Bad Penny

by Staci Hart

  My smile stretched wider along with my heart. “Oh, there you are.” I cupped his cheek and laid a little kiss on his lips.

  But then his hand found my naked hip and pulled, bringing me closer, and the kiss wasn’t so little anymore.

  I broke away after a moment, breathless. “Jesus, Bodie. I don’t even know if I could have another orgasm.”

  “Is that a challenge? Because I really, really love to win.”

  His hand trailed to the back of my thigh and pulled, slinging my leg over his hip — his cock was already hard again against me.

  “I didn’t get to take my time,” he said, his eyes darkening as his pupils shot open.

  So I did the only thing I could with him looking at me like that, with the hard length of him shifting against my piercing — I let him.

  * * *

  Bodie

  An hour later, I found myself trying to catch my breath, lying flat on my back with a sweaty Penny splayed across my sweaty chest.

  “I can’t feel my legs,” she panted, her voice gruff.

  I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face to even pretend to be cool. “Then my work here is done.”

  She laughed, and all I could think about was the feeling of her nipple rings against my skin.

  Get a fucking grip, man.

  Of course, then I imagined her gripping me, which didn’t help me stave off another boner. I wasn’t even sure how it was physiologically possible, yet there it was.

  She noticed and propped herself up to look at me, incredulous and amused. “I don’t think my vagina can take any more tonight, Bodie.”

  I smirked. “I can’t either, but it’s got a mind of its own.”

  She laughed as she slid off me — literally, we were soaked — and starfished out next to me on her back. “God, that was good. Can we do it again?”

  I chuckled. “Anytime you want.”

  Penny turned her head to look at me, and I did the same, resting my hand on my chest.

  “I have to warn you though …”

  One of my brows rose. “You come with a warning label?”

  “No, I come with your face between my legs.”

  A laugh burst out of me.

  She smiled. “I don’t date, Bodie. It’s not just for me — I haven’t been serious with anyone in a long time, and … well, that’s not what I’m looking for. I need you to know and agree to it before we go any further.”

  I watched her for a second before answering. Her purple hair was fanned out all around her, her naked, tattooed body stretched out next to me, and right then, I knew I was in trouble.

  The first problem: I’d been crushing on her since I was sixteen.

  The second problem: I was officially obsessed with every inch of her body.

  The third problem: There was no way I would walk away from her after that. Not without putting up a fight.

  But the biggest problem of all was this: I couldn’t put up a fight, or I’d spook her.

  I knew Penny well enough from high school to know that I was playing with fire. And I knew I’d probably get burned if I fell for her, but if I could hang on to her? Well, it’d be worth the risk. Because I wanted more Penny. I wanted more of her smiles. I wanted to know where she’d been and what she wanted out of life. I wanted her in my bed and in my shower and anywhere I could get her. All I had to do was convince her that she wanted the same.

  So I made up my mind and stepped into the lion’s cage with a chair in one hand and a whip in the other.

  “I’m in. No strings.”

  That ruby-red smile widened. “Good. And if you catch feelings, I need to know.”

  “Deal,” I lied, “and you do the same.”

  She laughed at that, a sound that hit me right in the chub. “Oh, I don’t catch feelings. On account of my black heart and all.”

  By the way she was looking at me, I didn’t believe her for a second. But if that was what she thought … well, like I’d said, I loved to win.

  4

  WHAT WOULD BLANCHE DO?

  Penny

  I skipped down the stairs of our building the next morning, whistling “Yankee Doodle” with Veronica and Ramona in my wake.

  “‘Yankee Doodle’? Really?” Ramona called after me.

  I jumped off the last step and spun around, making a whistle show of calling it macaroni, complete with jazz hands.

  Veronica laughed. “I still don’t get why Yankee Doodle would call the feather in his hat pasta.”

  They caught up, and we started down the sidewalk, heading for Tonic — the tattoo parlor a couple of blocks away where we all worked.

