by Tabatha Kiss
Thankfully, there is a silver lining to all of this. It seems to have worked perfectly on Dylan McCoy. He’s barely said a word to me since Hayden left...
Since Hayden kissed me.
It is what I requested, wasn’t it? Just a quick game of pretend, a kiss on the cheek, and voila! He walks away twenty dollars richer and I go back to living my life. Can’t say I expected it to come with a bolt of throbbing lightning aimed straight at my—
“Penelope.”
I look up from my drink to find my mother staring at me from the other side of the table. “What?” I ask.
The room has filled-up quite a bit since mine and Hayden’s epic lie. Aunts and uncles. Cousins once, twice, three times removed from both sides of the family. Every last one of them is now well aware of my totally real and accurate personal activities thanks to my father’s big mouth.
My baby girl’s bagged a Botsford! Handsome kid, too. How’s Sally?
My mother glares at me. “Mr. Botsford,” she says, the name obvious tasting like acid on her tongue. “Your grandmother would like to know how you met the young man.”
I hold my breath as I scan the table, softly locking eyes with the women staring back at me with great interest. Even my father has turned around in his chair from the next table over to listen in.
“Um...” I hesitate, trying to come up with something plausible. “We met in a bar,” I say.
My mother closes her eyes to make the rolling a little less obvious.
“Yeah, a bar,” I say, thinking fast. “It’s a funny story, actually. I had no idea who he was and we just sorta got to talking about…”
My eyes hop around the room, looking to trigger some sort of plausible improvisation. I land on the television across the bar, still displaying a baseball game over the bartender’s head. Hayden was watching it when I approached him before… He even shouted at it once or twice.
“Baseball,” I say.
“Baseball?” my mother repeats
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Since when do you care about baseball?”
I reach for my drink. I’m gonna need a little tongue loosening if I plan on keeping these lies up. Man, I did not think this through. It would have been far easier to spit out bullshit if the guy wasn’t a fucking billionaire.
I take a thick sip and set it back down. “Ever since that new girl at work, Iris, started putting it on the TV at the salon. Ace and I kinda got addicted to it.”
Another blatant eye roll plagues my mother’s face. That’s right. I brought up the salon. Until Hayden, it was one of the many aspects of my life she likes to pretend doesn’t exist.
A snort rises up from beside me. “I’d be addicted to baseball if I were banging a third baseman, too.”
My Aunt Leigh scoffs from her other side. “Trudy…”
I turn to look at my young cousin. “What?” I ask.
She glances up from her phone and tilts it in my direction. “This is your guy, right?” she asks.
I lean over to check out the photo displayed on her screen. It’s definitely Hayden… I think. Swap out the jeans and t-shirt for a blue and white baseball uniform with dirt stains and cleats. I pinch-zoom in on his face and that familiar bolt of lightning travels down my spine.
“Yeah,” I say. “That’s Hayden.”
Trudy leans back and focuses on her phone again. “Says here he plays third base for LA.”
“He does?”
She blinks at me with suspicion. “You didn’t know that?”
“No, I did,” I say quickly. “He just… I thought he switched to first.”
Nailed it.
In the end, she shrugs, seemingly buying it along with everyone else within earshot, though I can’t say the same about Dylan McCoy. I catch him staring at me from my father’s table as he takes his own phone from his pocket. Maybe I should do some Googling of this guy, too, before I really fuck this up…
“So, yeah,” I say, clearing my throat. “We met at a bar back in LA. Got to talking baseball. Low and behold, I didn’t realize who he was for like an hour and a half. Made a real ass of myself. Excuse me…”
The ladies around the table chuckle at the cute story as I slide my chair back and grab my purse.
“I’m gonna use the restroom,” I say. “Be right back.”
I bolt away from the table, following the signs around the large cluster of tables toward the restrooms in the far corner.
As soon as I’m out of sight, I withdraw my phone from my purse and plant myself in the first bathroom stall, locking the door behind me and sitting down on the toilet’s lid.
“Hay…den…Bots…ford,” I mutter as I tap his name into the search box.
A thousand results instantly pop up, confirming the same information Trudy gave me before. Twenty-eight years old, so only about three years older than me. Third baseman for Los Angeles. Drafted into the minors at age seventeen (?!) but he couldn’t officially join until his eighteenth…
Motor vehicle incident leaves popular baller on the injured list?
I click the headline and quickly scan the article. Los Angeles player Hayden Botsford was put on medical leave this week after an accident on the 405 left him…
My chest aches with sympathy. Damn, that doesn’t sound pleasant. Poor guy…
I flick back to the search results and scroll down for more. Oh, nice. He’s got an Insta—
My jaw drops.
He likes shirtless selfies.
He really likes shirtless selfies.
… And women in bikinis.
I sneer. Whatever. He’s not really my boyfriend. I have no right to get jealous.
I scroll a little slower, my gut twinging the further I get down his page. More gorgeous women. More photos of him with gorgeous women…
Nope. Not jealous.
That would be crazy.
Oh, shit.
I jolt, nearly dropping the phone to the floor.
