a painful hard-on. Any woman draped over me like a second skin would pull out that reaction from me.
Grabbing the phone, I walk into the bathroom to take the call. I know what it’s about. I get this call from either Hayden or Finn on this day every year. My big brothers want to check up on me. Make sure I’m not going to drown myself in alcohol and do something stupid. I know they care, but after nine years, I’m getting sick of telling them I’m okay and they don’t need to bother.
I guess I’m not convincing them, because I haven’t convinced myself yet either. When I leave the hotel and head to the cabin, I plan to drink until the memories stop flooding my mind.
Not wanting to wake Penelope and have her overhear the conversation, I close the door behind me. I glance at the caller ID before I answer. “Hayden,” I say. It’s his turn this year.
“Hey, Lucas. How are you?” He doesn’t mask the concern in his voice.
“Like every other year, I’m good. I will not crack. Make sure you tell Finn too.” In the past, they’ve seen me broken. Picked me up from the floor. It’s no wonder they call on the anniversary of Garrett’s death.
“Just making sure.”
I lean my hip against the vanity. I know they mean well. The three of us are as close as brothers can be. If one of us is going through something, we all are.
“I’m fine. Really,” I say as convincingly as I can. “I’m heading to the cabin as soon as I get Pen—” I stop myself from saying Penelope. That’s a conversation I don’t have the energy for. I’ve never told them why I hate her so much. All they know is that something happened between us in high school.
“So you do have Penny Aldin in your hotel room. They’re saying you’re a couple. What the hell is going on? If you’re using her while she’s vulnerable after her public humiliation, I’m going to chop your balls off and shove them down your throat.”
“But if this is fuck-you revenge sex to get back at her ex, then well done to Penny,” Alyssa’s voice in the background cuts into the conversation.
“How do you know about Penelope?” I ask.
“It’s all over social media,” Hayden explains. “I thought you hated her.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose.I do one good deed, and now I’m paying for it.These assholes work fast.
“Nothing happened between us. I was helping her get away from the paparazzi. Ask Raymond to shut it down. Get a statement out saying I was helping her and that we are only…friends.” The word clogs my throat. We are anythingbutfriends. Hopefully, our PR manager will write something to shut the rumors down.
“The photos they took look like you’re more than friends,” Hayden says.
Shit! “Nothinghappened,” I reiterate. “Fix it. I’m spending the next few days at the cabin. I don’t have the time for this.”
“I’ll see what I can do. I can’t promise we can make it go away.” He clears his throat. “If you need us while you’re away, just call, and we’ll be at the cabin as soon as we can.”
“I know. Thanks. I’ll be fine. I want to take some photos for my exhibition.”
“How’s that coming along?”
For years I photographed beautiful women wearing beautiful clothes, which I love. Then one photoshoot in Italy pulled my attention into the direction of the culture, history, architecture, and people living in small villages with their lives etched on their faces. It was photographic heaven, and I was hooked.
With so many photos of fascinating subjects from all over the world, Hayden and Finn encouraged me to get a collection together and show them in a gallery. This was a creative outlet, something fun with no pressure. But now, with the exhibition only a couple of weeks away, I’m wondering if this hobby should stay that way. Are my photographs good enough? It’s too late to back out now. Everything is booked. Invitations have been sent. I have to see this through.
