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She flicks off her shoes and crosses her legs on the leather seat. “Do you want a view?”
I glance down at her thigh. “The view is pretty good from where I’m sitting.”
“Keep your eyes on the road, Hendricks.”
“Hendricks,” I say, amused. “Okay, Gilbert. I see where I stand. As for views, we’ll swing by the condo.”
“I don’t want to argue with you,” she says softly. I feel her eyes on me.
“Not argue. Negotiate.” I want to nail down what she needs. “It’s closer to your work. It has an office space if you want to start your own business and plan your work week because I don’t see how you can do all that in your tiny bedroom.” I keep talking so she can’t interrupt. “It has a guestroom if your parents want to visit. Most importantly, I can stay over without your roommates intruding when we’re fucking.”
“Fucking,” she says under her breath and turns to the window. “I thought I was more to you than a fuck.”
“You are,” I say firmly. “You know what I mean.”
There’s a space of silence before she replies, “I’d love for my parents to stay over.” Her voice is light, as if she is thinking about what that would be like.
“It’s yours, Pen. Do what you want with it. Sell it to buy something you think is more suitable.”
“Why do I feel like I don’t deserve it?” she murmurs. “You’re a generous man.”
I take her hand and lay it on my lap. “Only to those I care about.” I squeeze it. “And I care about you, Pen.”
“I care about you too.”
Jesus, I love the sound of her voice when she’s like this. There’s a sweet kindness radiating from her, and it penetrates deep into my soul. I feel her entire presence, and it makes me want to be a better man.
“I found somewhere I want to stop.” She taps away on her cell. “It closes soon. We’ll check out the condo later.”
“Give me the directions.”
“Said no man ever.” She smirks. “I hope you like donuts.”
“Is that even a question?”
“These are not ordinary donuts.”
“Is the coffee good?”
She laughs. “I have no idea, but there is a coffee shop nearby, closer to the beach.”
“What is it with you and the beach?”
She glances at me. “Doesn’t the beach bring you happiness?”
It does now.
Somewhere near Huntington Beach, I pull over, and Penny dashes inside the donut shop. She returns with a box—it was worth the stop to see her broad smile.
“These are for later with our coffee.”
“Can I plug in the directions?”
“Keep driving for another twenty minutes.”
My girl is bossy—a side to her I rarely see.
Penny turns the music up and sings out of tune. I listen to her tone and how she sings as though the song was written for her. It’s a song about love and the joy it brings, and I want to be the one to give it to her.
