His Lucky Penny (The Penny Books, #1)

by LL Meyer

  So, although work is long and tiring, and then so is school, by the time I drag my ass out to the parking lot and scan for his car, so glad I don’t have to wait for the bus, I’m still excited to see him. This time it’s not the Audi or the Range Rover, but the pickup from Saturday night, and Jason is with him. When I get closer, I see that they’re both in work clothes that are splattered with something.

  Dane gets out of the passenger side when he sees me. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” I say back, melting as he leans down to give me a kiss. When he starts to pull away, I grab hold of his shirt to keep him next to me. “Oh,” I whisper. “You smell amazing.”

  He laughs as he nuzzles my hair to let me take another breath of him. “No, I smell disgusting.”

  “You really don’t.” I can see that he’s tired, so I get in the truck.

  “Hey, Pretty Girl.”

  “Hey, Jason. You look about as wiped as he does,” I say, nodding my head in Dane’s direction. “What, exactly, have you two been up to all day?”

  Dane groans. “Dry-walling.”

  I smile at him. “It doesn’t seem like it was very dry. You’re covered in crap.”

  They both laugh. I move to put my seatbelt on, but Dane grabs me and pulls me onto his lap. I sigh in contentment. With my head on his shoulder, his arms wrapped around me, and my feet on the seat, I don’t care one bit that he’s getting my clothes dirty.

  “If you’re going to force me to watch you make out with her, I’ll probably drive off the road,” Jason complains as he pulls out of the parking lot.

  “I just want to snuggle a little,” Dane says, more to me than his brother as he angles my face to his and kisses me softly. Well, it begins softly, but soon it involves a whole lot of tongue and a hand that slides up my waist until it’s cupping a breast and I can barely breathe.

  I hear a hard whack, and Dane flinches.

  “Don’t you dare rub her in my face.”

  My lids flutter open to find Jason’s eyes on mine, intense and piercing. Why is he looking at me? When he shifts his attention back to the road, the confusion is enough to drown me. I’m scared to look at Dane, but he seems oblivious as he answers Jason.

  “I’ll rub her in your face whenever I want.” He pulls on my chin until our lips are glued back together again.

  Desire hits me hard. Suddenly all I want is to be closer to Dane and I don’t care if Jason is watching. At first, Dane doesn’t want me moving, but soon I convince him to let me straddle his lap. His hands tighten in my loose hair, forcing me to deepen the kiss. God, it’s so good. I grind against him and am rewarded with my very first moan from Dane Wilson.

  Jason taps the brakes and laughs as Dane almost loses his grip on me.

  I turn to glare at him and find his expression still smoldering. I bite my bottom lip at the look on his face. “You forgot to wear your seatbelt, Pretty Girl.”

  “Just drive, Jason,” I tell him boldly. His eyes flicker back to the road, but not before I see the want on his face. Again, confusion hits the lust coursing through me until Dane’s lips connect with my neck.

  “Ignore him,” he murmurs in my ear. “He’s jealous and wants this just as badly as I do.” Then he pulls me up against his length and he moans again. “Well, maybe not quite as badly.”

  After a while, I realize that not only is the car not moving anymore, but the engine is off. I start to giggle and look over at Jason who’s leaning against his door, watching us with a mixture of humor and desire on his face. Again he hits me with his eyes, and I shiver.

  I grab my backpack as Dane opens the door and pulls me out with him, carrying me with my legs wrapped around his waist. At the top of my porch stairs, he lets me slide down his front, wedging me between the door and his thigh. He pushes into me and the pressure on my clit is so intense that I dig my nails into his shoulders. I’m sure if I had any air in my lungs, I’d scream.

  “Dane,” I whimper.

  “God, I started this, didn’t I?”

  “Come inside,” I beg.

  “That’s not a good idea.”

  “Why not? What happened to the moves you promised to put on me?”

  He half laughs, half groans.

  “Come in.”

  “No. Three days ago you only wanted to be friends.”

