First Time: Ian's Story (First Time (Ian) Book 1)

by Abigail Barnette

  “Or vomit in your apartment?”

  “Ah, Penny. There aren’t many people I’d let vomit in my home, but you’re one of them.” It got a laugh out of her, at least.

  She took the bottle and clumsily poured herself another glass, nearly to the rim. A little sloshed onto the floor, but she didn’t appear to notice. “I shouldn’t have run over here to tell you all of my ex-boyfriend problems. That’s not fair. You’re trying to be the new boyfriend.” She paused and frowned. “I mean, I think you were. I got the impression that you were interested in the position.”

  “Definitely. I hope I’m still in consideration.” I eyed the level in the glass and thanked the heavens that Gena had insisted on wood flooring. Glenlivet would be spilled tonight.

  Most of it would spill down Penny’s throat, it seemed, because she threw back another half of her glass. She put it on the coffee table and came to sit beside me. “I think it was because I made him wait too long. Two years, you know…”

  There was no way in Hell I would let her rationalize the bampot’s treatment of her. “So, you were supposed to have sex with him to keep him from cheating on you? That wasn’t your responsibility. If he wanted to go off and fuck somebody, he should have fucking well broken up with you first.”

  “You’re swearing a bunch,” she said quietly.

  “I can stop,” I offered.

  “No, you can’t.”

  She had a point. I sighed. “This prick… He’s the kind of man who’ll sleep around on you whether you’re sleeping with him or not. This other woman was sleeping with him, and he was still seeing you. He was just—”

  I stopped myself, because if she hadn’t already come to the conclusion I’d been about to voice, I didn’t want to be the person who slapped her in the face with it.

  She nodded sadly. “I know. I know why he was still with me.”

  I put my arms around her, and she leaned her head on my shoulder while she cried. It wouldn’t help her to hear that this arsehole would be fucking around on his new girl at any moment; she already knew. And there wasn’t anything I could say that would take the sting out of any of this, so I held her while she cried and probably got snot on my sweater.

  When she sat up, her eyes were alarmingly red. She reached for her glass and finished it, then sat with her face in her hands. “I’m sorry. I’m a mess. I showed up here a mess, and now, I’m drunk and a mess.”

  “If you think this is the only time anyone has gotten drunk on this sofa and cried hard, I have some news for you that will come as a bit of a shock.” I nudged her with my elbow. “Don’t feel sorry for coming here. I’m thrilled to death it was me you wanted.”

  “Yeah?” She tilted her head. “Can I have more of whatever that is?”

  I eyed the bottle and tried to mentally calculate her body weight. “How about a beer, instead? Just to slow down?”

  “Liquor before beer, in the clear,” she said with a thumbs up, and I momentarily reconsidered even the beer.

  When I came back with it, she was in better spirits. “Is it weird to feel a little relieved about this, too?”

  “How so?”

  “Well, for the last few months that we were dating, Brad was really distant. Now I know why. But, at the time, I had this feeling…” She took breath. “I had a feeling things were falling apart between us. And that maybe he was with me because he was waiting it out. Like, he wanted to be the winner.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded to indicate she should go on.

  “It’s nice to have that confirmation. To know that I wasn’t crazy. I mean, it sucks, and it hurts, but it’s nice.” She shrugged. “And I’m glad Brad broke up with me. Because…I got to meet you. You’ve already been way better to me than he ever was.”

  “Is it selfish of me to say that I’m glad the two of you broke up, as well?”

  “No, I think you made out like a bandit in the deal.” She leaned against me, as though it were the most natural thing in the world to take comfort from me. My chest ached. The worst part of being single was the lack of physical contact; I could go days at a time without touching anyone. If I needed to be hugged, my sister was only a phone call away, but this was far different. Penny snuggled beside me out of need, trusting me to make her pain go away.

  It had been a very, very long time since that had happened to me. I hadn’t realized until now that I’d missed it.

