Big Dick Energy - Cindi Madsen Page 0,26

how exasperating it was that she insisted on doing the opposite of every single damn thing I suggested.

Most of the time, women treated me extra friendly, often bordering on flirty. The majority of them conveyed they understood I gravitated toward bachelorhood, which made it safer for me to tease them back.

Unfortunately, the only woman I’d been interested in flirting with for a long time wouldn’t give me the time of day.

Although there was that moment in the kitchen when she’d dabbed the blood from my minor injury… The memory ignited a tingle, and I rubbed at my split lip.

With a shake of my head, I returned to my phone, which buzzed again to remind me I still needed to reply.

Me: I’ll give you a couple of hours to hang out and then come pick you up.

Izzie: Kk!!!

The excessive amount of exclamation points sent warmth through me. Life had definitely been more interesting with Izzie around. My relationship with Dad veered more toward coach and player rather than father and son, and at times it was the part of that dynamic where I was punished with sports drills, running, and the cold shoulder at home when I didn’t perform as well as he thought I should. Mom seemed to want to be more my friend than my mother. After listening to their constant fighting, I’d sworn off ever getting married or having children of my own.

Being around Izzie, though… A sensation akin to longing surfaced. Perhaps this experience would change my mind.

Although it’d be a long, long way off.

I glanced toward the cubicle where Penelope had been, my pulse leaping when she wasn’t there. I swiveled around, wondering how she’d managed to sneak away without me noticing.

Fine. I might’ve also been hanging back to see if she needed help after twisting her ankle. Not that she’d admit it if she did.

The ping of the elevator meant she hadn’t left quite yet. I snagged my laptop and rushed toward the office lobby. Sure enough, I caught the tail end of Penelope’s wobbly gait. She pressed one of the buttons inside of the elevator over and over again. “Come on. Close already.”

“In a rush?” I asked, skidding inside and letting loose a grin.

In response, she gave an exasperated sigh, and what had I done to deserve that reaction?

Besides hit on her.

And interrupt her during the meeting, which I hadn’t realized how much I’d done until she’d pointed out. I’d been so eager to present my idea and prove I deserved my moniker of Home Run King.

Not letting her finish was a dick move. Since it didn’t do any good dwelling in the past, I’d take this chance to smooth things over. “How’s the ankle?”

The spiked, disco-ball shoes hanging from her fingers instead of being on her feet said enough. “Guess I shouldn’t have paused to take off the shoes,” she muttered.

“Ha, but then you wouldn’t have been able to hold the elevator for me.” I leaned to nudge her with my elbow, way too desperate to thaw her icy façade. Also using the move to run my gaze down her legs, in an attempt to peek at the ankle myself.

Penelope shifted her laptop so that it blocked my view, and I’d bet money not accidentally. Her mouth opened, a barbed retort at the ready, no doubt, but the chime of the elevator door brought us both up short.

They opened to reveal a couple, and Penelope muttered a swear word under her breath that—despite what my grandmother preached—was rather becoming of a lady. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” She winced as she scooted nearer my side of the elevator.

Tension crowded the air, and I studied the guy in the hipster suit. His pants were tailored a couple inches shorter than I’d wear them, obviously so he could show off his argyle socks. Along with the type of shoes that’d always reminded me of a patchwork quilt. Gray wool with leather tipped toes and a leather heel, and I only knew that much because a young twenty-something woman had tried to sell me the monstrosities.

He studied Penelope, his forehead crinkling, and I instantly disliked him. “Wow, Pen, I forgot how short you are without your heels on. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you barefoot outside of your apartment.”

Make that hate. Pure, unadulterated hate.

The plastic smile worn by the woman at his side cracked. She hooked her arm through his, as if she needed to stake a claim on a guy I struggled to