Trouble (Dogwood Lane #3)(38)

Instead, he just shrugs. When he looks back up, it’s with a resolution that makes my heart sink.

“You’re probably right,” he says. “Better stop there.”

I clear my throat. “Exactly.”

“Penn? Avery? Where did you go?” Meredith’s voice rings down the hallway.

I give Penn a final chance to say something, anything, but he doesn’t. He runs a hand through his hair and heads to the doorway.

“We’re coming,” I shout.

As I follow him out, I touch my lips. They sting from being pressed against his. My mouth tastes of peppermint and heat, and I find myself wishing I could rewind time. But I’m unsure if I’d kiss him again or avoid the situation altogether.

He looks at me over his shoulder. His features are blank, completely void of any indication as to what he’s feeling. My stomach twists into a tight knot as I realize he’s probably not feeling anything. That kiss that just rocked my socks probably just checked a box and turned his attention elsewhere. All I managed to do with that little slipup is make things awkward with one of my three friends here.

It takes everything I have to ignore the pounding of my heart. I lift my chin, refusing to feel defeated.

It’s all right. I’m not here for Penn. I’m here for me.

Yet as we turn into the main room and Matt shouts something our way, the levity between the three of us is gone. Penn flips him the middle finger. Matt looks at me with confusion written all over his face.

“I need to talk to Meredith,” I say. I give Matt the realest smile I can manage. “If you’ll excuse me . . .”

Before I walk out, I pause and hope Penn will say something. He just looks at the floor.

“Suit yourself,” I mutter and head for the door.





CHAPTER FOURTEEN

PENN

Better stop there.”

The final words I said to Avery after she kissed me ring through my mind.

I cast my fishing line back into the water. The lure hits the top of the lake with a plop before I tighten the line and begin to reel it in slowly. Each smooth spin of the rod and reel helps me focus.

“Happy now?”

My jaw tightens as I squat near the water’s edge. Am I happy now? Is she freaking kidding me?

For the first time in my life, I have no clue what to do.

She kissed me. In the sexiest, most in-charge move I’ve ever seen a woman make, she kissed me. And it wasn’t because she thought I wanted it or to prove some kind of point, like she wanted me to fuck her . . . No. She kissed me because she wanted to.

Eyes don’t lie. You can always tell what someone is feeling when you look into their eyes. She stared into mine as she held my face in her hands and touched our lips together.

So why did she act like it was a one-and-done?

“Glad we got that over with.”

I jerk the line out of the water and cast it again. It goes out farther this time, sailing across Dogwood Lake. The early-evening sun shoots its final rays across the sky. The blue is met with purples and pinks and bright oranges. It looks like a painting.

I wonder if Avery can paint things like that.

The thought makes me smile.

I wonder what else she can do. And when I realize I’m thinking beyond sexual arenas, I laugh out loud.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” I wonder aloud.

Who am I to get all screwed up just from kissing someone? What even is this bullshit?

I rub my temples, trying to bring some clarity to my mind. All it does is bring her question—“Happy now?”—back to the forefront.

“No, Avery. I’m not happy now.”

I’m actually less happy than I usually am, and I’m a happy guy. Shit doesn’t bother me. My father can hate me. Dane can ride my ass. A woman can think I’m a jerk for not seeing her exclusively, and I don’t really care. It’s life. It’s not roses. But the way Avery looked at me today, like I somehow made her sad, bothers me. The fact that I’m bothered bothers me.

“I’m a bothered man.”

I swear a flock of birds laughs at me from the treetops. Hell, I have half a notion to laugh at my damn self.

If only I could figure out why this whole thing is under my skin. Is it because she’s rejecting me, even when I know she doesn’t mean it? Because she can’t possibly mean it. She’s not dumb. Or blind. Or a lesbian.

No, it can’t be that. So what is it?

I throw the line in the water once again. A breeze rolls off the lake and whispers across my face. Inhaling a lungful of crisp air, I close my eyes and try to relax.

“I’m not fucking bothered,” I say to myself. “I’ll figure this out.”

I think. I’m kind of out of my wheelhouse here.

Standing tall, stretching my legs out as I reel in my line, I listen to the crickets. This spot on the lake is always empty. My grandfather showed it to me when I was thirteen, months before he died.

“This is my honey hole,” he said as he led me on the trail to the water.

“But you’re never supposed to share your honey holes. Especially with me,” I said, looking up at him and grinning. “I’ll catch all the fish, and it won’t be your honey hole anymore.”

Grandpa laughed. “Fish isn’t all this honey hole is about, Penn. This is where I get all my good thinking done.”