I could stop my purposeful stride, have a heart-to-heart with the guy, and once again try to make him see the light but my tongue moves before I can filter it.

  “Hey,” he says. “About last night…”

  “Fuck off, Dylan,” I say without breaking stride.

  Best morning ever.

  Chapter 19

  Hayden

  “Good morning, Hayden.”

  I smile at Whitney the hostess at the front of the restaurant. “Yes, it is,” I greet. “Good morning indeed.”

  “Just one for breakfast today?” she asks.

  “No, actually. Two,” I say. “She’ll be joining me soon.”

  The girl giggles as she snatches two menus from her podium. “Ooo-la-la. Right this way, sir.”

  I follow her across the restaurant, passively adjusting the cuffs on my shirt as I walk. It’s a little wrinkled this morning but I don’t care. Wonderful battle scars from an incredible night.

  Whitney rounds a table for two and sets the menus down. “Your server will be with you shortly,” she says.

  “Thank you.”

  I sit down, leaning back in the chair to get comfortable while I wait for Penelope. I saw her and Ira talking to her parents at the far side of the lobby but I wasn’t about to interrupt that conversation.

  “Hayden.”

  I glance up and sigh at that familiar, busty redhead standing over my shoulder in a raven-black cocktail dress.

  “Trisha,” I ask, “what are you still doing here?”

  Her pink lips curl. “Hayden, Hayden, Hayden…”

  “I thought you left.”

  “I thought I did, too, but…” She walks around the table to sit in the empty chair across from me. “I just had this feeling…”

  “Couldn’t possibly be shame, could it?” I ask.

  “A journalistic instinct, you might call it.”

  “Nothing you do qualifies as journalism, Trisha.”

  She leans forward, ignoring my quips. “You weren’t being entirely honest with me before. Were you?”

  I sigh. “About what?”

  “About why you chose to stay here at Daddy’s hotel during your painful rehabilitation,” she answers. “The five-star restaurant. The state-of-the-art fitness center. The loyal, hardworking staff willing to get on their knees for you. All available twenty-four hours a day.”

  “And all very good reasons for me to stay here. Get to your point.”

  “The adorable hairdresser from Burbank.” Her smile grows. “Not exactly on the standard list of amenities for a Botsford Plaza. I know. I checked.”

  I swallow hard. “Okay, look…”

  “You’re hiding out here with a girl and you didn’t think she was important enough to mention?”

  “No, I didn’t. Because she’s not.”

  Trisha blinks. “Really?”

  I nod. “Really.”

  “You two seemed awfully cozy last night at your brother’s show,” she argues.

  “What the hell were you doing at the Criminal Records show last night?” I ask.

  “Planned for a weekend.” She scoffs. “Had to do something to kill time until my flight. Little did I know I’d run right into my next human interest story in the front row.”

  I lean forward. “No.”

  She throws on that pink-lipped pout. “Hayden…”

  “I said no.”

  “A handsome, playboy athlete, broken and defeated, crawls home to Las Vegas to soothe his aching wounds…”

  I roll my eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake…”

  “There, he stumbles upon a beautiful California girl…” She stops. “No, that’s not right.”

  “Ya think?”

  “Would waifish sell better?”

  I flex my jaw. “Trisha…”

  She waves passively. “Never mind. I’ll ask Daisy.”

  “Yes, please. Do ask Hunter and Daisy whether or not you should run a bullshit personal exposé without the subject’s approval or permission. I’m sure they have some first-hand opinions about that.”

  “Worked out in their favor, didn’t it?” she asks with a smirk.

  “There’s no story here, Trisha,” I say. “Penelope’s just a friend.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah. Just a girl I’m hooking up with until my leg heals. Killing time, just like you. She means nothing to me.”

  “Nothing?” she repeats with doubt.

  I nod. “Nothing at all.”

  She bites her cheek. “Well, I’m sure I can find it in my heart to pass on a human interest story…”

  “Thank you.”

  “If…”

  I exhale. “If what?”

  Her lips press together in a smile. “If you’ll give me my exposé,” she says.

  “No,” I say.

  “One interview,” she counters. “Your first triumphant game back. You and me. In the dugout. With pictures.”

  I groan. If I don’t agree to this, I’ll never see the end of this woman. “No pictures.”

  “One picture.”

  “Fine.” I bite down. “One interview. One picture.”

  “Deal.” She extends her manicured hand across the table and I shake it. “It’s been a pleasure talking to you again, Hayden. Get well soon.”

  I grunt a goodbye as she stands up… and again when she doesn’t immediately leave.

  “So, Penelope means nothing to you, huh?” she asks.

  I glare. “Nothing.”

  “Does she know that?”

  “I… no. Why?”

  “‘Cuz she does now,” she mutters before flouncing away.

  I spin around in my chair. “Penny,” I say, my chest sinking.

  She stands behind me with her hands folded over her clutch in front of her. “Hi,” she merely says.

  I push out of the chair so fast my knee twinges. I ignore it. “That wasn’t… How long have you been standing there?”

