7 WOLFIEI can’t believe I just did that.
Never in my twenty-nine years have I been so candid with someone about my baggage. But Penelope insisted she wanted to know it all, so that’s what I gave her.
My anxieties, my hang-ups with s*x . . . hell, I even fessed up that I don’t get off from a blow job.
It should have been enough for her to go running scared straight into the snowstorm without looking back. But somehow, she’s still here, cozied up with me in our nest of blankets and bourbon, looking at me with a meaningful gaze.
I guess miracles really can happen.
My breath stills as she slowly trails one pink-painted fingernail down my chest and over my abs. She pauses at the buckle of my belt, allowing me all the time I need to stop her.
But I don’t.
Maybe it’s just the bourbon that
