by Lili Valente
To: MagnificentBastard1
Re: The luckiest woman in the world
spits coffee all over her keyboard and new shirt
is now rashy and covered in hot coffee
The Incredible Bulk, huh?
A part of me wants to believe you just made that up on the spot as a joke, but I bet that’s actually what you call it, isn’t it? You’ve named your man parts after Bruce Banner’s rage-y alter ego.
laughs until her stomach hurts
p.s. This is venturing into highly unprofessional conversation territory, but if any part of the Incredible Bulk is actually green, you need to head to the doctor and get that situation checked out immediately.
Text from Bash: The Incredible Bulk is unfazed by your mockery.
And no, no part of him is green.
But women do love him when he’s angry…
From Penny: I bet they do…
And now I’m bowing out of this inappropriate work conversation before I say something I’ll regret…
Bash: Chicken…
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Back at my place, the history of my love affair with Penny pours out of me with unexpected ease.
Usually, this is the hard part—I’m far more adept at playing a role than I am writing a script—but two years of working with Penny has given me a window into her personality I’ve never had with another client. I know what makes her laugh, what sets her off, and what makes her soft heart get even softer. And perhaps most importantly, I know how unlikely it would have been for her to meet Mr. Right while exploring “full-time hermitting.”
What are the chances that the perfect man would choose her out of over one hundred applicants to help him start his new business? Surely it was fate that threw us together, or so we’ll tell anyone who asks.
I tap out the last few lines of the memo with a smile, do a quick proof—who cares if there are spelling mistakes, Penny knows I’m as dyslexic as I am brilliant—and send it whooshing out over the Interwebs. By then, Penny has already texted photos of her wardrobe for the week and I’m set to pack.
Pleased with Sheila’s choices for Penny and with my own solid work of romantic fiction, I don’t worry when my inbox is still empty an hour later. I remind myself that Penny has packing of her own to do and might not have had a chance to check her e-mail and put it out of my mind.
Two hours later, I’m finished packing and cleaning up the apartment, but there is still no word from Penny so I head out for a run to help focus my thoughts on the job ahead. Three hours later, after I’ve hit the free weights, put in a torturous fifteen minutes of abs, and showered, I pad into the kitchen in bare feet and a towel to grab a coconut water. On the way out, I snag my phone from the counter and refresh my e-mail.
Still no message from Penny. No missed calls or texts either.
Hmmm…
I’m about to shoot her a quick line, just to make sure she received the memo when my phone dings and a message from Penny appears—
So you know how I’ve been after you for two years to get a P.O. Box?
So that the contact information on the newsletter doesn’t have your home address at the bottom?
Frowning, I type, Yeah?
You should have listened to me, she types back. And then you wouldn’t have strange women popping up on your doorstep unexpectedly….
Before I can respond, a familiar voice calls from the other side of my front door—
“You might want to file a complaint against your doorman, too. He let me in even though I wasn’t on your approved guest list.”
Penny?
What the hell is she doing here?
For a moment, I debate running back to my bedroom to throw on some clothes, but my curiosity gets the better of me. Besides, the towel covers more of me than the track shorts I wore for my run, and people who drop by unannounced should be prepared for other people to open doors in a state of undress.
“Just a second,” I call, tucking the damp Egyptian cotton more tightly around my waist and popping my water back into the fridge.
“Thanks,” Penny says. Her voice is still muffled, but I swear I can hear a hint of anxiety in her tone. “I mean, in Bob’s defense, I told him that I wasn’t a serial killer, but that’s probably what a real serial killer would say. You know? To throw him off the scent before she came creeping up here to kill you.”
“Is that right?” I swing open the door, my smirk slipping when I see Penny standing on my welcome mat dressed in a tight brown tank top and a long, filmy white skirt that flutters around her ankles as a breeze sweeps in from the open window at the end of the hall.