  Jason honks the horn, and he steps back.

  “Tomorrow?” I ask hopefully.

  “You’re a greedy little thing,” he says with a laugh. “I’m coming to get you at seven o’clock tomorrow morning so we can go for the lab results.”

  My shoulders sag a bit. “Right.”

  With a finger under my chin, he tilts my head up to see my eyes. “Are you going to be needing that spanking now?”

  I can’t help but laugh. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  He just smiles. “Are we good?” he asks, gesturing between the two of us.

  “Yeah, we’re good.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

  “Okay.”

  On the other side of the door, in the dark and empty house, I’m so disappointed. Doesn’t he want me? Is it because I’m practically a virgin at twenty-two? Because I don’t have my test results? Because an unknown amount of men have been inside of me? My dejection at the knowledge that it could be any one of those things, but is probably all three, is practically soul-crushing.

  And on top of all that, I have to get my test results tomorrow. I’m almost convinced that I have some terrible disease, though logically after three years there should be some noticeable symptoms. Right? And then I realize that I didn’t even thank him for coming to get me.

  I consider texting him, but I’m too tired and annoyed to deal with his reply. Aargh! The truth is I’m so sexually frustrated that I can’t see straight.

  The next morning, I’m up at the crack of dawn to be ready for Dane. I take the time to blow out my hair because I like the way it feels when he’s got his hands in it, and I try my best to choose something nice to wear, but really, I don’t own much to pick and choose from. I sigh.

  I grab my school and work stuff and go outside to wait for him. When he pulls up, I’m able to muster a small smile for him as I get in.

  “Hey, Lil.” He looks ridiculously good, wearing a black long-sleeved Henley T-shirt and dark jeans. I feel ugly sitting next to him as he kisses my temple.

  “Hey.”

  “You want caffeine before or after we do this?”

  “Definitely before.”

  We hit the drive thru at Starbucks and this time when he asks me what I want I tell him a tall latte. His answering smile cheers me up a bit.

  We don’t go to the lab, but to the doctor’s office, which scares me even more. When the receptionist calls my name, I think I’m going to throw up.

  “Dane?” I whisper. “I can’t go by myself.”

  When the receptionist tries to argue, Dane tells her that his going with me is not optional, and I’m so, so grateful. I sit on his lap on the only chair in the room, while he nuzzles my hair and tells me not to worry. Ten torturous minutes later, a lady doctor comes in. Though she seems nice enough, I can’t meet her eyes.

  “Lily Ann Friesen?”

  I nod.

  “So, I have your test results here and everything appears normal,” she says, passing me an envelope, but I don’t have anything left in me to take it.

  Dane does it for me. “Thanks, Doc,” I hear him say. “Have you got mine, too?”

  “Everything is fine for you, as well,” she says, passing him another envelope.

  “Thanks, again.”

  When she leaves, I can’t keep my breath from hitching and then a sob from escaping.

  “Oh, Pretty Girl. Why are you crying? Everything’s okay.”

  “I” – gasp – “don’t” – gasp – “know.”

  “It’s all good now.”

  He holds me tightly for a few minutes while I try to stop my blubbering.

  “Dane?” I f
inally say.

  “Yeah?”

  “I was so scared.”

  “I know.” He pulls a tissue out of the box on the counter and hands it to me. “But you’re okay, right?”

  I sniffle a little. “Right.”

  “Can I take you to school now?”

  I shake my head. “I’m so tired. It’s the last day of the semester anyway and I don’t have to be at work until 1:00.”

  He pulls back to look at me in surprise. “So breakfast at IHOP? Nice!”

  I give him a sad smile. “Don’t you have to go to work?”

  “Well, that’s the beauty of being the boss. I don’t have to do anything.”

  I kiss him on the cheek. “I just want you to know that it bothers me that you spend so much money on me.”

  He scoffs. “You’d make a terrible trophy wife.”

  My lips tug. “I think you’re right. I don’t have fake boobs.”

