Penelope

It feels like someone is trying to crack my skull open with a butter knife. Fucking red wine. Fucking Cassian. Fucking Ophelia. So much inconvenience.

Sitting up, I sigh. Even in my head, I sound like an asshole. That's what alcohol does to me; it manipulates my emotions and brings out the worst in me. Not all the time, but most of the time. I wasn't a condescending asshole at Jake and Gemma's wedding, and nor was I one during the business trip that started my partnership with Elemental Coffee. But I was before Cassian left for his date.

I close my eyes and groan, pulling a pillow over my face as my back flops against the mattress. He hates being called Cassie. His attitude did suck before he left. I can't believe he had the audacity to dump my bottle of wine down the drain. Even if I destroyed his pack of cigarettes, there's a definitive difference between smoking and drinking. As long as someone drinks in moderation, it's okay. Smoking, be it in moderation or a pack a day, isn't good.

I shouldn't have poked at him. I should have kept my emotions in check. Thank God I was sober enough to keep my mouth shut when he asked if I was okay. Stupid voice. Stupid emotions. Stupid heart. Why can I let him go? It's clear he's not interested in being more than friends with me. And why the hell did I text Patrick? I thought it would be a good idea. Now, I'm dreading going out with him. The last place I want to go is a bar to play pool and sip cheap beer. Okay—I'm being unfair. I'm not sure what Patrick's dating preferences are.

Ugh.

I toss the pillow to the foot of the bed and sit up, planting my feet on the floor. The streaks of light coming in from the porch light make it feel like someone is trying to stab out my eyeballs. It hasn't even been twelve hours since Cassian wasted my bottle of wine and I'm already experiencing a hangover.

When I glance at the clock, I realize it's approaching eleven thirty. I groan again. I didn't make it through the night. There's no way I'm sleeping tonight. Sluggishly, I climb to my feet, gripping the edge of the bed as the room spins and my stomach twists. It takes several long seconds for the nausea to pass. Once it does, I brave walking. The painkillers are in the medicine cabinet above the fridge and I'm in dire need of them. Hopefully, I'll make it without keeling over or throwing up.

Before I can take the first step, my phone goes off. Annoyance pokes at me. Who the hell would call at this time? I swipe my phone from the nightstand and stab at the screen, choosing the speaker option. No way am I blowing my eardrum because of a stupid phone call. It's probably some telemarketer telling me I've won a trip to Hawaii. "What?" I demand.

Silence follows—a long silence—before he replies. "Could you, uh, unlock the front door, Pen? I think you locked it before you fell asleep."

"Well, you're going to wait," I snap. "I'm hungover and can't walk without feeling like I'm on a boat." I end the call and massage my throbbing temples. I feel like trash. My mouth feels like I snacked on cotton balls and my head is the equivalent of sewage. I also have to pee. And maybe vomit. I wouldn't mind if both happened at the same time because then I wouldn't need the extra effort to do one after I finished the first. I'd just sit on the toilet and pee while vomiting into the garbage can.

I drag myself to the front door, catching my reflection in the mirror. I've seen better days, that's for sure. Sweat plasters my hair to my forehead and there's dried drool along the corner of my mouth. With a heavy sigh, I unlock the door and open it, treating myself to a full view of Cassian. Despite being hungover and in a worse mood than Scrooge himself, Cassian's rugged handsomeness still gets to me. In the soft light coming from the house, he looks like the devil in disguise. I can only imagine what he'd be like in bed.

God, I'm obviously still a little drunk.

"You need a haircut," is the first thing I say.

Cassian runs a hand through his hair. "I know."

I turn my back to him and head for the kitchen. Now that the door has been unlocked and Cassian has free rein over the house, it's time to grab those painkillers and a glass of water.

"You look like shit," he says, following me.

"I know," I reply. When I glance up at the cupboard above the fridge I realize too much strenuous action will cause me to throw up. "Will you grab me the painkillers, please?"