I liked it.
I accidentally liked one of his gym selfies.
I tap twice again, quickly undoing my like. Maybe he won’t see it. Please, dear God, don’t let him notice that. No, he won’t notice. A guy like this gets thousands of likes every day. There’s no way he’d notice just one…
Right?
Four
Hayden
Ira glares at me from behind his desk while I impatiently wait for his response. His brow twinges, only slightly furrowed, meaning he’s annoyed. Or hungry. Or content. It’s hard to tell, really. He always looks like this.
Finally, he exhales. “No,” he answers.
I deflate. “Oh, come on, Ira—”
“I’m not telling you what room a guest is staying in because you want to sleep with her.”
“Hey.” I raise a hand. “It’s not like that.”
“Oh, yeah?” he asks with doubt.
“We have a connection,” I say.
“I’m sure you do.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t.”
“Your beard looks very shiny today,” I say, switching tactics. “New balm?”
“Same as always.” He shifts forward and rests his shoulders on his desk. “You’re still not getting the room number.”
“Dammit.”
“Since when do you not secure an invite back to the room anyway?” he asks, a smirk rising up his cheek. “She reject you or what?”
I scoff. “Absolutely not.”
“Then, why are you stalking her?”
“I’m not stalking her!” I place my palms on his desk. “Listen, she came to me for help.”
“Her first mistake.”
I ignore the jab. “She asked me to pretend to be her boyfriend in front of her crazy family who want her to mate with some dude in an ugly suit.”
He raises a brow. “O-kay...”
“And I, being the saint I am, did just that… in-exchange for a minor fee.”
“You asked her for money?”
“She offered money and I accepted it.”
“Very classy, Hayden.”
“But there was a spark!” I say. “Big spark. Powerful spark. Felt it deep within my…” I gesture a little too far downward before settling on my chest. “Gut.”
“And has she confirmed this powerful spark deep within her own… gut?” he asks.
I pause. “No, I haven’t had the chance to follow up with her yet, but—”
“So, basically, she paid you for a service and instead of taking the money and going away as she likely expects, you want her confidential guest information so you can… what?”
I hesitate. “So that I might rap upon her chamber doors for a little late night… you know.”
Ira nods slowly. “You want to sleep with her.”
“Desperately,” I say.
“Thank you for telling the truth, big brother,” he says. “There’s hope for you yet.”
“So, you’ll tell me her room number?”
He scoffs. “No.”
I push off his desk and glare at him. “Fine.”
Ira chuckles. “She must be very attractive, though,” he says. “If she’s got your panties all riled-up like this.”
“Consider my panties riled and completely soaked through with my wetness.”
“Well, putting that visual image aside…” He stands up and buttons his suit jacket as he walks around his desk. “I am confident in your ability to hit that by striking up a conversation like a normal person. In the meantime, get out of my office. Some of us aren’t on medical leave and have real work to do. Speaking of which, you should be resting and icing. Not stalking poor helpless women.”
“I’m not stalk—” I stand a little taller, stretching my near identical height until I’m a sliver of an inch above him. “And here I thought Graham was the killjoy.”
He studies my face for a moment. “Hayden, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were nervous to see this girl again.”
“Not nervous. Just…” I pause. “She was fun to talk to. I don’t want to screw it up.”
Ira smiles. “Aw. That’s cute.”
I turn toward the door. “Shut up.”
“Hayden’s got an itty bitty crush.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Nah, you’re right,” he teases. “You’re a fierce alpha male who only wants one thing.”
“Yes, I am,” I say.
“Oh, hey. Pro-tip!” He motions to the side with his right arm. “When you spoon after making sweet love to her for the first time, try to slip your bottom arm beneath her pillow. Way more comfortable than shoving it between your bodies and not nearly as degrading as just telling her to leave.”
I roll my eyes and yank the door open. “You know, Ira, one of these days, you will turn to me for help and I will reject you as you have rejected me.”
“Doubt it.” He waves. “Good luck!”
I close his door behind me, swallowing hard as I stumble right on back to square one.
Ira does have a point about something, though. Romance hasn’t always been my forte. Fucking, sure. I have no problems approaching a woman for a good night or two but beyond that…
I never really saw myself as the relationship type of guy. And women haven’t either.
So, why do I feel so weird about Penelope? Why am I hesitant to rely on the same moves I usually use?
Why did it feel so good to hold her hand as the word boyfriend came out of her mouth?
This is ridiculous.
I don’t know a thing about this woman.
I shake my head, banishing the thoughts away as I head down the office wing toward the lobby. My hand runs on auto-pilot, sliding my phone from my pocket and swiping the screen. I tap and tap, desperately opening social media apps to distract myself with a little bit of nothing. A hundred new followers. A couple of friend requests. Little spikes of dopamine to drown out the Penelope haze…
PennyLove818 liked your photo.
I pause my stride. With my back to the wall, I tap the username and hold my breath as the profile loads.
It’s her. Jeez, why didn’t I think to look her up? She definitely thought to look me up…
My stomach clenches. Oh, God, she looked me up.
