by Clover Hart
“You do know,” I say, “that Chicago’s way more expensive than Cherry Valley? If you’re set to make less there, or even if it’s a wash, that’s not going to better your circumstances.”
She shrugs. “Maybe I’m not the best at figuring out finances, but I ran a shop. I know something.”
“Have you talked to anyone with some business savvy who could look at this offer and tell you if it’s a decent one or not?”
“Good God, are you offering?”
“Yeah, maybe I am. Just how much will you be making, and what are your duties?”
When she tells me, I mutter a severe fuck under my breath. I wouldn’t be doing her any favors if I held back from telling her what she needs to hear.
“Penny, that’s pathetic, especially for Chicago.”
She’s looking at me as if I really should be shutting my mouth right about now.
But I don’t. “These parasites are taking advantage of you because you’re undereducated and from a little town that’s nothing more than a speck on the map. You’d be better off here, going to a real college in Marloe like Mandy’s doing and getting a real degree. After that, there’ll be a lot of doors open to you.”
Penny stares at me for another moment, and I think she might be about to cry. Oh, shit. She needed to hear every bit of what I said, but Zach often tells me that there are ways to phrase things, and I’m like a robot that’s stuck on an asshole loop.
When her jaw tenses up, I realize that, phew, crying isn’t on the agenda. But with an admirable amount of dignity, she slides off her barstool, then straightens the hem of her dress.
“Aw, crap,” I say. “Just sit back down and let me buy you a drink.”
“I don’t think so.” She starts to leave. “I’d prefer to get as far away from you as possible.”
I watch her go. I shouldn’t care. Hell, I should do what comes naturally and enjoy the way her dress hugs her ass as she takes a sharp turn into a hallway with a blaring RESTROOMS sign shining over it.
I turn back to the bar and drink the rest of my Jack and Coke, shrugging Penny off. I’ve got a date to get to, and I’m going to let off a lot of steam tonight after dealing with Mandy’s pain-in-the-tuchus sister.
Just as I’m getting up to go, I feel a hand clamp down on my shoulder. Even before I turn around, I know who it belongs to.
“What did you do to piss off a woman this time?” asks Zach.
Chapter 5
Penny
What a jerk. Total ass. Major fuckbump.
I’m running through the list of names that apply to Barry Aaronson as I use the blessedly empty restroom and wash my hands afterward. Venting feels great, but as I look at myself in the mirror, I only see a girl who’s playing dress-up with her hair in a spiky bun that was supposed to be sophisticated enough for a party meant to usher her into the big world. The same goes for the red lipstick that made me into what I truly believed to be a woman with a grand future.
Was I wrong about that?
I leave the lipstick on but yank the chopsticks out of my hair, mussing it up and leaving it long. There. Now that’s more like the Penny I know. This is the woman who knows what she’s doing, even if all of Barry’s unsolicited advice made her feel like a moron.
Barry can just go to hell for all I care. He really thinks he’s too good for anyone else, doesn’t he? He was probably spoiled growing up, raised with privilege, and he gets off on bossing around country hicks like me.
Well, I have news for him. Even though I grew up in Cherry Valley, I’m not a hick at heart. I actually have taste in jobs and I soon will have the same with men. I’m still going to Chicago, where the guys will be a huge cut above everyone I’ve tried here so far.
Everything is going to get better once I leave.
I pinch my cheeks to get some color into them and then smile at myself in the mirror. Perfect. I walk out the door, and the driving rhythm of an old Clint Black song welcomes me back. On my way down the dim hall, I say hi to some of my friends who’re on their way to the restroom. I accept their congratulations and push every stupid thing Barry said out of my mind.
Then I see him leaning against the planked wall. Shit. I make a great effort to sail by him.
“Penny.”
I lift a hand. Bug off with you and your deep voice. Uck.
“Penny!”
He snags my sleeve, and thanks to the tightness of my dress I bounce back to him, almost running into Gwen Milton behind me.
