Big Dick Energy - Cindi Madsen Page 0,46
follow through with lifting the glass of frothy beer. I was too enthralled with the light scrape of Penelope’s fingernails on the nape of my neck.
At one point she’d leaned closer—naturally, I’d reciprocated—and with her curves pressed against my biceps for the second time tonight, my thoughts were as sloppy as they would’ve been had I downed several shots of hard liquor.
Was this actually happening? Now my own thoughts were using the word I’d teased her for using against me. The evening had taken on a dreamy haze since she’d invited me to sit down at the table with her and her friends.
Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, she toyed with the ends of my hair. Zips of pleasure shot across my scalp, and I nearly purred like an overgrown cat.
Considering it’d been three months since I’d performed in front of an audience besides Izzie and Kali—the dog howled the entire time, whatever that meant—my focus should be on my impending time slot.
“So? Should I prepare for rock, alt, or”—Penelope pulled a sour face—“country?”
As the latter obviously wasn’t her preference, I almost claimed that genre, just to mess with her. “I started off playing classic rock on an electric guitar, but now I do more of a stripped-down alt version.”
“Stripped-down, you say?” She tucked her chin on my shoulder and poked my cheek. “I like the sound of that.”
“You’re drunker than I realized.”
She stuck her lips out in a pout. “I am not drunk.” She lifted her forefinger and thumb, pinching until only a sliver of her eyeball remained visible through the gap. “I’m only the tiniest bit buzzed. I actually have a super high tolerance for alcohol—er, I mean I do have a super high tolerance.” She scrunched up her forehead. “Does it count if I use actually for myself? In this instance, I’m using it because dudes equate drinking a lot to being all macho. They don’t expect me to be able to keep up, and then I drink them under the table.”
“I’ll allow it,” I said, and she glanced around.
“That’s Catalina’s line. Anyway…” Penelope straightened in her seat and blinked clear eyes at me. “Not drunk. Just…” She reached up and twisted a strand of hair round and round her finger. “It’s the weekend, and I’m looking to have some fun. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there? I mean—damn it. I’m insisting there’s nothing wrong with that.” More forehead scrunching. “Would you agree?”
Was she saying what I thought she was saying? After holding onto my beer glass so long the coldness of it had numbed my palm, I lifted it and took a swig. Then I licked it off my lip and, thanks to the way Penelope tracked the motion with her eyes, did my best to readjust the growing erection pushing crookedly against my zipper without reaching down.
The swig of beer wetted my throat enough to force out the words, “I would. Weekends are for kicking back, relaxing, and taking risks.”
Penelope gave one sharp nod. “Right. Except for you didn’t fully finish answering my question, which was my fault because I got distracted. Tell me more about your music.”
Trying to keep up with her was like attempting to rope a tornado. It might work in the old wild-west cartoons, but I was still spinning from the sudden shift in mood and attitude. “Music started as my escape from having my father as a coach, on and off the field. Dad thought guitar was a waste of my talents, saying it wouldn’t take me anywhere, as if soccer was my golden ticket to fame. Something I never wanted, by the way.”
Her hand returned to my neck, soothing me into spilling my guts.
“I think sneaking out to play at open mic nights amped up the rush of adrenaline. I’d feed off the crowd and, without the possibility of a fatherly lecture afterward, it was no pressure, all fun.”
“My mom was the one who applied the pressure in my family. At least I got to spend the first half of my life covered in grease, over and under the hoods of vehicles as my dad worked on beautiful cars that we could only ever dream of affording.”
“Ah. The secret behind your sixth sense with cars emerges. Please tell me there’s photographic evidence.”
Penelope slapped a hand over her mouth, as if it could undo the damage, and then shrugged a shoulder. “My secret was bound to come out eventually. And as far as you’re concerned, you