Big Dick Energy - Cindi Madsen Page 0,6

while she was out gallivanting with her husband, I needed to fit in some fun in order to remain sane. Already she’d mentioned how excited she was to learn tantric yoga in its birthplace of India, and how it’d allow her and Andre to do more in the bedroom.

My gag reflex kicked in, and I considered ordering another drink in an attempt to destroy any and all conversations involving the man seventeen years my mother’s junior. Oversharing was an understatement when it came to Mom. Then again, Dad had gone the beating a dead horse route, never finding a single nice thing to say about his ex-wife after their divorce.

Or before it, honestly. I’d felt like the white flag in the middle of a tug of rope until Izzie had come along. Mom loosened her grip after that. Which was for the best, as anytime I returned from my visits with her, Dad would comment on how soft she made me.

I signaled for the bill, but the bartender ignored me to pour drinks for the ladies. With the tie I’d thrown on before my meeting with Doug Bishop, I probably looked more like an uptight banker than someone who occasionally played the guitar and paid his excess forward, so I tried not to take the slight personally.

Maybe that’s why Blondie wasn’t impressed. I should’ve ditched the tie and undone a few buttons. Since I’d waited tables to put myself through college, I would still leave a hefty tip, and not just because I was hoping to get in good with the manager. With any luck—and after demonstrating my talents—she was going to help me get my other fix while I was in town.

Finally, the guy dropped my bill in front of me. I tossed a pile of bills on top of the plastic tray and called, “Keep the change.”

“Wait up,” the bartender said. “Your gal-pal left her card. I wouldn’t have wasted my time had I known she was with you.”

Before I could tell him that the woman was hardly my gal or my pal, he was off to pour drinks for the coed flashing her cleavage. Unlike my mom, I didn’t like them inappropriately young and needy. Still, it’d been long enough since I’d seen breasts in real life that if I didn’t look away, they’d go all wavy, like a mirage in the desert when water was all you could think about.

I glanced over at Blondie and her friends and wondered about her cleavage for longer than I cared to admit. I thought about calling over the manager to do the deed for me—delivering the card, not sizing up Blondie’s breasts.

That’d call attention to the bartender and the security breach, though. Somehow, she’d declared me the douchebag when the bartender called pouring her a drink a waste and left me with her card.

Don’t look, I told myself, but down my gaze went to the name on the bottom. Penelope Jones. That suits her.

With a sigh, I started toward her table. I supposed in places like this, where dudes were stacked four deep, women did feel a bit like goldfish in a glass bowl, always on display. No doubt Penelope Jones got hit on constantly, and that not many of those men followed up or cared to get to know her.

Not that I’d been going for a super deep connection myself.

Being the temporary custodian of a twelve-year-old girl was opening my eyes to all sorts of things.

Things I would’ve rather remained blind to, as I wasn’t interested in complications. Again, I’d had enough of that growing up. The only thing I liked to pour labor into was my work. When it came to designing buildings, the more intricate the better, and I couldn’t wait till Monday when I discovered more about the type of complex I’d always dreamed of adding to my resume. Then I’d win over the client and the project, and that’d be that.

With a sigh, I raked my hand through my hair, mussing it so the longer strands would stand out, and strode toward Blondie and her friends. Before I arrived at the table, it’d be a good idea to decide whether I should casually drop off the card or look at this as the universe granting me a second chance.

3

Penelope

“Oh no, that’s him.” I put my hand up to the side of my face, determined to avoid eye contact at all costs with the man from the bar. I’d snarked at him, high on all