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Gage chuckled. “Video game?”
She shook her head. “Bonesbinge watch.”
“That’s a great show. You know, now that I think about it, you sort of remind me of Brennan.”
Penny wasn’t sure if she should take that as a compliment or not, regardless of the fact she loved the show because she connected with the lead character. She opened the fridge. “I have PBR or Yoo-Hoo.”
Gage paused. “That’s a surprisingly difficult decision. I love Yoo-Hoo.”
“Who doesn’t?” she asked, grabbing each of them a bottle of the chocolate drink.
The two of them walked to the living room, sitting on opposite ends of the couch. He’d only been in her apartment twice, but he seemed at ease here. Almost like he fit. Especially when Forrest jumped onto his lap, purring loudly as he settled.
“Why is his name different from the others?” Gage asked. “You strayed from your Harry Potter theme.”
She glanced around the room at her cats, two of whom—Harry and Hermione—were dozing on the cat tree, while Luna lurked in the doorway, still leery after being woken up from her nap. “I called him Ron originally, but…well…he’s not exactly the brightest bulb in the lamp. One morning, I was brushing my teeth, and Forrest was sitting beside the bathtub, head tilted to one side, just looking at it. I swear there was nothing to see. He still does it. Every morning. It’s so random and weird. Anyway, I started calling him Forrest Gump and it stuck.”
He took in her appearance, looking at her a little more closely than she cared for, considering she’d done a complete one-eighty and reverted to Penny 1.0—pre-Gage-makeover.
“You know…” he started. “I don’t hate those glasses as much as I thought. They’re sort of growing on me.”
Of all the things she’d expected him to say, that wasn’t it.
“But that shirt sucks. What size is it?”
“Two-X,” she replied. A lot of her tees and sweatshirts were that size.
“You’re nowhere near a 2X. Why do you buy your clothes so big?”
She had no idea where all these questions were coming from, but she decided to just roll with it. “They’re more comfortable.”
“You sure you’re not hiding?”
“Hiding?” she asked, then she considered his question seriously. Was she hiding? “I don’t know. Maybe. When I was younger, it took me a little longer to lose my baby fat and a lot longer to develop my…” She held her hands out in front of her chest. “In middle school, I was the chubby girl. Believe me, you don’t want to be the chubby girl amongst a bunch of vicious thirteen-year-old girls, whose boobs came in right on time and perfectly.” Then she added, “Of course, you don’t want to be with boys that age either. They’re kind of ruthless dicks. Took me ages to shed the nickname Pancake.”
Gage gave her a quizzical look.
“I was flat and round.”
“Middle school kids suck. But, Beaumont, you’re gorgeous now. You see that, right?”
“I’m still kind of round,” she said, aware that perhaps Gage was right about her hiding. But what she hadn’t told him was the hated Pancake nickname had followed her right up through high school graduation, even after she’d stopped being flat and round. What was it about high school abuse that made it linger longer and cut deeper than insults lobbed during adulthood?
“You’re curvy in all the right places, which is what every fucking man in the world loves.”
She smiled halfheartedly. The first smile in days. “Thanks.”
“What’s wrong, Beaumont? Why the sick day?”
She considered lying but decided, what the hell? It wasn’t Gage’s fault his kiss had blurred some lines for her, created feelings she had no business feeling.
After all, she’d asked him to teach her the art of seduction as part of a favor, a bet. He was—or at least he had been—playing by rules she’d set. Now it felt like he considered the bet paid.
In truth, it was overpaid. She’d asked for too much, but…well…when he agreed to all of it, she thought maybe King of the Playboys wouldn’t mind having sex with her. “I don’t think the new look is working.”
“Why do you say that?” he asked.
She couldn’t tell Gage she was catching feelings for him. There was no way in hell she could say that. She might be clueless when it came to flirting and other girlie shit, but even she knew you didn’t tell the confirmed bachelor who was only with you because he lost a bet that you had the hots for him. So she picked the safer route. “There’s this guy,” she started.