  “Well,” I said like the know-it-all I was, “that’s because macaroni used to be a term for fashionable.”

  “How do you know shit like this?” Veronica asked.

  I shrugged. “I just remember useless stuff like that. I hear it once and bam.” I tapped my temple. “Steel trap. Problem is, it doesn’t actually hold important information. Or numbers. Don’t make me try to remember numbers, or math. I cannot math.”

  “We know, honey.” Ramona smiled and patted my arm. “We’ve all seen you try to split a check.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  She didn’t wait for further response. “So, are you going to tell us what happened last night? If I hadn’t woken up late, I would have alarm-clocked you so hard. I need answers.”

  “I can’t say I’m bummed to have missed you jumping on my bed to harass me before I had to be up.”

  Bodie crossed my mind — flashes of his hands and lips and smile and God, I was about him. I smiled to myself.

  I’d left his house sore in all the right places and knees about as stable as quicksand. Once I’d floated home, I’d sunk into my bed and slept like I was dead — no dreams, nothing. I didn’t even think I’d rolled over once.

  I hadn’t been nailed that well in a good long while. And when I’d woken, he had been on my mind.

  I was infatuated. Smitten. Giddy and grinning and gone.

  “Earth to Penny. Anybody in there?” Veronica pinched my arm.

  “Ow!” I rubbed the spot and stuck my tongue out at her.

  “You deserve that. So much for a wingwoman. Your ass barely hit the seat before you disappeared with Blondie.”

  I wrinkled my nose, but I was smiling. “Yeah, sorry. And you’re never going to believe this; I fucking know him.”

  Ramona’s brow quirked. “Well, I mean, that was the guy from the ice cream shop yesterday, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, but also, we went to high school together. I didn’t even recognize him — he looks completely different.”

  “I’d imagine so if you didn’t recognize him,” Veronica said. “No way Blondie wouldn’t have made it onto your radar.”

  “Right? The guy went from Chris Pratt in Parks and Rec, dumping Skittles into his mouth, to Chris Pratt in Guardians of the Galaxy, shirtless and ripped and orange and all mad because they stole his Walkman. Except it’s even less obvious than that. Like, he had glasses and braces and … I don’t even know, man. He was hidden inside of there that whole time. I remembered his eyes the most. Is that weird?”

  “Not at all,” Ramona answered. “When did you figure it out?”

  “When his face was between my legs.”

  They both busted out laughing.

  “Just kidding. It was actually post-face-between-the-legs.”

  Ramona frowned a little. “He wasn’t, like … stalking you or anything, right?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said, considering it again. “No, I mean, he seemed just as surprised to see me as I was to see him. But, man, let me tell you, the dude went downtown like it was his only purpose in life.”

  Veronica sighed. “I need to find a boyfriend.”

  “No, you need to find a fuck boy,” I corrected. “Anyway, his name is Bodie, and he has a twin brother named Jude. Maybe his pussy-eating is a genetic trait.” I waggled my brows.

  She laughed and shoved me in the arm.
“Ugh, you.”

  I just smiled.

  “Are you going to see him again?” Ramona asked hopefully.

  “I want to.” I felt high, my body still humming and purring his name. “Guys, he kinda blew my mind. I can’t believe I went to high school with him.”

  “So, what’s the story?” Veronica stuffed her hands into the pockets of her black romper, her heels clicking on the sidewalk. Hair in a French twist, high on top, she looked totally elegant and gorgeous and classic, offset by full sleeves, a septum ring, and gauges like mine. I swear, she was the most badass of us all and the least emotionally available.

  “Well, he was friends with Rodney—”

  A collective groan passed over the peanut gallery of two.

  “Just hear me out, for chrissake,” I huffed. “As I was saying, he lived next door to Rodney, and I guess they’d been friends since the second grade or something. But when we hit high school, Rodney turned into a fox and started his band, and Bodie and Jude … well, I guess they were late bloomers. They were always so cute — you know, in that, like, puppy sort of way where you go Aww. But I didn’t even know their real names. I knew them by Diddle and Dee Dee.”