"We're using manners now, I see," he drawls, curving around the counter. When he stops next to me, I realize he reeks of perfume. A sinking feeling climbs from my gut to my throat. No wonder he's late. He must've been at her house for half the night. He reaches up, opens the cupboard, and then grabs the bottle of painkillers. Before I can take them, he rests a hand on my shoulder and stares me in the eye. "Are you okay, Pen? You look rough. And this time I mean it out of genuine concern. Not to make fun of you."

My heart squeezes. The look on his face is soft and comforting, making a small smile skirt across my lips. "I'm hungover, Cassian. I'm not okay. But I will be in the morning. Hopefully."

Cassian opens the bottle and dumps a couple pills into the curve of my palm. "Go sit down, Pen. I'll grab you a glass of water."

I don't argue with him. If I stand up any longer, I'm going to keel over and do a face-plant into the tile. "Thanks," I murmur, sitting down at the breakfast bar. The nausea has subsided, but the headache has doubled, making me feel like my brain is about to explode. Next time I treat myself to a day off, I think I'm going to stick with tea, a bubble bath, and a raunchy hockey romance.

"How was your date?" I ask while Cassian's filling up my cup.

"Shit," he replies. He turns around and sets the water down on the counter, sliding it across to me. Without a second thought, I toss the pills in my mouth and down them with a sip of water. The cool temperature soothes my cotton mouth. "She turned me down."

Surprise—and a little relief—surges through me. I was expecting Cassian to come home singing Disney Princess songs about how he's found his true love. During work, they gave the impression there was a mutual connection. I wonder what changed. "Why?" I ask.

"She wants to focus on work," he scoffs, "so her company comes out on top in the Okanagan." He runs a hand through his hair, muttering about how it's gotten too long.

"I could grab some scissors and cut it for you," I offer. My smile is as weak as my stomach.

"Funny," he drawls. "But no thanks. I would like to have some hair left. You'd shear it all off."

I snap my fingers. "Bingo. Continue on with your date. Did anything go according to plan?"

Cassian leans against the counter and crosses his arms. The look on his face is grim, which can only mean one thing: something went right, but Ophelia revoked it. He sighs. "We kissed, but then she pushed me away and gave her work speech. Aside from that, nothing went according to plan. All we discussed was work. She told me all about how her dad handed control of the winery down to her, where she went to school, and I told her about Jake and Gemma getting married. She hardly mentioned us as kids, let alone the memories we share. I know we weren't exactly friends, but we were in the same age group. We went to the same parties and travelled on the same bus during sports season." He runs a hand through his hair again. "I don't understand where I went wrong. Yeah, maybe I came across a little strong, but... yeah... I don't know."

Despite the bubbling pit of jealousy my stomach has become—I can't believe they kissed!—I feel bad for him. He's charming and always has the best intentions. Sure, he can say some crude things that result in him being smacked across the back of the head, but it doesn't take him long to realize what he's done wrong and apologize. It's something I've learned about Cassian over the years—even if you want to throttle him, you have to be patient. He's a man with a good heart. A friend that will have your back no matter what.

"Hey," I say after another sip of water. Already, the painkillers have begun to work their magic. That being said, now that I'm no longer distracted by the pain, I'm realizing how exhausted I am. Maybe I will sleep through the night. "Just because tonight's date didn't work out doesn't mean she's omitting the possibility." I take a deep breath. I'm going to hate myself after this. "Did she kiss you back?"

"Yeah," he shrugs. His lips are pressed in a thin line and his eyes are full of doubt. "So what, though? She was crystal clear when she said she didn't want romance in her life."

I cock my head to the side, forcing a wave of nausea down. "Since when has that ever stopped you? Love is spontaneous—you don't get to choose who you fall in love with or when it happens, so why should Ophelia? I'm not saying you should hound her or continue to ask her out—that would be creepy. All I'm saying is to be yourself and earn her liking. Be persistent, but not overly persistent. She's interested in you, Cassian."

He forces out a laugh. "How can you be so sure?"