What else did she find?
Wait — what photo did she like?
I find it quickly and smile. One of my many gym selfies, though… she’s not listed as liking it anymore. Did she undo it? Was it an adorable accident she wanted to bury forever?
I go back to her profile. Penelope Warren. Burbank, California.
I cut hair, is all the profile reads. I chuckle.
She stares back at me from her profile picture. One of those only slightly posed over-the-shoulder pictures with her strawberry blonde hair blowing in the wind in front of an ocean background. Santa Monica Pier, from the looks of it. I know it well.
I scan her photos, my smile widening. Lots of pictures of various hairstyles and salon products. And food. She likes food.
She really likes food.
New shears at work. It’s gonna be a good day.
Tofu tacos 4 life! #vegetariancuisine
Movie night out with @TrudiculousMe! Popcorn emoji. Smiley face. Martini emoji.
A photo of a Las Vegas roadsign. Here we go again… #familyreunion #killme
The view of Las Vegas from her room at the Botsford Plaza. #escape
An office door opens in front of me and I shift off the wall, suddenly noticing the dull twinge in my knee as Oliver steps out.
He sees me and nods. “What’s up, Hayden?”
I clear my throat. “Nothing, just…” I gesture toward where I came. “Kicking the shit with Ira a bit. What’s up with you?”
“Not much.” He closes his office door and tiredly runs a hand through his hair. “Just managing the building, as usual.”
“Awesome.” Lightning strikes between my ears and I cock my head. “Hey, Oli, do you think you could—”
“No,” he answers quickly.
“No?”
“No.”
“No what? I didn’t even finish the question.”
“I don’t know. And I don’t want to know.” He shrugs. “I was told to say no to whatever you wanted today, so no. Sorry, man.”
I grit my teeth. “Dammit, Ira…”
You gossipy bitch.
Oliver continues on toward the lobby. “He also told me to tell you to stay off your knee. So, you know, stay off your knee.”
I grunt a response and follow him down the hall. We emerge from just behind the front desk and I give Rian a quick wave before passing on through toward the elevators.
My hand twitches toward my phone and I swipe it on again while I wait for a lift to arrive.
PennyLove818. She cuts hair, doesn’t eat meat, and lives in Burbank…
Guess I know a little bit more about Penelope Warren now.
But it’s not enough.
The elevator opens and I wait while a few others to step off.
The Warrens have a dinner reservation tonight. Penelope will surely be there, along with a few dozen of her family members… Dylan McCock included…
I step onto the elevator and study my reflection on the wall. A scruffy face. An old t-shirt and ripped jeans…
If I’m going to make an impression, then I’m gonna have to slip into something a little more…
Botsford.
Five
Penelope
The hotel restaurant feels more than a little… cramped.
Thirty Warrens are clustered all around, scattered among eight or nine tables throughout the dining room. It’s a pretty epic game of music chairs as my various extended aunts and uncles and cousins constantly mingle from seat-to-seat as the wait staff attempts to dip around them for drink refills.
Everyone except Dylan McCoy, that is.
He planted himself right next to me and hasn’t moved since.
“Your mother tells me you’re still w
orking at that hair place,” he says.
I nod. Oh, you didn’t need my mother to tell you that, Dylan. You only like every damn picture I post.
“I am,” I answer, keeping half of my attention on my salad.
“I don’t know how you do it,” he says, chuckling.
“How I do what?”
“Work a job like that.”
My brow twitches. “I enjoy it. That’s how.”
“Maybe, but…” Dylan scooches toward the edge of his chair to get closer to me. “Won’t you get bored of it someday? A woman like you deserves… something better than that, don’t you agree?”
I set my fork down, lest I accidentally stab him with it. “A woman like what, exactly?” I ask.
Dylan begins to answer but a hostess appears between our shoulders.
“Mr. McCoy?” she asks, leaning down to talk over the noise.
“Yes?” he says.
“You have a call in the lobby,” she says, smiling. “She said she’s your mother. Something urgent.”
Thank God.
Dylan nods. “I’ll be right there,” he says.
She bows slightly and rushes back to her post toward the entrance to the dining room.
“Excuse me,” he says, still way too close to me. “You know mothers.”
I glance across the table at my own, who has been sneaking little peeks at us the whole night with that smug twinkle in her eyes.
“Yes, I do,” I say.
My mother’s polite grin never wavers but I can practically feel the daggers firing out of her eye sockets.
Trudy nudges my right elbow. “Hey, now that the stalking dead is gone, I have something to run by you.”
I lean toward her with a smile. “Go on…”
“Maggie and I scored the last few tickets to the Criminal Records show tomorrow night,” she whispers. “Wanna play hooky with us? We’ve got one more.”
“Uh…” I quickly make sure Mom can’t hear. “Yass.”
Trudy laughs. “Awesome. We’re meeting up in my room after dinner and sharing a cab over.”
“I will be there with heels on.”
She winks and leans back over as Aunt Leigh tells her to stop slouching.
I straighten up as well, which unfortunately means making eye contact with Mom.