  Holding Penny had a soporific effect on both of us. I’m sure the quantity of whisky she had consumed and the short time she’d consumed it in had something to do with it, as well. I leaned against the bend of the couch, and she lay between my legs, her head on my chest. With my long day after the late night before, and her emotional outpouring, sleep was inevitable.

  When I finally managed to peel my eyes open, the clock hands on the window said it was twelve-thirty. I nudged Penny with my elbow. “Penny? Open your eyes, Doll. We fell asleep.”

  “I can’t understand you when you mumble,” she said. Or I thought that’s what she’d said; if anyone here was mumbling, it wasn’t me.

  “Do you want me to take you home?” I should have just let her sleep. I didn’t know what I was thinking, when it felt so good to hold her.

  She blinked up at me. “Can I stay here?”

  “Certainly. I don’t think the guest bed is made up, but I—”

  “Can I sleep with you?” she asked plaintively. “I could really use the snuggles.”

  If she were any other woman, this would have been the moment I mentally began preparing to get laid. Knowing that wasn’t a possibility—not just because of Penny’s celibacy, but also because she was still roaring drunk—was oddly comfortable. There was something startlingly intimate about going to bed with a woman for the first time and not having sex with her.

  So intimate that I was more frightened than I would have been if we were going to have sex.

  “Fine. No funny business, though. I know your type,” I warned. She sat up, and I groaned as I stood. I offered her my hand.

  “Come on, before I fall asleep while I’m walking.” She yawned.

  I walked behind her, a hand at the small of her back to navigate to the floating staircase. “You must be desperately tired, if you’re willing to brave these stairs.”

  She gave a tired laugh. “I was never afraid of the stairs.”

  “You lied about hating my brilliant stairs?” I exaggerated a gasp of pure offense. “How dare you!”

  “At the time, I didn’t really know you.” We gained the top step and walked straight into the bedroom. “I thought it might have been a trick.”

  I’d known all along that she’d been uncomfortable at the thought of going up to my room the first time she’d been in the apartment, but her wording raised warning flags in my mind. Had she thought I might assault her? I pushed past my initial defensiveness to remind myself that she had no choice but to suspect men, even handsome, devil-may-care men like myself, of being potential rapists and murderers.

  The sense of sorrow I had over that eclipsed whatever slight sting I may have felt. “I hope I didn’t make you afraid or—”

  She stepped up close and pressed her palms to my chest. “If I’d been worried about that, I wouldn’t have come here in the first place. And I wouldn’t have come back. But I wasn’t sure you wouldn’t try some clumsy seduction technique.”

  “Hey. When I’m clumsily seducing you, you’ll know it.” I went to my nightstand and clicked on the brushed steel wall sconce above it.

  She followed me with long, lazy steps. “I just really like you, and I didn’t want to give you the chance to disappoint me. I know that’s probably not the smartest relationship strategy.”

  My heart twisted at the unspoken story behind those words. She’d clearly had men try such an obvious ploy before. She hadn’t wanted to believe me capable of behaving that way. The fact that she was standing in my bedroom, getting ready to spend the night, and she wasn’t worried that I would try so
mething meant she trusted that I wouldn’t disappoint her now.

  “This is a little hot,” she said, plucking at the front of the sweater she wore. “Do you have anything more nightshirt-ish?”

  I went to my dresser and grabbed a T-shirt. “I’m going to let you borrow this, but on one condition.”

  She narrowed her eyes.

  “You can’t look sexier than I do when I’m wearing it.” I tossed it at her, and she caught it, shaking her head a little.

  There was something so appealing about the way I could look at her and not know what she was thinking or where we stood at any given moment. For all I knew, she could have been thinking about what an utter dork I was. And knowing Penny, that was probably exactly what she was thinking.

  She pointed to the door across the room. “Bathroom, then?”

  “Yeah, in there.” I went ahead of her and grabbed my contact solution and toothbrush from the sink. “I’ll use the one downstairs.”

  When I came back up, she was still shut away in the bathroom. I considered my options with regards to my bedtime attire. I usually slept in the altogether, but that wasn’t appropriate for tonight. I switched my shirt out for a T-shirt and hoped my boxers wouldn’t offend her.