  She shrugs, her shoulders stiff. “Waifish, I think.”

  “It wasn’t what it sounded like,” I say. “That woman’s a reporter, okay? And a really bad one at that. Digs up personal dirt on athletes and calls it news. I told her that stuff to make her back off and leave you alone.”

  Penelope nods slowly. “Because you don’t want people to know about me?”

  I nod. “Yes!”

  “Because I don’t mean anything to you?”

  “No…” I step forward. “No, that’s not what I said.”

  “You kinda did.”

  “But that’s not what I meant.”

  She looks down. “Hayden, it’s fine. This was all a meaningless arrangement anyway, right? Fake girlfriends shouldn’t get as much media attention as state school sorority hook-ups.”

  I frown. “That’s not…”

  “I spoke with my parents,” she says. “Told them everything. They know about… everything, so…” Her throat clears. “We don’t have to do this anymore.”

  A rock settles in my gut. “Penny…”

  “Thinkin’ I might skip out early,” she continues. “Try and beat the Sunday evening traffic on the way home.”

  “Wait, Penny—”

  She turns quickly. “It was nice to meet you, Hayden.”

  My chest tightens as she beelines back toward the lobby.

  “You, too,” I say to myself.

  Well, that was the least fun I’ve had in weeks.

  Guess I need to find a new hobby now.

  I exhale hard and abandon my table, meandering my way back to the lobby. I take a hard turn into the bar, happy there’s no velvet rope blocking the entrance this time.

  Doc greets me with a nod as I plop down on the nearest stool. “Hey, Hayden,” he says.

  “Hiya,” I say.

  “Where’s Penny?”

  I bite down. “She’s on her way home.”

  He nods, easily reading my face. “Well, what can I get you?”

  “Uh…”

  I feel my back pockets of my jeans in search of my wallet but it’s not there. Must have left it upstairs in my room. I quickly check my front pockets out of habit and my fingers graze the folded-up bill stuffed inside. I pull it out, ready to spend every dime of it, but I pause.

  Twenty dollars.

  Penelope’s twenty dollars.

  “You okay, man?” Doc asks.

  I keep the money pinched between my fingers. “Yeah,” I answer. “I’m fine.”

  “Really? Because you look like shit,” he jokes.

  I spot myself in the mirror behind bar and nod.

  “You’re right,” I say as I slide off the stool. “In fact, I think I could use a haircut.”

  Chapter 20

  Penelope

  Here it is. I was right.

  I lie in my own bed in Los Angeles. It’s definitely my shitty apartment. No fancy towels or room service to be found here. I’m not sprawled along a big, fluffy mattress and I’m sure as hell not lying next to a billionaire either.

  The end of the dream.

  And to make matters worse; it’s Monday, too.

  My escape is long over. Time to get back to the daily grind.

  I roll out of bed and hit the shower to wash away the memory of my weekend in Las Vegas.

  It’s all over now.

  No need to dwell on it anymore.

  Normal life may proceed as planned.

  Hayden who?

  Just one night only.

  At least my mother has seemingly accepted my normal. She sent me a long apology email last night, stating that she didn’t realize she was such a negative presence in her daughter’s life and that she only wanted me to be happy. A little passive-aggressive, sure. But I’ll take it. Baby steps.

  I stop to grab a cup of coffee from the cafe on the corner on my way to the salon. A little caffeine perk ought to help me shake off the final lingering shadow in the back of my mind. The one that smells like him, tastes like him, sounds like him…

  Might need a bagel, too.

  I walk in the front entrance and my boss smiles at me. He stands above the first workstation, prepping his tools beneath bright, white lights while a woman sits in his chair with a magazine open on her lap.

  “G’morning, Penelope,” he greets.

  “Hey, Ace.”

  “My first appointment is here.” He snaps his shears twice. “Can you handle the walk-ins?”

  I nod as I set my coffee cup down on the second workstation across from him. “Sure can,” I answer.

  “Iris should be here in a couple of hours to help out.”

  “Awesome.”

  “How was Vegas?”

  I hang my jacket on the hook by the office door. “It was… fine,” I answer.

  He chuckles. “Not married yet?”

  I snort. “No. In fact, I actually told my parents off this year, so this was the last time I have to worry about Dylan McCoy. I hope.”

  “Atta girl,” he says. “What finally made you snap?”

  “I didn’t snap, I just…”

  The entrance bell chimes as I reach for my apron. I throw it on over my neck and tie it off behind me, all the while searching my brain for the right word to describe it without thinking too much about—

  “Marco?”

  I stop in my tracks, my eyes locked on the man by the entrance wearing a t-shirt and jeans.

  Hayden.

  “Polo!” Ace greets him with a smile. “Good morning, sir! We’ll be right with you.”

  Hayden smiles, his gaze on me. “Thanks,” he says.

  After a moment, Ace nudges my arm. “Penny for your thoughts?”

  I shake it off. “I’m fine.”

  “And so is he,” he murmurs. “Go customer service the shit outta him.”