  Veronica’s mouth popped open. “Those nicknames are fucking awful.”

  I chuckled. “I know, trust me. I meant to ask him the story there, but I was way too busy with his dick.”

  They giggled.

  “Guys,” I said on a laugh, “I got diddled by Diddle.”

  I got a solid cackle for that one.

  I shook my head, smiling. “I guess Rodney gave them the nicknames. That’s not altogether surprising. Rodney was a cockjuggler.”

  “So are you,” Ramona teased.

  “It’s true, and I don’t judge a fellow juggler of cocks for their extracurriculars,” I said with a hand out. “He was always kind of shitty to them.” My tone softened a little, the edge all gone as I thought back, wishing I’d seen Bodie back then, wishing he hadn’t just disappeared into my periphery. “They were around a lot — hanging at practice, sometimes at the parties. I just don’t know why they hung around when Rodney was such an asshole to them. He was always teasing them about something, but he was so slick about it, you know? Most of the time, I didn’t know if he was complimenting or cutting me down. Bodie had so much more in common back then than I realized.”

  I hated Rodney for what he’d done to all of us and found myself scowling at the memory of him, but I brushed it off and bucked up, smiling again with a shrug.

  “Anyway, his loss. And now I find out that Diddle grew up to be Bodie, the super-hot surfer hunk. I would have bet a million dildos that I’d never see him again and been wrong, and I’ve never been so glad to be wrong in my life. He was incredible. Life-changing. He’s real smart too. I mean, he was always a brainiac in high school, and now he does … something in computers, I think.”

  I got a look from Veronica. “You don’t know what he does for a living?”

  I made a noise like an air leak. “You are such a judgy whore, Ronnie. One of these days, the tables are gonna be turned, but instead of being all Oh, look at me. I’m so perfect and smart and do everything right,” I mocked, “I’ll be like, Way to go, bitch! and buy you a really big, whorey penis cake.”

  She laughed.

  “I’m gonna tell the erotic baker to make it spurt vanilla icing. I’ll have them make licorice pubes and everything. Dick cake. It’s genius really — two of my favorite things. And that’s what you have to look forward to — no judgment.”

  Veronica shook her head, though she looked entirely amused. “You are so bad, Penny.”

  “I am. And I’m just like a bad penny too. I always turn up. There’s no getting rid of me.”

  “Wouldn’t want it any other way.” She slung an arm over my shoulder. “You’re a good friend—”

  “Thank you,” I said sweetly.

  “Even if you’re disgusting.”

  I leaned into her as we walked up to Tonic’s door. “Aw, I love you too.”

  Ramona pulled open the door, and Veronica and I walked in, still canoodling. “Precious” by The Pretenders played over the speakers.

  “Look, Ronnie — it’s your song!”

  She laughed, slapping me on the ass when we parted.

  Ramona beelined for the counter where Shep waited, smiling from behind his thick beard. I swear to God, he and his brother, Joel, had the most virile hair of any men I’d ever seen.

  She practically jumped into his big, meaty arms. Ramona was a tiny blonde thing covered in tattoos, and he was a big, hairy beast with a smile only for her.

  I found myself smiling too, watching how gross they were. They almost made me wish I wanted to fall in love.

  The thought actually made me laugh out loud.

  I made my way to my station in the back and stepped into my little cube to get myself situated.

  Tonic was one of the premier tattoo parlors in Manhattan, so good that most of us were booked out for months. Joel and Shep had opened it forever ago and had curated some of the best talent in the city — so much talent that they got attention in the way of awards, magazine features, and even a deal with a TV studio.

  About a year before, we’d started filming a reality show in the shop, which basically turned the place into a telenovela. Drama city. But man, was it fun, and everyone had seemed to get it all out of their systems in the first season. Season two would start filming soon, kicking off with Ramona and Shep’s wedding.

