“So, you’re blatantly ignoring my question?”

“We danced on the balcony under Frank Sinatra’s ‘New York, New York.’ I felt like I was living in one of those nineties rom coms.”

“Okay, then.” I propped her feet on a pillow and slid the stilettos off her feet.

“At one point, I felt like it was only the two of us aboard.”

“Lay your head back on the armrest, please.”

“At one point, I think he was trying to kiss me, but I wasn’t sure if I was reading him right, so I just grabbed another glass of champagne and drank it down.”

I adjusted the pillows behind her head as she continued to ramble. She talked about the silverware that bore Simon’s initials, the way the waters sloshed against the ship, and a second, third, and fourth verbatim recap about how they danced to Frank Sinatra’s ‘New York, New York’ like it was a ‘nineties rom-com.’

As I was pushing a few stray hairs off her forehead, she pressed her hand against my belt buckle and looked directly into my eyes.

I raised my eyebrow.

“Is it bad that I was thinking about your cock for an entire hour after you left?”

“I’m getting you a blanket,” I said. “You can tell me about the rest of your night later.”

“I thought about putting it in my mouth, if it would even fit, or if my eyes would water if I took it all the way down my throat.”

“Penelope …” My cock hardened in my pants. “I need you to stop talking.”

“You wanted my honest opinion about your pictures, right?”

“Not at this moment.”

“I’ve always thought that you were the sexiest man I’ve ever seen—even when I hated you,” she said. “Even when I thought your cockiness was simply you over-compensating for having a small penis.” Her gaze moved down to my pants. “You clearly weren’t.”

I gently pushed her hand away and walked down the hall. I opened the closet and pulled out a blanket, vowing to forget her drunken rambling.

When I returned, she was smiling—looking as if she was waiting to finish her thoughts.

“I swear, the thought of sleeping with you never crossed my mind until I saw your pictures,” she said. “Why didn’t you ever go into porn?”

“I’m officially done talking to you for the night.” I covered her with the blanket. “Please stop.”

“I don’t think I would ever say those two words to you if we were having sex.”

“Penelope fucking Carter …” I narrowed my eyes at her. “Stop talking.”

She laughed and rolled over to face the windows. “Thank you for the advice so far on Simon. You’re the best, Hayden. You always have been, and you’ve always been there for me.”

She started snoring seconds later, and I hit the lights and headed to my bathroom.

I needed a cold shower.

Stat.

Break up #7

The One That Made Origami

Penelope

Back Then

* * *

 

Sochi, Russia

“What do you mean, you can’t be there for me?” I stare at Travis’s face on my laptop—hoping that this is some type of sick joke. “I’m about to skate in the effin’ Olympics. Tomorrow.”

“I know, but I was there when you skated in other competitions,” he says. “I’m sure you’ll win gold. You haven’t placed anything less than first all year.”

“Travis…” Tears well in my eyes. “If you’re playing a joke, now would be the time to say the punchline.”

“Listen to me, Crown.” He moves his head closer to the screen. “I got a call from Gatorade earlier this week, with a six-figure sponsorship offer,” he says. ‘They said the deal was mine if I made it to their headquarters and signed off on everything ASAP. Six figures, Crown. Isn’t that amazing?”

I say nothing.

I’m having a sudden bout of déjà vu from when he missed The Grand Prix in Chicago because of a last-minute match opportunity. Or, maybe it’s from when he missed the invitational in Los Angeles, when he couldn’t bear to miss a meeting with the UFC commissioner because he “Had to make it clear that he’s in this sport for the long haul.”

It doesn’t matter that I’ve given up sleep to stay up late to watch all of his matches, that I’ve skipped weekend’s worth of practices to ride along with Hayden to attend his press conferences. His career is taking off, and since he’s actually making money, his sport is the only one that matters.

“I just have to make sure that I beat Marquez on the fifteenth.” His voice interrupts my thoughts. “I’m sure that more sponsors will come knocking at my door after that one.” He smiles as if he’s not stomping all over my heart. “Gatorade is only the beginning for us, Crown.”

Us? “I’m sure Gatorade would’ve understood you wanting to be there for your younger sister.”

“I am there for you.” He narrows his eyes at me. “Last time I checked, I’m the one who buys you and your coach’s plane tickets to wherever you need to be. I’m also paying for you to have the best physical therapy in the country, and the sponsorships you’re getting—Oh, wait. Yours aren’t at the same level, so someone else needs to take care of you.”

“You promised Travis.”

“No, I considered.” He lies. “And I’m done talking about this right now. I need you to suck this shit up. I’m doing the best I can, and if me not being there in the crowd affects your performance, then maybe—”

I hang up in his face and shut my laptop, preventing him from calling me back with an “I’m sorry, Crown. You know I’m more logical than emotional. I’m so sorry…”

I don’t want to hear his apology this time; I need to talk to someone who actually gives a damn.

Jackson…

I’m grateful that my boyfriend is here. He’s competing as a freestyle skier, and he’s the first boyfriend who has completely understood how much dedication it takes to make it.

Even though I have an “advised team curfew,” I’ve snuck out every night to chat with him in the hot tub for a few hours.

Getting out of bed, I pull on my boots and put on a coat. I walk over to the origami display he’d delivered last night—a tower of pink roses and white swans, with hidden messages between their folds.

I pick up a rose-colored one that reads, “I know we’re here to focus on competing, but I’m always here for you. I’ll drop everything and listen.”

Opening the door, I look both ways and head to the elevator.

“Well, look who it is,” The devil reincarnate, i.e., Tatiana Brave, steps in front of me.

I roll my eyes and hit the down button.

“Curfew starts in fifteen minutes,” she says. “It’d be a shame if I had to tell the team ambassador that my fellow American is sneaking out to see her boyfriend. With both of us scoring so high, I imagine you’ll need all the extra rest you can get.”