Page 16 of For the Night
If I was going to listen to Penelope confess that she missed her ex, I needed every drop of alcohol.
“This is why I’ve decided to stay away from relationships,” she went on. “I will happily play and host demos and turn into a for-the-night Domme. It’s what I’m good for. One night. No more decade-long ordeals that end in heartbreak and self-doubt and…fuck it.” She reached for a bottle of gin on the cart and poured some straight into her empty wineglass. “Let this be a teaching moment, Nora. You’re not yourself in a relationship. You don’t know what you’re doing. I have no idea what I’m doing—even now. I just know…” She took a swig of the gin and made a face.
A breath gusted out of me, and I felt a little drunk and defeated and, honestly, defiant. Because I didn’t agree with her.
“I just know,” she repeated, “that I woke up one morning a few weeks ago, doubting every aspect of our relationship. The last few years, at least. Like, had we been happy or just…I don’t know, settled? For instance, when I look at some of my friends—take Lucas and Colt. They’ve been together for almost as long as Ella and I were, and they’re so happy. Even Tate and Kingsley, Macklin and Walker, who’ve all lived through breakups—but they reunited because they just couldn’t fall out of love with each other.”
I eyed her warily, and she looked at her friends before turning back to me.
Her hazel-green eyes burned with something so intense that it seared through the tipsy cloud.
“Ash is devastated without Nathan,” she murmured. “They broke up a little over a year ago, and he still can’t live without him. Ella and I were never like that. It’s been…” She squinted and actually counted on her fingers. “Almost four months now…? And I don’t even miss her. I don’t love her anymore.”
I swallowed hard and felt a rush of heat press itself to the surface, bleeding onto my cheeks.
She didn’t miss Ella. She didn’t love her anymore.
“And if it weren’t for her betrayal, we would’ve still been here,” she said. “Living together in okayness.” She shook her head and looked down into her glass. “We barely even fought. Growing up, I always heard—my mom, she called me her little hothead, and she said it was a good thing. ‘It’s better to love and fight wildly than live on autopilot,’ she said. And I think autopilot is exactly what I’ve been living on. Which…I’m now rambling about to a girl I just met.”
I cracked a smile and dared to give her hand a brief squeeze.
“I’m an awesome listener, so it’s okay,” I said. “Besides, I’ve been known as somewhat of a hothead myself, and I can only imagine what you’re going through. I’d probably doubt myself too—and wonder what I actually want.”
She hummed and planted her elbow on the armrest, bringing us a little closer together. “What makes you a hothead?”
I smirked. “Depends who you ask. My big brother will say it’s because I screamed like a banshee every time he was a pain in my ass when we grew up. Exes might say I’m impossible to deal with since I don’t compromise on core beliefs and kinks, and I get pretty heated about it. My dad?—”
She perked up. “But you shouldn’t compromise on core shit. Do you have an example?”
I nodded. “My first girlfriend in BDSM. I need pain in my life, and I was willing to compromise on how I receive it—like, nonsexually from another Top, with my Domme watching or something. But she was uncomfortable with that, and she not-so-discreetly hinted that people have to compromise in relationships. It’s unrealistic to expect a partner to cover every need?—”
Penelope scoffed. “That’s manipulative bullshit. It’s one thing to put a curiosity on the back burner or neglect a kink you only want once in a blue moon, but to ask a masochist to refrain from receiving pain…?”
“That’s what I yelled at her the last time we fought,” I laughed.
She grinned. “Good. Some people just piss me off—another solid reason to stick to this community.” She nodded at the others. “I can handle these yahoos.”
“Yeah, excuse me—I heard that,” Ash said.
Oops?
He came over, and he must’ve already been on his way, because he was carrying two blankets.
“From one yahoo to another,” he told Penelope pointedly, “we can handle you too.”
“What he said.” That was Greer, who came over with a bottle of tonic water. “You must’ve forgotten this earlier when you decided to check your reflection in the gin.”
“Awww,” I giggled. They were so sweet—and Penelope was properly chastised in a playful way. She groaned through a chuckle and hid behind the blanket. I smiled as Ash wrapped the other blanket around my shoulders. “Thank you, Sir.”
“Anytime, kiddo.” He ruffled my damn hair before he returned to his seat.
Ugh. I smoothed it down again.
“To be fair, you drink gin straight and ice-cold with lemon,” Lane said frankly.
“That’s my boy.” Ty smooched him.
“Are you gonna take care of her when she’s throwin’ up in the pool?” Greer challenged.