Chapter 5

It wasn’t that Cole was bored with his life. Not really.

Sure, he was due for a change on the work front, both for the practical purpose of a bigger paycheck, as well as his brain needing a new challenge.

And yeah, he was a little tired of his usual date nights on Friday and Saturday with an endless string of nice but ultimately forgettable women.

Even his weeknight routine of WhistlePig Rye Whiskey on the rocks and whatever game was on had started to feel a little monotonous.

But even with all of that, it came as a surprise that the best time Cole had had in a long time was a spontaneous Wednesday afternoon in a mediocre pub, with mediocre beer, mediocre hot wings, and a feisty tomboy.

Penelope Pope continued to surprise him.

She’d surprised him last night at the Yankees game, with her unwavering focus on the field.

She’d surprised him again today with her friendly, no-strings-attached offer of coffee.

And she surprised him now, with how enjoyable she was to be around.

It had taken Cole the better part of an hour this afternoon—sitting side by side with her on the barstools in a crappy pub, drinking crappy beer—before he finally figured out what made her so damn arresting.

Penelope Pope was real.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d met someone who meant what they said—everything they said. But this woman had more honesty in her tiny body than the entire population of Manhattan.

Yet that wasn’t even the most surprising part. There were plenty of people who claimed candor as a way to utter harsh statements and snide observations. What made Penelope refreshing was that her goodness was honest.

Kind and straightforward. He didn’t want to get all weepy and weird about it, but even he could admit that Penelope Pope was a rare creature indeed.

“Okay, your turn to fess up,” she said, dragging a hot wing through a pile of blue cheese dressing before tearing at it neatly with her small white teeth.

“Fess up about what?” he asked.

He picked up his own chicken wing and took a healthy bite. Finally. A meal with a woman that wasn’t sushi or tapas.

She licked sauce off her finger, and if he had the urge to watch the motion of her lips longer than he should, he ignored it.

“You and sports,” she said. “You love them, obviously. But are you good at them?”

Cole picked up a piece of celery. “You mean am I good at playing them?”

“Yup. Were you high school quarterback? Starting point guard? Hotshot tennis player?”

“Baseball,” he said.

“My favorite! What position? No, let me guess. Shortstop.”

“Easy there, stalker. How’d you know that?”

She grinned and picked up her wing again. “It’s my job to know.”

“Not spilling your trade secrets?”

Her small shoulder lifted. “It’s your body type. It’s lean. Muscular but not too big. And you move well.”

Cole choked out a laugh. This had to be the strangest conversation he’d had over drinks with a woman. “I move well?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Your body looks like you know how to use it. You know?”

Her eyes went big, as though she just now realized that her choice of words could be misconstrued. “Oh. God. Not like that—”

Cole couldn’t help himself. He leaned forward with a sly smile. “Not like what?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re teasing me.”

Cole laughed. “Actually, I thought I was flirting.”

“Oh. Well. Maybe you were,” she said. “I’ve never been good at picking up on that.”

Her voice was just the tiniest bit glum, and Cole wanted to pry, despite the fact that wanting to dig beneath the surface of a woman was unusual for him.

Not because he was some jaded prick or anything, it was just…he hadn’t experienced what he’d seen some of his friends experience. True love, and all that.

Someday, maybe. Or not. He wasn’t holding his breath.

Instead he steered the conversation to safer topics. “Okay, my turn for a question.”

She held out her hands and made a beckoning motion. “Bring it.”

He smiled. He liked her.

“All right,” he said slowly, leaning back slightly. “What’s your story?”

She lifted her eyebrows. “My story?”

“Everyone’s got one, babe.”

She laughed. “That’s one hell of a question for our first nondate, Sharpe. I mean, where would I even start? About how I was born on a snowy day in November? Favorite movie? First time I broke my nose? Or how about the first time I broke my sister’s nose—”

“That one,” he said. “You broke your sister’s nose?”

“Total accident. In my youthful ignorance, I didn’t understand that it was instinct for some people to freeze in horror when a softball came their way rather than catch it.”