I toss back the last of my water and slide down from the chair. My knees are shaking, so I have to grip the counter. A wake of dizziness strikes me, making the room spin. A soft curse escapes my lips.

"Whoa," Cassian says, rushing over to me. He slips his arm under my shoulders. "We should get you to bed. You need to sleep off this hangover." A smile curves his full lips. "You're a lightweight, Pen."

While Pen is a shared nickname between Jake and Cassian, it sounds better on Cassian's tongue. It makes me wish I wasn't so hung-up on him. If the way he says my name didn't send shivers down my spine, I could suppress my feelings and ignore the attraction I feel toward him. Is it shameful of me to be infatuated by him? No, I don't think so. While he's the man I have my sights set on, my inability to have him to myself doesn't prevent me from living. I still have purpose and I know my place in this world.

"Come on, Pen," he murmurs.

I don't know why he has to use my name so often, but I'm not complaining. Leaning against him, I rest my head on his shoulder and take a deep breath. He smells of Ophelia's perfume, probably from when they kissed, but just underneath that I can smell his spicy cologne. I sigh into his neck and close my eyes. It's tempting to press my lips against his neck and see where the action takes us, but my conscience tells me it's not right. It would be wrong of me to kiss him after his date had unexpected results.

As we stumble to my bedroom, my foot gets caught on the corner of the couch, making me curse in pain. "My toe!"

Cassian, who's a little frustrated, sighs and scoops me off my feet. "I'll get you some ice for that toe," he says. "But let's get you into bed first."

"Agreed," I mumble, cuddling close to him. At least I have an excuse to be this close to him. I exhale against the skin of his neck, watching as goose bumps flitter down the skin of his neck. Seeing someone so intimidatingly broad and thick have goose bumps makes me giggle. He glances at me, his brown eyes big and full of concern.

"Are you okay, Pen? Did something happen to you? I thought the day went well, aside from my disaster date. You know I'm here if you need to talk, right?"

I nod, my heart constricting. Although my bottle of wine was missing more than half its contents when he dumped it out, I don't think Cassian realizes how much of a lightweight I am. I'd had four sips, give or take, of my first glass before Gemma's news caused me to drop the wine glass. After that, I think I squeezed in a glass-and-a-half. What's done me in this time is the lack of food. You always eat before you drink—it's an unwritten rule.

Cassian also doesn't realize one of his best friends is in love with him.

When we enter my bedroom, the sheets are a tangled mess and the floor is strewn with my work clothes and heels. "Sorry about the mess," I mutter.

"Please," he snorts. "Have you seen my room? It's like I've reverted to being a teenager." Once he's at the edge of the bed, he lays me down and tucks me in. "Are you going to be okay?" he asks, resting a hand on my shoulder.

Of course I'll be okay. I'm Penelope Montgomery. Just because I don't get something I want doesn't mean I let it ruin my life. It hurts to watch someone you love chase after someone else, but not supporting him and being that friend I want to be is worse. It would weigh too heavily on my conscience to degrade his hopes and dreams. If chasing after Ophelia makes him happy, then it is what it is.

"I'll be okay," I smile. "I just need to sleep off the hangover."

The corner of his mouth pulls to one side as he leans down and presses a small kiss to my forehead. "Night, Pen. Yell if you need anything, okay?"

"Okay," I murmur.

Cassian turns around to head for the door. His posture is slack and his face is tipped downward. Damn. Whatever Ophelia said to him really struck his ego. At this rate, he's going to be moping around all week. I don't know if I can handle going a week without seeing him smile.

"Cassian?" I ask.

He pauses and glances over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

"She agreed to have dinner with you," I say. "Don't forget that. There's always hope, Cass." Worried my face may betray me, I lay down and turn my back to him, closing my eyes. I don't want to see the look on his face, and nor do I want him to think this is a conversation I want to continue with.

Cassian's footsteps against the hardwood are audible as he steps out of the bedroom and closes the door, leaving me in silence.

I press my cheek against the pillow.

Fuck me and my moral compass.