“Sorry,” I say to her as she gives Barry the side eye. Once she sees that I’ve got this, she pats my arm. It’s as if she’s wishing me luck in tolerating him.
I’ll need it.
Barry still has a hold of my sleeve, and when I stare at his hand, he lets go. There’s a buzzing sensation on the patch of skin where his hand was, and I rub at it, making it go away. Then I bar my arms over my chest — the one he was ogling before he started to offend me. I liked the attention at the time, but …
Wow, there is something seriously wrong with me.
“What do you want, Barry?”
He runs a hand through his hair, messing up its faux-careless style. Then he sighs roughly. “I’m sorry.”
“What was that?” I heard it, but he’s so uncomfortable that I want to make him say it again.
“I’m sorry,” he says loudly enough so that a few passing people turn toward him to stare. He shrugs and lowers his voice. “I was just trying to look out for you, Penny.”
I don’t think I heard him right. “You were being altruistic? You?”
When he nods, my anger cools, and damn me, but I’m going kind of soft as his words sink in. He was looking out for me, and it seems like he means it. I can tell by the way his shoulders aren’t as stiff and proud as usual. I can tell by something in his dark blue eyes.
Still, he’s Barry.
I lift my finger to him. “And why do you even give a toss? I mean, weren’t you the one who told me at Screaming Beans that you didn’t care about my leaving? The whole town even knows how many shits you don’t give about anything.”
He gets this pained expression on his face, and my BS radar goes off.
“You don’t mean it.” I roll my eyes and start to leave.
“Okay, okay,” he says, latching onto my sleeve again and lightly pulling me back. “Zach made me come here to apologize to you.”
I swat his hand away.
“But I did mean it, and I was genuinely trying to help you out.” He lifts his hands in mercy, because it probably looks like I’m going to smack him again, just for the hell of it. “Fuck, Penny, just listen for a second, would you?”
“Why should I?”
“Because business is the one thing I’m good at and, yeah, I can be abrasive about it. But I don’t like seeing people get taken advantage of. I sounded like a dick at the bar, but every word I said was true. I wasn’t just entertaining myself by picking apart your choices.”
I stare at him. I blink.
I think I believe him, even though I don’t want to. Even worse, that soft spot inside me is opening up, welcoming his concern. The losers I usually have drinks with never look out for me — I’ve always done that for myself — and it’s odd that Barry would be the first.
When he tries a tentative smile on me, it’s even … charming.
The new, improved Barry gestures toward the bar. “Let me buy you all the drinks you want, just to show you how sorry I am. I’ll put whatever you order for the rest of the night on my tab.”
“I’ve already got an open tab that my friends are paying for. Also, I’m still going to Chicago.”
“And I’m still paying for drinks, because if you’re gonna do this, you should be as liquored up as possible to numb the pain that’s waiting for you there.”
I frown at him. “You’re going to keep nagging me about the move, aren’t you?”
“Nah.” He stands away from the wall and jerks his chin toward the saloon. “Come on, Penny. Just for
give me and let’s forget about it.”
Wow, he is tall. I have to look up at him like I’m a kid who doesn’t know any better than to stay away from bad things like hot stoves and naughty dogs. And his shoulders … broad. His dark hair is thick and rich, and I wonder what it’d feel like to dig my fingers into it, pulling it and making him apologize to me one more time.
I think I might’ve had too much to drink already, or maybe not enough.
But he’s still got that sincere smile going on, and it might even be sort of hopeful, too. I roll my eyes again, just so he can see that I’m not so easily won over, and I turn to head for the bar.
Is it a terrible thing that I’m ultra aware of his fingers lightly touching my back to guide me through the crowd? Vibrations are buzzing under my skin, traveling to places that they shouldn’t be going.
This is Barry, I tell myself. Mandy would throttle you.
That basically turns me on even more.
On the way to the bar, friends wish me good luck, telling me to go get ‘em in Chicago, and I smile and thank them. All the while I’m thinking about Barry’s fingers on my back. Long, capable fingers that, according to Mandy, have seen a lot of action with other women.