“And your broken nose?”

“Sixth grade. Elbow to the face during a basketball game.”

“Tiny. You played basketball?”

She smiled. “Let’s just say it wasn’t my glory sport.”

He nodded as he took another sip. “It’s good. All good stuff you’re sharing here, Tiny. But I want to know the really good stuff.”

“Such as?”

Her expression went just slightly wary, and his interest was piqued. Was it possible Penelope Pope wasn’t quite the open book she pretended to be?

“How about we start with why you moved to New York, when best I can tell, you don’t know a soul and you’re destined for unemployment.”

Penelope flicked at Cole’s arm. “Don’t count on that last one. But as for the first…”

She sighed, and Cole felt the same pang of protectiveness he had that morning when she’d been standing there in her stained shirt, with those big sad eyes looking up at him.

“Okay, I’ll tell you, but you can’t tell anyone else,” she said.

“But what will I talk about at girls’ night?” he asked.

“Ha. Ha. Okay, here’s the thing, Sharpe…”

She blew out a breath, took a sip of beer, and then spun her barstool around to face him.

“I’m sort of running away from a guy.”

Was she now.

He didn’t know why he could possibly be interested in Penelope Pope’s love life, but he kept his voice casual to coax her into continuing.

“Well, switching time zones isn’t a bad way to do it,” he replied.

“Yeah. That and…”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t chicken out on me now, Tiny.”

“We worked together. Sort of. We were both freelancers, but we did a ton of stories together. Our styles meshed well. Readers loved our good-natured bickering about who would win the Series, or who the top draft pick would be. The Chicago Tribune would bring us on for months at a time to cover everything from Sweet Sixteen to the Triple Crown…”

Cole wiggled his eyebrows. “You do know how to sweet-talk a man.”

Her smile was faint, and he nudged her with his knee. “So what happened?”

Penelope bit her lip. “Well, the thing is, I’ve always wanted to go in more of a digital direction. I mean, I love the newspaper, and the team at the Tribune was great, but I sort of geek out on the more interactive things that are happening on the tech front.”

“Smart,” Cole said.

She nodded. “Evan thought so too. He encouraged me. Hooked me up with a college friend who was heading this great start-up. Basically a social media site for sports lovers. They had a ton of investors, and they were looking for a director of editorial. I wanted it. I prepped for weeks. I talked to every tech nerd in Chicago, learning the lingo. I put together this amazing portfolio. I showed it to Evan, and he loved it….”

She tilted her head back. “Ah gawd, I was stupid.”

Cole frowned as he realized where this story was going. “He took your portfolio.”

She swallowed and nodded. “The thing is, I didn’t even know he wanted the job. He never said a word about it. If he had, I would have—”

“You guys were a thing?”

“No,” she said quickly. “I mean, I thought maybe, someday…I thought…well, I found out he had a girlfriend. The same day I found out that he’d interviewed for the job with my proposal.”

“Holy shit, Tiny,” he said, staring at her. “I feel like I just walked into a summer blockbuster and your guy Evan is the villain. Real people actually pull that shit?”

She rubbed her hands over her face. “Apparently. And that’s all we’re going to say on the matter.”

“Really? Because if you want to cry…”

She smiled. “I’m not going to cry.”

“You sure? Because I was ready.”

“To what, offer a shoulder?”

Cole reached across the bar and rapidly pulled out a half dozen paper napkins from a beat-up dispenser.

He held them out to her and smiled when she burst out laughing.

Penelope pushed his hand aside. “I’m over it. Really.”

He didn’t think so. But she had a stubborn, don’t-push-me look on her face, and it was hardly his place to press. He barely knew the woman.

“My turn for a question,” she said.

He gestured for her to continue.

“The Stiletto ladies,” she said, sucking a drop of blue cheese off her finger.

Cole felt his groin tighten and looked away. Get it together, man.

“What about them?”

“They’re…friends?”