  I heard the bathroom door just as I pulled the shirt over my head. Mother of God, but she looked amazing, even in one of my ratty old T-shirts.

  Especially in one of my ratty old T-shirts.

  Keeping my eyes off her legs was nearly impossible. They were gorgeous and tan and curvy like a pin-up drawing, and even though Penny was just a wee thing, she was only covered to mid-thigh. Why the sight affected me so, I had no idea; I’d seen her in a bikini. I’d seen her in her underwear, writhing and moaning under my hand, for Christ’s sake. This was different. She was standing here, ready to get in bed with me, where all that bare skin would brush against mine and that shirt would ride up—

  I went to the bed, pulled back the covers, and got in quick.

  “So, that side, then?” she asked with a laugh. “You don’t have to defend your territory.”

  “You say that, now. But I know women. I’ll wake up on the floor, with you sprawled out like a starfish in here.” I held my breath as she climbed in beside me.

  “This is a pretty big first for me.” Her hair swung against her face as she reached up to hit the light. “I’ve never slept over before.”

  “Well, I can see why not.” I put my arm out as she rolled up against my side. “You look fucking hideous without makeup.”

  She made an outraged noise and pushed against my chest before settling down to lay her head on my shoulder. “Here I am, breaking one of my cardinal relationship rules, and you’re being mean to me.”

  “Never.” I kissed her forehead and squeezed her tight. “I love you, and you know it.”

  I didn’t realize what I’d said until her body stiffened. Then, very quietly, she said, “No… I didn’t know that.”

  Conversational regret hit me like a sledgehammer to the balls. “When I say ‘love,’ I mean—”

  “You mean you love me?” Was that the hint of a smile I heard in her voice? It would have helped if I could see her face, to know whether or not she was staring at me in unchecked horror.

  “Well, it’s out there,” I said, trying to laugh. It sounded more like a cough. “I would have preferred a more romantic venue to make such a pronouncement, but here we are.”

  “Here we are…in your bed…and you say you love me,” she said slowly.

  “No! No, no. That isn’t why…” I scrubbed my free hand down my face in frustration. “I love you. I’d love you if I was driving you home, right now. Or, maybe not as much, since I’m dead tired. But the point I’m trying to make is—”

  “Ian? I’m just fucking with you.” She laughed her squeaky, pleased-with-herself laugh.

  “Well, thank you for turning my declaration of love into a heart-stopping anxiety episode.”

  She wriggled and rolled onto her stomach, rising on her elbows to bring her face close to mine. Her big eyes glittered in the moonlight coming through the angled skylights. “I’m glad you said it.”

  She hadn’t said it back. That was something of a relief. It felt less like we were rushing into something and more like I was the idiot I was.

  I lifted my head, and she closed the short distance between our mouths. She was so sweet and soft in my arms, but also intensely drunk, and she may have vomited in my bathroom, judging from her breath. She pushed her hands under my shirt and raked her nails down my chest—oh, Jesus help me—and when she sat up, she straddled my thigh.

  She was not wearing panties under that shirt. I grabbed her hips out of instinct before my brain switched on.

  “Wait, wait,” I protested, despite every physical instinct roaring through me. “No.”

  “What?” She ground against me. She was so wet.

  I clenched my back teeth. “I can’t. Not like this.”

  “You…” Her voice trembled. “You don’t want to do it?”

  “I do. Believe me, I do.” I half sat up to lean on my elbows. “But I won’t.”

  “But you said you loved me.”

  My heart twisted. “I do. Ah, Doll, I would do just about anything for you. But having sex with you when you’re stoned out of your mind on too much whisky and emotionally rattled… That’s not how I want it to be.”

  She didn’t answer.

  “I’m sure that Brad said he loved you, too,” I reminded her. “And whoever came before him. You wouldn’t have been happy with yourself if you’d slept with them then, and you won’t be pleased in the morning if you fuck me, now.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, then climbed off me to sit on the edge of the bed. It took me a moment to realize she was crying and not heaving up everything she’d drank.