  “Or fake nails,” he adds.

  “Or hair.”

  “Or teeth.”

  He stands us up and we head for the door with his arm around me.

  “Do you think I’d qualify as a trophy husband?” he asks hopefully.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen you naked yet.”

  He barks out a laugh. “You were supposed to say I have potential based on my winning smile and personality.”

  I pull the door open, feeling much better now. “Sorry, but I don’t think your smile is going to be enough, pretty boy. I have to defer judgment until I have more information.”

  “Did you just call me pretty? ‘Cause I am not pretty.”

  I smile. “Have you looked in a mirror? You’re prettier than I am.”

  “I’ll have you know that I am ruggedly handsome, and that’s nowhere close to pretty.”

  He has me giggling now, which I think is his intention.

  After we pig out at IHOP, he drops me off at home, so he can go to work. And I do the most decadent thing I’ve done in forever; I take a nap. And when I wake up, I feel like a new me.

  “Isn’t that on sale?”

  The demanding voice has me looking up. She’s a stressed out housewife in full makeup and a Lululemon outfit with her fake boobs hanging out; it’s all topped off with bleached blond hair. I guess her trophy wife gig hasn’t turned out so well if she’s worried about prices. God, I am so judgmental.

  “Sorry,” I say. “Just the smaller size. It works out to be about the same price per ounce if you buy this one though.”

  She sighs, somewhat mollified. “Fine.”

  Her little boy is about eighteen months old and is chewing on the corner of her Louis Vuitton wallet while he sits in the cart.

  “He’s adorable,” I gush. And inside my head I’m wondering who this person making small talk with the customers is. Mysteriously, I’ve been doing it all day.

  She brightens at my comment and we chat about her delightful little hell spawn. When we’re done, I check the time on the big clock over the main entrance. 8:54. Only six more minutes. I bounce on my toes a bit, wishing the time would pass faster, and then my phone buzzes in my back pocket. My entire body tingles with anticipation.

  Finally I’m able to sign off and hand my cash tray in. I gather my stuff, run to brush my teeth and my hair, and then rush out, not even bothering to say goodbye to anyone. He’s in the Audi and he has his head bent over his phone, his face lit up by the screen. I yank open the passenger door and he jumps.

  “Jesus, you scared me.”

  I can only smile as I plop down into my seat and then turn to him. Before he can lean in, I’ve got my weight on the console between us, pushing myself up to kiss him.

  “Hey,” I say between kisses.

  He pulls back to look at me. “You’re happy.” Ridiculously, it sounds like an accusation.

  I beam at him. “Maybe.”

  He leans back in to recapture my mouth, kissing me enough to make me forget my name. “Did you win the lottery or something?” he asks when he breaks away.

  I giggle happily, flopping down onto my seat. “I did. But there was no money involved, it was some kind of guy sweepstakes.”

  He gives me a self-deprecating grin.

  “Bizarre, right?” I continue. “I didn’t even know I had a ticket.”

  He’s laughing now and the sound of it buoys my mood even higher. He starts the car and pulls out. “I take it you had a good day.”

  “Oh sure, if you’re into people blaming you for the price of nectarines, or creepy guys making small talk about their mothers, or, my personal favorite, three-year-olds throwing tantrums and messing up my gum rack. I mean, come on, I take pride in my gum rack, it’s the neatest in the store.”

  He bursts out laughing. “All right, who are you and what have you done with Quiet Lily?”

  My lips purse in annoyance. “She’s probably off moping in a corner somewhere. You know what a killjoy she can be. I suppose if you like her better, I could dig her up.”

  He shakes his head. “No, I like all the Lilys the same. Though Quiet Lily and Talkative Lily do have something in common.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “A hot ass?”

  I can’t keep a straight face anymore, and I laugh with him.

  “Well, that too. But I was going to say that Talkative Lily is just as sarcastic as Quiet Lily.”