  I sat at my desk, humming along to Stone Temple Pilots, pulling out my sketchbook to work on a piece for that afternoon, and in a snap, the day was nearly gone. My thoughts had been on Bodie the whole time.

  I wondered all sorts of things — what was he doing? Where had he been all those years? Where the fuck did he learn to bang like that? What had happened to the kid I knew so long ago?

  I’d always liked Diddle. I remembered him making me laugh, even when I was sad, the snark in him appealing to the snark in me. I never thought about him like I had been since running into him, and now it bothered me a little that I’d been so shallow back then. Of course, I was sixteen and had been obsessed with a complete and utter dickhole. I’d had no sense. None. If I had, I’d have dumped Rodney and found somebody who at least had a little respect for me and wouldn’t give Anna Dorf rides home from school, which I’d later learned was code for blow jobs.

  One time, we had all been at a bonfire on the beach for a kegger, and Rodney just left me there. One minute he was there, the next, poof, I had been stranded at the beach with no ride home.

  I’d been sitting away from the crowd, drunk and crying and dejected, and Bodie had sat next to me with his drink. He hadn’t asked me what was wrong or pointed out that I was crying. He hadn’t mentioned Rodney at all. He’d just sat there with me until my tears ran dry, and then he’d asked me if I’d ever seen Donnie Darko. And for the next hour, we’d talked about a hundred other things — movies and music, our teachers and school gossip — and by the end of the night, I’d felt like I was going to be okay after all. He’d asked me if I needed a ride home and delivered me safely at my doorstep like a white knight.

  It was maybe one of the nicest things a guy had ever done for me without expectation on how they’d be repaid. Bodie had given exactly what I needed in the moment without me having to ask. He’d just known.

  And now … now Diddle had gone and grown up, and boy, had he grown up right.

  I couldn’t help but smile, my heart all flippy and fluttery and ooey and gooey. I thought about all the things he’d done to me and thought about how many more I wanted him to do. I imagined his body, so strong and hard, his smile, so bright and gorgeous, and then smiled even wider at the knowledge that those braces that had helped disguise him back then had granted me that smile.

  I thought about his lips and how they were the exact same shade as the head of his cock, just like I’d figured. And then I was thinking about his cock and clenching the saddle stool betwe
en my thighs to relieve the pressure. Three shifts of my hips, and I probably would have had an orgasm. That was just how ridiculously hot I was for him.

  I didn’t even know why he was any different from the other dudes I’d dated. I’d been with plenty of guys — hot guys, funny guys, smart guys, dumb guys. Rich guys, poor guys, and more. But Bodie was like the best of all of them, rolled into one. If I could have hand picked a guy, with the brains, looks, attitude, and wang skills I wished for, it would be him.

  And now I couldn’t stop thinking about him, couldn’t stop wondering when I’d see him again. And I wanted to see him again as soon as possible even if it was too soon.

  Maybe it was just because I’d known him so long ago. Maybe it was because he’d nailed me into oblivion. Maybe I was just infatuated, which was my primary function.

  All I knew was this: I was so very impressed, and it was so very hard to impress me.

  Once, I’d heard Patrick, one of the other tattoo artists, joking about a chick being dicknotized. And the word hit me as my needle buzzed in my hand, working on an elaborate henna design on a girl’s thigh.

  I was dicknotized.

  I laughed way louder than was appropriate, thankful for having the foresight to have moved my gun, since the girl in my chair jumped a mile.

  “Sorry,” I said through my giggling as I got back to work. “So, I have to warn you. I’m a verbal processor, and there’s something I’ve gotta talk out. Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “Have you ever had dick so good that you can’t ever forget it? Like, you’re obsessed with it?”

  “I’m a lesbian.”

  I rolled my eyes and traced the purple lines of the transfer on her thigh. “Oh, come on, killjoy. Voodoo pussy. Ever have one?”

  She sighed wistfully. “Yeah. Her name was Brandie.”