And I’m still thinking about his fingers as we sit at the bar.
He orders another cherry cider for me, and even one for himself. He grins at me as if he’s admitting that he liked it when I made him try it, and he wants to show me that I was right. Wow, is he kissing up or what? I might enjoy making him do a whole lot more of it, too.
As I hear his phone ding, I watch him take it out of the lining of his sport coat, then swipe over the screen.
Yeah, he’s got great fingers.
“Sorry,” he says, putting the phone back into his pocket. “I won’t respond to any more pings. I’ll be a good boy.”
Then he glances into the crowd, and I follow his gaze. Zach is watching us, and he nods at Barry, then lets Mandy lead him onto the dance floor.
Lest I forget, it was Zach who urged this guy to apologize. “Is your master pleased?”
“Zach?” Barry laughs. “I guess he does work overtime trying to train me correctly. Someday, I might even make my way out of the doghouse.”
When Quinn Lonnigan serves our ciders, she winks at me from beneath all that heavy eyeliner, and it’s as if she’s wishing me luck with Barry. This seems to be a running theme for the night.
As I reach for my drink, I shift, then feel his hard thigh against mine. I don’t move, because I’m suddenly wondering if Barry takes runs with Zach every morning. I’m starting to get achy. I also realize that when it comes to Barry, I might need a lot of luck after all. Getting achy was not part of my plans for the night … or ever again when it comes to bad news like him.
I sputter into motion again, grabbing my sweating cider glass. He wraps his fingers (ah, those fingers) around his own drink.
“I like your hair better this way,” he says. “You know, without those chopsticks.”
He’s a jerk, even though he knows how to compliment a girl, I remind myself. I’m so done with jerks.
I touch my hair, then push a hank of it over my shoulder. “Thank you.” Then I coolly sip my cider. I sip and sip, hoping to wash away this building bad-news craving that’s oh-so familiar to me. It usually amounts to a lot of trouble, even though the start of it is always such fun.
So much fun that I can’t help myself, and I press my thigh against his again. His fingers grip his glass.
He casually glances toward the dance floor, and I do, too. Zach is trying to swing with Mandy.
“He’s doing a pretty good job for a newb,” I say while my pulse thumps.
“Sure, but he still looks like a nerd out there.” Barry takes a quick drink and then plants his glass onto the bar. Cider splashes up the side as he tightly swallows. “The great thing about Zach is that he doesn’t care if he looks dumb, as long as he’s with Mandy.”
“Yup, I think she found the last good man around town,” I say softly.
Barry leans closer to hear me, and I lean closer to him so I can repeat what I just said. Or at least I will repeat it after I think about how nice he smells. I’ll bet he took a shower right before coming here, and that gives a little tweak to my pulse.
Fingers. Showers. Skin.
I clear my throat. “I said, ‘I think she found the last good man around town.’”
He turns his mouth toward my ear. “Do you have the hots for him or something?”
His words rustle my hair and tickle my ear, and a thrill makes its slow way down my neck, through my chest, and into my belly. I cross my legs, but that only makes what I’m feeling between my thighs worse.
“Shut up about any crush.” I lean away from him. “I’d never do that to Mandy. Besides, Zach’s not my type.”
“Huh.” Crazy beats of music thump through me as Barry pauses then says, “What is your type?”
My answer is to drink a lot more. He drinks more, too. We both clump our glasses onto the bar, and there’s a lot less cider splashing up the sides now.
The music plays on as I watch my glass and he watches his.
“Never mind,” he finally says, shifting toward me so that his knee nudges my leg. “So do you already have an apartment lined up in Chicago or …?”
“Listen, Barry.” I can’t do this anymore. It’s hard to breathe. My head is a mess of need and want and now, and the longer I sit here, the better the idea of Barry becomes. But it’s an awful idea. Isn’t it? “You might’ve heard about me.”
“I have?”