My mouth goes dry and I’m sure how amazing I think she looks shows on my face, big time. But thankfully, she doesn’t seem interested in anything above my neck. Her big brown eyes are fixed on my bare chest, growing wider as they slide down my abdomen to the towel hitched around my hips.
Silently, I thank my bi-weekly core power boot camp instructor for keeping my body in drool-worthy condition. Nothing can happen between Penny and me, but that isn’t going to stop me from relishing the hungry expression flitting across her face.
Fuck.
The way her eyes glaze over and her cheeks flush and her lips part just enough to slip a single finger inside her pretty mouth…
Lust looks damned good on her.
All I want to do is pull her across the threshold, press her back against the wall, and kiss her until our lips fall off. Instead, I shift to the left, moving behind the door and ask, “So, are you here to kill me?”
She shakes her head and states dryly, “No, not today.”
With obvious effort, she wrenches her gaze from my chest to my face. “But I am here to confront you with some evidence.” She digs into her purse, parting a folder and pulling out a small stack of papers. “May I come in?”
“Sure.” I nod toward the living room. “You want to take a seat on the couch and I’ll run and throw on some clothes?”
“No, that’s okay. This won’t take long.” She dumps her purse on the entryway table as she breezes past me, wafting the scent of lavender and something spicier that I’ve never smelled on her before. It’s smoky, forbidden, and sexy, making it practically impossible to keep my eyes off of her ass as she sashays to the kitchen island and lays a single sheet of paper on the marble. “I give you Exhibit A.”
I cross to stand beside her, strongly regretting the decision to answer the door in this fucking towel. Just feeling her body heat warming the air beside me is enough to get me thicker. Unless I make a serious effort to concentrate on something other than how irresistible she is, I’ll be pitching a tent before I can get her back out the door.
“What’s Exhibit A?” I focus hard on the sheet of paper. After a moment, I realize that it’s a printout of the love story I drafted earlier, with almost the entire page highlighted in yellow.
“Our love story.” She taps one elegant finger to the top of the page. “Did you realize that almost all of it is true?”
I frown harder. “I know. I did that on purpose. The closer we stick to the real story, the fewer lies we’ll need to remember.” I shrug. “And the best lies always have a kernel of truth in them somewhere. It’s what makes them believable.”
“This isn’t a kernel of truth. It’s half a bag of popcorn,” she says, pushing on before I can argue my case any further. “We did meet over the Internet, we do send each other dozens of e-mails a day, and we do talk on the phone more than most couples who are dating.”
Crossing my arms at my chest, I lean a hip against the island. “And? I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”
“You also gave me access to your LetsGoLove account, just like it says here. And you made sure that I knew how disappointed you were with most of the women you were dating.” She tilts her head back, studying me with an intensity that makes me feel more naked than I am already. “And, though you’ve never said it in so many words before today, I’m pretty good at readin
g between the lines. I know that sleeping with half the women in Manhattan is getting old and that you secretly wish there was someone special in your life.”
My throat goes tight and I have to fight to swallow.
Holy shit.
Does Penny think that load of mushy bullshit I wrote was some kind of confession? Does she think that I’m secretly in love with her and this is the way I’ve chosen to declare myself?
If so, what the fuck am I going to do about it? I’ve cared about Penny for a long time and I’ve lusted after her since the moment I met her in the flesh, but that’s all this is—friendship, with a heaping helping of physical attraction. I don’t know if I’m capable of falling in love again, but if I am, it sure as hell isn’t going to happen like this.
That memo she’s fixated on is pure fiction.
But how do I tell her that without breaking her soft, clearly romantic heart?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Which got me to thinking about Exhibit B.” Penny continues her display of the alleged evidence, oblivious to my inner turmoil.
With crisp flicks at the corners, she places four more sheets of paper on the counter side by side, next to the first. “These are pulled from our e-mail and text archives from the past ten months. If you’ll skim through the highlighted sections, you’ll see that the innuendo is pretty rampant.”
