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I chuckle, because I’ve heard him try it too. “Yeah, he’s pretty bad at it.”
“Oh yeah,” Penny responds. “Anyway, guess I better try and drive my car home without actually touching any part of it.”
I open the door of the work truck, pausing to look at her over the roof. “Hop in,” I say.
Penny tilts her head to the side, a confused look on her face as she stares at me over the roof of the truck.
“Hop in,” I say again. “We’ll head up to my place and shower. I’ll drive you back afterward.”
I slide into the driver’s side without waiting for her answer, without stopping to think about why the hell I even asked her to come back to my place. Penny’s never been to my house and I’m not sure why I’m asking her to come back there now.
Yeah, we both need a shower, but she’s also got a car and a shower back at her place, I’m sure. She could just as easily drive home and shower there, without ever stepping foot in my house.
So why the fuck did I suggest it just now?
I turn on the ignition, not wanting to process what I’ve just done or why. The passenger door is still closed and I figure Penny also doesn’t know what to make of my suggestion and isn’t planning on taking me up on it. Shoving the car into reverse, I’m about to drive home when the passenger door opens and Penny gets in.
Chapter Seventeen
Penny
“This is your house?” I ask, trying to mask the shock as I stare slack-jawed at the beautiful structure in front of us.
We took a small gravel-paved road toward the back of the Somerville property, winding through the grapevines and along the mountainside, a place I’ve never ventured in the time I’ve worked here. I’ve never had any reason to come back here, especially after Lauren had told me it pretty much dead-ended here. But it far from ended in the way I pictured.
My brain had conjured up images of overgrown land dotted with trees and the occasional wild-growing grapevine, but certainly not a stunning custom home built atop a small hillside that looks down on the vineyards of Somerville’s.
“Yeah, why?” Tommy asks, but as much as he’s trying to remain casual, he’s failing. There’s this nervous energy sparking in the air around us as he looks at the house and then back at me.
“Um, well, you never fucking mentioned that you live in the most beautiful house on the property. How the hell did you score this one while Lauren and Jack live in the cottage out front?” I lift my chin in what I assume is the direction of the entrance, but I have no idea exactly where we are.
Tommy doesn’t answer right away but walks up to a door on the side of the house near the garage.
“I bought the land from Lauren and Ellen about ten years ago and built the house,” he now says shyly, like he’s admitting to robbing a bank once.
“Okay, let’s go back a few steps,” I say, pausing behind him as he opens the door. “So, you built the house with your bare hands, like all on your own?”
He laughs a little, chucking mindlessly as if what I’ve said is totally ridiculous. What’s ridiculous is that I had no idea he lived here. I also have no idea why I got in his truck and decided to come home with him. It’s late and I should probably just go home, but I was intrigued by his invite and our sudden friendship.
“Well, not exactly on my own, but yes. I did a lot of the work on my own.”
We step inside and I try to control the obnoxious gasp that falls from my lips, pretending to pass it off as a cough. While the house isn’t massive or anything, it has these vaulted ceilings and oversized wood beams and beautiful tall windows that show the landscape in all directions.
“I guess I didn’t...” I start, but cut myself off, unsure of what to say that isn’t going to come out mildly insulting.
Tommy is rugged and dirty and rough around the edges. His hair is always disheveled, and he rarely shaves on a regular basis, living with a five o’clock shadow that tends to push a few extra days. His nose is a little crooked as if he’s been in a fight or two, and he’s always carried himself as if he gives no fucks, but this house screams otherwise.
The house is spotless and impeccably decorated and while it’s clear it’s a guy’s house, it’s as masculine as he is dirty, it’s also far more welcoming than I ever would’ve expected.
“I guess you really put down roots here, huh?” I say, changing my course and not wanting to insult him by saying his house doesn’t match his dirty-who-gives-a-fuck attitude.
“Yeah, guess so,” he says, but his words are clipped and quiet. “Bathroom’s over here.” He walks toward a small hallway, pointing to a door. “Hang on and I’ll grab you something to change into,” he adds, walking away quickly.
“Okay,” I reply, dragging out the word as he basically runs away from me. One minute he’s joking around with me and we’re chatting and laughing and now he’s all weirded out by me being in his house. He’s the one who invited me back here.
He comes back a few seconds later and thrusts a t-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts at me, but barely makes eye contact.
“I hope these are clean,” I say, holding up the boxers. “If not, it’ll be like your naked balls and dick are touching my coochie.”