He smiled. “Yes. Good friends.”

“So you never…” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“Never,” he said. “Julie and I flirted once upon a time, but never came close to dating. And by the time I got to know the rest of them, they were already involved with their respective significant others.”

“Damn,” she muttered. “There’s not a single one among them?”

“Nope. Why, were you hoping they’d be your Sex and the City crowd?”

“How do you know about Sex and the City?”

“I live in New York City and have dated a lot of women. Of course I know about Sex and the City.”

“A lot, hmm? How many is a lot?”

He winked. “Fishing? Seeing if I’m available?”

Penelope patted his arm. “Definitely not. You’re pretty, but don’t worry. You’re safe with me.”

Cole lifted an eyebrow. “How’s that?”

She pursed her lips and tilted her head to study him.

Cole laughed. “Why do I feel like I should be giving you my good side? To see if I pass muster?”

“Oh, don’t fret, this is quite nice,” she said, lifting her hand to gesture over his face.

“But you’re still not feeling the pull, huh?”

Penelope took a sip of beer. “Are you?”

He blinked in surprise. “What?”

She shifted in her barstool to face him. “Take it all in. Are you feeling light-headed? Dazzled by my feminine charms?”

“Ah—”

“Exactly,” she said, looking strangely satisfied with his nonreaction. “You’re out of my league, Sharpe.”

He opened his mouth, and she shocked the hell out of him by leaning forward and tapping a finger over his lips very matter-of-factly.

“Don’t even,” she said. “This is how it’s going to be, okay? I don’t have any illusions about the fact that I’m a friend-zone kind of girl, and I’m okay with that. Plus, lucky for you, I’m a darn good friend.”

He tried to speak, but she kept right on talking.

“Plus, we have a career in common, and let’s be honest, there aren’t that many sportswriters out there, so we should stick together, right?”

“I—”

“You can’t say no,” she chattered on. “Because I’m new to the city and desperate for a friend, and I like you. But that’s where it ends, okay? At like. You don’t have to worry that I’ll get the wrong idea about what this is because I won’t. But in return, you have to promise not to flirt.”

Cole could only stare at her.

It was the strangest conversation he’d ever had with a woman. He wasn’t sure he’d ever had a woman tell him quite so plainly that she didn’t want anything romantic from him.

Which was fine—he wasn’t in the market for a girlfriend, and even if he were, this chatty little tomboy wasn’t really his type.

Still, he couldn’t help being a little insulted by her easy dismissal of him as a potential lover.

And her insistence that he not flirt—Cole wasn’t sure he even knew where that line was anymore. What was the difference between friendly and flirty?

Penelope pointed a finger at him. “You’re overthinking this.”

He grabbed another celery stick and bit into it as he studied her. “Well, I do have a question. Since you have this so planned out, and all.”

“Shoot,” she said, taking a sip of her beer.

He leaned forward a little. “There is the not so tiny detail that as of now we’re actively competing for the same job. What happens when one of us gets it?”

And despite his surprise affection for Tiny, he would get the job. He had to. Rent at his brother’s adult-care home got more expensive every time Cole blinked, and Cole couldn’t bear the thought of Bobby’s having to move away from his friends if Cole hit a gap in his freelance contracts.

He needed that steady paycheck.

Penelope shrugged. “Why would that make a difference? I mean, don’t get me wrong. I want the job. I want it badly. But if you get it…well, then, I have to think you’re the best person for Oxford. And I’ll be happy for you.”

Cole could only shake his head. “You’re a unique creature, Penelope Pope.”

“What about you? If I get the job, can you handle it? We can still be friends?”

Cole glanced down at their near-empty glasses. “Another round?”

“Sure,” she said slowly, “but you didn’t answer the question.”

He lifted his hand to get the bartender’s attention. “We can absolutely be friends,” he told her.

“Even if I get the job,” she pressed, sounding doubtful.

Cole glanced over and smiled before chucking her playfully under the chin. “Oh, Tiny. That ain’t never gonna happen.”