“Innuendo?” My brows shoot up and my face suddenly feels hotter.
Surely, I’m not blushing. I haven’t blushed since fifth grade, when Jennifer Pruitt and I French kissed for the first time on the jungle gym, and she told everyone watching from behind the slide that I had rotten taco breath.
“Yes, Bash,” Penny says, her gaze lifting to the ceiling. “It’s like normal flirting, but with more mentions of your potentially green penis.”
A startled laugh makes my stomach contract so hard my towel slips free. I barely catch it in time. The heat burning my face spreads down to enflame my neck as I tuck the fabric back around my hips.
“I’m not sure I agree with that, Penny.” And I’m not sure what this is anymore, a declaration of love or an announcement that she plans to sue me for sexual harassment, but I’m certainly hanging on her every word. “But I’d really like to know where this is going.”
She nods, her own cheeks pinker than when she showed up at my door. “I’m getting to that but first, Exhibit C.” Pulling in a bracing breath, she places her final sheet of paper on the counter with a trembling hand. “This is how long it’s been since I was um…with someone.”
“With someone,” I echo, glancing down at the neatly typed words centered on the page.
“You know.” She circles one hand in the air, her cheeks growing so red she starts to resemble an animated woodland creature. “Smphx.”
“Pardon?”
“Smphx,” she mumbles, before responding to my head shake with, “Sex, Bash! That’s how long it’s been since I had sex.”
My jaw drops. “Thirty-two months?”
“Almost three years,” she confirms with a wince. “The last time was with Phillip, and I can’t shake this feeling that the second he lays eyes on me, he’ll know that I haven’t rebounded yet, let alone fallen in love with someone else.”
I blink, still having a hard time wrapping my head around this number she’s provided. “So you really haven’t been with anyone at all? Not even a one-night stand? Some nice hipster boy you picked up at brunch over Bloody Marys and took home for a quickie?”
She arches a wry brow. “No, Bash, I haven’t. Believe me, if I’d tripped and fallen onto a penis, even a hipster penis, I would remember it. I’ve been a nun, and Phillip is going to take one look at me and see it written all over my face.”
“No, he won’t,” I scoff as I give her a once-over, silently deciding that she’s holding up pretty damned well. If I hadn’t had sex in nearly three years, I would be trembling in a corner somewhere, jerking off and crying in a nest I’d fashioned from a stack of old Playboy magazines and my own tears.
“Yes, he will. When I look in the mirror, I can see it.” She jabs a thumb at the center of her chest. “I don’t look like someone who’s been rolling around in bed with a gorgeous man. I look like the most action I’m getting is forcing my cat to snuggle with me before bed.”
“But you don’t have a cat.”
Her melted chocolate eyes widen. “Exactly. I haven’t even been getting cat action, let alone Incredible Bulk action.”
“Shit, Penny.” I drive a hand through my hair while my pulse begins to beat harder, faster. “Are you asking what I think you’re asking?”
“Before you say no, just think about this.” She steps closer, flooding my head with her scent, the one that’s made me crazy since the second it hit my nose. “Remember that e-mail about Mitzy? The sex therapist?”
I nod, too taken off guard to have any idea where this latest tangent is headed.
“Well, she was your client for almost three months and she clearly had no idea the size of…certain things.” She pauses, her eyes dropping pointedly down to my towel and back up again, just the touch of her gaze enough to make me ache. “But we’re one session in, Bash, and I already do. I know.” Her tongue slips out to dampen her bottom lip, sending my racing pulse into overdrive. “When we kissed last night… Well, let’s just say it was kind of hard to miss.”
I make a noncommittal noise even as I curse myself for losing control.
“At the time, I explained it to myself as an unavoidable natural reaction,” she continues. “But after reading the back story you sent me and going over our e-mails, it became clear to me that this is something more.”