“Yes. I’m the impulsive Burnett sister. If it feels right, I usually do it. My parents are baffled by the choices I make as well as the guys I date — or used to date, because I won’t be dating their type once I get to Chicago.”
“Ah, yes, their type. And what is that type again?”
“Losers. Guys who come down from the mountains to party. Tourists who go to the wineries and seem like fun for a short time. Jerks who’ll end up sleeping with the Spanish mixologist at the Acentric Alchemist once it reopens for business.” I glare at him. “Have you slept with her?”
“Zach forbids me to sleep with any women in town. I’m not attracted to the country girl thing anyway.”
“That’s good.” I smack him on the arm in a show of unity. “That’s really good.”
“Because …?”
“If you don’t like Cherry Valley girls, that means nothing is going to happen here.” I really can talk myself out of this. “I’m country. I try not to be, but geographically, I’ll be a Cherry Valleyian until I get to the city, so I’m not even remotely your type. Besides, Zach would get all over your business if I were to take even another sip of this drink and lose all my judgment. Except for the bad judgment, of course.”
He seems just as confused as I am. “It’s almost like you’re trying to talk me out of something. Or talk you out of something. Or talk us both into something.” He gives me a look. “Is there something?”
“I don’t know. Is there?”
He just keeps looking at me, but there’s a gleam in his eyes now that gets me going even more. Heat. Curiosity. Rebellion.
Oh shit, rebellion.
So what’s a girl to do when her cha-cha is warming up while every reason to stay away from Barry is shutting down? I told myself that I’m done with bad-news boys. I’m turning over a new leaf in Chicago. But Barry is so damned interesting in some messed-up way, and wouldn’t Mandy and Zach just freak the hell out if …
Something twisted in me whispers, It’s your going away party, Penny. No one will ever know …
God help me, I’m so twisted.
I lean my legs toward Barry until one of them presses against his thigh, then I rest my elbow on the bar, propping my head into my palm and looking up at him. A muscle ticks in his jaw as he stares down at me.
One last hurrah in Cherry Valley, I think. Then I’m gone.
“So?” I ask.
“So …” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Shit, I’m still not sure what’s happening here.”
Me either. “Well, when your brain catches up, I live on 555 Bing Avenue, Apartment six. I’m heading there now.”
He glances at the dance floor again, but when his gaze returns to me, it’s mission freakin’ accomplished. There’s fire, temptation … everything I’m feeling, too.
Just for tonight.
“I can drive,” he says.
I don’t know how I do it, but I coolly slide off my chair. “Don’t bother. I knew I’d be catching a Lyft home anyway. Does a half hour sound good?”
“A half hour. Yeah. Sure.”
I start to leave, then on second thought bolt back to the bar, where I grip Barry’s sport coat and haul him toward me until my mouth is against his ear.
“And keep your mouth shut.”
I push him away, and just before I go, I see a look of pure turned-on amazement on his face. Then, like I always do, I get the hell out of there before my common sense can catch me.
Chapter 6
Penny
The first thing I do at home is change my flannel sheets to something more sultry. I grapple with the linen and smooth out the bed cover, then stand back, satisfied. Afterward, I go to my TV and put it on a digital party music channel, because this is still my party, dammit. Then I go to the fridge and grab an unopened bottle of cherry cider. I drink a little bit, but not too much — just enough to convince myself that Mandy and Zach will never hear about what I’m going to do with the guy I shouldn’t be doing it with.
I actually don’t need a drop more of alcohol to get me in the mood for Barry. I shouldn’t find him attractive at all, but whenever I’m around him, I get tingly. I get hot.
I get stupid.
But stupid is as stupid does, and after there’s a knock on my door, I smooth down my dress and go answer it. My body knows I’m about to get some, and as usual, my hormones are doing a slammin’ happy dance.
When I open the door, Barry just stands there. I do the same. It’s like neither of us knows how to proceed. Under the porch light, he’s cuter than ever with the longish hair that he tries so hard to style into some kind of whatever nonchalance. Also … intensely dark blue eyes. Tall. Bad news.