  I stick my tongue out at him. “You don’t like my sarcasm now?”

  “No, I love your sarcasm, even when it’s talkative.”

  “You’re not going to change my name to Talkative Girl, are you?” I ask in mock dismay. “I don’t like that name even half as much as Pretty Girl.”

  “What? That’s crazy. You’ll always be my Pretty Girl.”

  My heart clenches. Does he really mean it? My brain supplies a probably not, and the depressing thought mixes with the pleasure of him saying it at all. I push the button to roll down my window. I’m blushing once again and I stick my head out, enjoying the feel of the wind pulling at my loose hair, caressing my burning neck.

  We’re pulling up to my house now, and my mood drops like an anchor. I can see that there’s no one home; all the windows are dark. The thought of going inside to an empty house is highly depressing. He turns off the engine, and I try to console myself with the idea that he’ll want to make out for a bit before sending me on my way . . . but he brought the Audi so there’s no room. Blah, he doesn’t even want that tonight.

  I’m still looking out the window at the empty house, chewing on my thumbnail, when he pulls me out of my thoughts.

  “What happened to the talkative girl?” he asks.

  She’s lonely, I almost say. But that would be pathetic, so I don’t. And damn him, this is all his fault. I was fine before. Now he’s made me want more than just keeping my head down and avoiding people. I want more than just killing myself at work and school, and I hate how much I love getting Starbucks. And I already spent a couple of hours with him this morning, but somehow I want more. Clingy girls are a huge turn-off, but I’ve been a bit nervous all day because he hasn’t said anything about tomorrow or the weekend. He wouldn’t blow me off now, would he? Now that he’s completed his do-gooder mission to get me tested?

  I realize I haven’t said anything.

  “Sorry, I guess she’s a bit bipolar.”

  She’s all over the place tonight, and I have no idea what’s going on. I don’t like that she won’t look at me. For some reason it feels like I’m walking through a minefield and the wrong move is going to end in disaster.

  “Well, the quiet, bipolar girl is making me kind of nervous.”

  She sighs, turning to me about halfway. “What does a pretty boy like you have to be nervous about? Anyway, thank you for the ride . . .”

  She’s about to say something else, but decides against it. She pops the door handle and the light comes on.

  “Hey.” I grab her arm. When I’m sure she’s not going to bolt, I hook my finger under her chin and make her look at me. To my s
urprise, her eyes are brimming with tears, and it feels like someone’s reaching in and wrenching out my guts. “What’s wrong?” I bite out. I guess I say it too forcefully, because she flinches.

  “Nothing. I’m sorry. I’ll see you t . . . I mean, I’m going now.”

  Pulling away from me, she scoots out and heads for the house.

  What the fuck is with her? One minute she’s happy, the next quiet, then she’s crying, and now she’s gone. It’s completely clear to me why I don’t put up with girls and their bullshit. Because that’s what this is, total bullshit. I turn the key to do up her window. Why the hell am I getting out of the car?

  I stomp up the front walk and just as I’m about to bang on her door, I stop myself. Why am I mad? Because she was crying? What’s wrong with me? I’m mad because she’s sad. Great job, Dane. Real classy.

  I take a deep breath and then knock gently. I don’t hear any movement inside, and I’m suddenly scared that she won’t open the door for me. I try the knob, not expecting it to turn, but it does. Anger surges through me.

  “Lily!” I slam the door behind me and she comes skidding out of a room a ways down the hall. The whole place is still dark.

  Reaching for the hall light, she says, “You scared me!”

  “Why isn’t the door locked?” I demand.

  She ignores that. “What are you doing here?”

  “Well,” I say nastily. “I guess I’m here to murder you.”

  Giving me a dirty look, she turns her back on me and returns to where she came from. I follow her into the kitchen. “What are you doing?” I ask in exasperation.

  “I’m making dinner.”

  “In the dark? At quarter after nine at night?”

  “Are those rhetorical questions?” she asks, her voice dripping with sarcasm.