  I sat up and gently guided her back into the bed beside me. She laid her head on my shoulder, and when her hand found its way beneath my shirt again, it was to rest over my heart.

  * * * *

  In terms of decibels, sleeping beside Penny was similar to putting your ear up against a malfunctioning lawn mower. I hoped her loud, stuttering snores were a result of alcohol-induced sleep apnea, and not a long-term condition I would have to learn to tune out.

  Still, I wouldn’t have traded the night for a silent one alone in my bed. Though the thunder of her nocturnal breathing had kept me awake on and off, at least I woke to the feeling of her warm, soft body next to mine, and, as the morning light crept into the room, the sight of her slightly parted lips and the faint line that occasionally appeared between her brows as she dreamed. Unable to sleep anymore, but unwilling to leave her side, I mentally sketched the lines and shadows of her face for what seemed like hours. When it seemed like her capacity for unconsciousness might surpass the capacity of my bladder, I carefully disentangled myself from her and left her to sleep.

  Her panties hung over the towel bar in the master bathroom. I backed up slowly, like they were a bomb about to go off, and decided to use the bathroom downstairs. In the laundry room, I rummaged through a basket I hadn’t put away yet, and found a clean T-shirt and pair of cotton lounge pants, then headed off for a quick shower.

  And a quick wank. I’m only human, and Christ, she’d been wet when she’d rubbed herself against me. All night long, she’d wiggled up against me to be the little spoon, or hooked her leg around mine, or lay with her face tucked into my neck, every breath hot against my skin. That’s not the kind of thing a man can just block out of his memory. But a gentleman keeps it to himself and furtively masturbates in the shower before a lady can wake up.

  With my head clear and my cock somewhat subdued, I went to the kitchen and considered making breakfast. Out of what, was the million-dollar question. I was considering it when I looked up and spotted the half-empty bottle on the coffee table and reconsidered. Even with the blazing efficiency of a twenty-two-year-old liver, Penny would wake up hurting.

  I got a glass of water an
d rummaged through the junk drawer to find a bottle of pain reliever. Ibuprofen for a hangover, never acetaminophen, Gena had always said. Remembering Gena’s very existence came as a shock. Having Penny in the apartment had somehow exorcised the ghost of my ex-wife, at least temporarily.

  God, were Penny and I rebounding together, after all? I didn’t like the thought of that. I wanted whatever was between us to be about us, not the people who’d hurt us. I didn’t want a life raft. I wanted a partner. Someone I could enjoy spending time with a year from now, five years from now, for the rest of my life, if I was being honest with myself. I wanted Penny to be that person. I wanted her to be the love of my life.

  The love of your live.

  I nearly dropped the water. I hurried up the stairs, to the studio, and grabbed my sketchbook, the one I’d bought at a premium on our second date. I flipped it open. After I’d come home, I’d tried to replicate the sketch of Penny that I’d made in the park. From memory, it wasn’t as good, but that hadn’t been the point. I’d just been so fascinated by her, by the way I’d felt when I was with her, that I’d never wanted to let that day go. And on the side of the page, a paper clip held the fortune from that disastrous first date.

  The love of your live will step into your path this summer.

  I almost sprinted up the stairs. I hadn’t believed in signs or fortune telling before Penny, but if there was ever a time to believe, it was now. It was all I could do to keep from bursting through door and shouting, “Summer’s over, love of my life!” Instead, I slipped the paper into my pocket and headed up to the bedroom.

  Since I didn’t know if Penny was awake and up in some state of undress, I knocked softly. If she was asleep, I wouldn’t disturb her. If she was awake, I didn’t want to rattle her head like a jar of angry bees.

  “I’m awake,” she called out hoarsely, and when I opened the door, I immediately diagnosed her with a bad case of the Irish flu. Dark circles ringed her bloodshot eyes, which squinted like she was a lab animal seeing sunlight for the first time. Her cheeks were pale and drawn. She looked as though she could fall over dead in a stiff breeze.