“More?” I shake my head, pretending more confusion than I’m actually experiencing. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all my years of dating, it’s to never jump to conclusions with a woman, especially if she’s talking about sex.
“We’re attracted to each other.” She motions between us, her face edging toward crimson again. “But we’re also friends and coworkers, so we know attraction will never become something more. Which is why what I’m proposing makes perfect sense.”
I blink. Innocently, I hope. “And what you’re proposing is…?”
“Oh stop. Don’t play dumb,” she huffs, proving she’s no fool. “You’re tired of banging anonymous strangers and I’m tired of not banging anyone. Neither of us is on the fast track to love, but that doesn’t mean we have to be celibate or sad while we’re waiting to find that perfect person. As long as we go into this with our eyes open, we can—”
“So let me get this straight,” I interrupt, needing to make damned sure I’m understanding her. “You’re saying you want to be fuck buddies?”
She lets out a breathy laugh. “Well, yes, I guess. But that makes it sound so cold and…efficient. It doesn’t have to be like that.”
“Oh, but it does.” I plant one hand on the counter to her right before slowly and deliberately placing the other on the counter to her left, trapping her in the circle of my arms. “If you want to fuck, I can most certainly oblige.” I bend closer until I can feel her increasingly rapid breath warming my lips. “I’m happy to strip you bare right here. Right now. Lift you up on this counter and fuck you until you come so hard you see Jesus.”
“I’m Jewish,” she murmurs, swallowing hard. “Or at least, I was raised Jewish.”
“That’s how epic the fucking will be,” I continue, my cock swelling beneath the towel as I imagine slipping my fingers beneath Penny’s skirt, pulling her panties to one side, and sliding my fingers inside where I’m pretty damned sure she’s already wet for me. “It will make you a believer in the holy pleasuring powers of my cock.”
“Amen,” she breathes.
Any other time, I would smile at the joke, but I need her to understand how dead serious I am about what I’m about to say.
“But that’s all it will be, Penny. We’ll fuck and come and pleasure each other until one of us decides it’s not fun anymore. A
nd when we end it, that’s it. It’s just done. No harm, no foul, no messy emotions or screwing up the good thing we have going. Because I can’t have that.”
And I’m not sure I’m capable of anything more than a physical relationship anymore, anyway.
Falling in love with me would probably be just as bad for you as when you fell for that walking canker sore your mother is about to marry.
For a moment, I almost confess the ugly truth aloud, just to be sure she knows what she might be getting into, but Penny’s already nodding enthusiastically.
“Right! We’ll keep it casual. We can do what you wrote in the memo. We draw up a contract promising that when things are over you won’t fire me and I won’t quit—at least not without training a replacement of your choosing—and we’re good to go.” She tilts her chin back, making me keenly aware of how close her lips are to mine. “But instead of falling in love the way we did in your story, we’ll have a good time and let it end when it ends. We already know we can work perfectly well together without ever setting foot in the same physical space. We did it for two years. So even if it’s weird for a while after one of us calls things off, we can just cut back on the texting and e-mail until it isn’t anymore.”
My lips part, but before I can remind her what a serious hole that would leave in both of our lives—we really do talk more often than some married couples—she’s rushing on—
“But I seriously don’t see it getting weird. I know you, Bash. I know I’m not the kind of girl you’re going to fall in love with and I know better than to think something physical between us would ever become anything more.”
I frown. I should keep my mouth shut, but I can’t help playing devil’s advocate, “And why aren’t you the kind of girl I could fall in love with?” I bend my head closer to hers until I can smell the hint of sugar and coffee on her breath and I remember how perfect it felt to fuck her pretty mouth with my tongue. “You’re beautiful, smart, funny, and one of my best friends. What about any of that knocks you out of the running for Mrs. Prince?”
Her eyes widen. She looks as surprised by my mention of a future Mrs. Prince as I feel—I certainly hadn’t intended to take things there; it just slipped out that way—but she recovers quickly.