  He gives me another nudge forward and I exhale hard before continuing the long walk toward Hayden.

  I pause in front of him and his dimples carve a little deeper.

  “Hey, Penny,” he says.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  He looks around the room. “I seem to find myself in need of a haircut,” he says.

  I raise a brow. “Really?”

  “Yeah, it’s…” He runs a hand through his brownish-black hair. “I think it needs a little off the top? Maybe? I yield to your professional opinion, of course.”

  “You came all the way to Burbank for a haircut?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Yeah.”

  “There’s a barber right down the street from your hotel.”

  “Is there?” He feigns surprise. “Must have missed him…”

  I tilt my head. “Hayden.”

  “This place came highly recommended!” he says. “I looked it up and saw you were doing half-off walk-ins this week, so I figured—”

  “That was last week.”

  “Then…” He reaches into his back pocket. “I want whatever this’ll get me.”

  Hayden slaps money into my open palm. I hold it up, instantly recognizing the folded twenty-dollar bill I gave him before.

  “Twenty bucks, huh?” I ask.

  “Might not be worth as much here as it is in Vegas,” he says, smiling. “Back there, it can get you a whole weekend of fun and debauchery.”

  “Hayden…”

  “Just a little trim,” he says. “Then, I’ll be on my way.”

  I hesitate, taking a deep breath to compose myself. “All right,” I say, gesturing toward my workstation. “Have a seat.”

  He steps forward and sits down in the chair. Ace eyes me with suspicion but I wave a hand, letting him know I got this before I shift to stand behind Hayden’s head.

  I run my fingers lightly through his hair, trying to keep my focus off the fact that I can feel his gaze on me in the mirror. He really doesn’t even need a trim. It’s fine the way it is now. Perfect, even.

  Obviously, he didn’t come here for this. I know that. He knows that.

  I slide a comb from my apron, along with a sharp pair of scissors. “So, you stalked my profile to find out where I worked?” I ask, combing his left side.

  “No,” he answers. “After you checked-out, I ran into your dad in the lobby and he told me where you worked.”

  I snip an uneven strand. “Really?”

  “He said something about how he’d rather you do your thing than settle with some tool from Yale? I dunno, it happened really fast…”

  I chuckle. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

  My nose twitches with the scent of good hotel shampoo. Warm water on my skin. His lips on mine…

  “Penny, I’m sorry.”

  We make eye contact in the mirror. He looks at me with heavy lids, his pupils small from the bright, probing lights.

  I shrug. “For what?”

  “I shouldn’t have said those things to Trisha,” he says. “But, please understand, I only did it because I didn’t want to turn your life upside down — which is exactly what would happen if she ran that story.”

  I let my comb roam by itself. “What kind of story?”

  “The kind about a poshy playboy who finds love in a normal, everyday girl so that other normal, everyday girls can pick up a magazine and live vicariously through her. It’s exploitative and invasive and—”

  “Not true?” I ask.

  Hayden inhales to answer but stops. “No,” he says. “It’s not true.”

  I pause when I realize I’ve been combing the same spot repeatedly.

  “I didn’t fall in love with a normal, everyday girl,” he says. “I fell in love with Penelope Warren.”

  I look forward into the mirror as he kicks off the floor and turns the chair around to face me. He stands up before I can react and takes my hands in his.

  “I can’t even begin to say how much this weekend meant to me, Penny,” he says. “If you still want to move on, I’ll accept that, but… I wanted to see you one last time and tell you face-to-face that I’ll never forget you.” His lips twitch. “I’ll never forget those three days I spent with Penelope Warren for as long as I live.”

  Hayden kisses my cheek before taking a step back and releasing my hands.

  My heart flutters, pounding so hard I can barely hear my own thoughts as he stalks toward the door.

  “Six days,” I say.

  Hayden stops. “What?” he asks.

  I catch my breath. “Twelve weeks, six days, and counting,” I say. “Right?”

  He smiles. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

  I drop my comb and scissors into my apron and step forward as he does. We bridge the short gap in two long strides and he cups my face, drawing me closer and crushing his lips on mine. I kiss him back, completely swooning in his thick arms as laughter takes over my chest.

  “Should we make this official?” he asks.

  I furrow my brow. “What do you mean?”

  Hayden withdraws his phone from his pocket. “Every new haircut deserves a selfie,” he says as he flicks his camera on.

  He sidles to stand beside me and raises the phone in front of us to use the front-facing camera.

  “Smile, Penny,” he says.

  We both grin into the camera and he snaps our photo.

  “Cute on the first try,” he says, admiring it. “Nice.”

  His thumbs tap wildly along the touchscreen.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, growing nervous.

  “New haircut,” he says as he slowly types, “from my girlfriend, PennyLove818.”

  I blink. “Wait, what?”

  “Too late. Already tagged you. Heart emoji. Smile emoji.” He peeks up. “Eggplant?”

  I shake my head.

  “No eggplant.” He deletes it. “There.”

  Hayden drops the phone into my hand and crosses his arms. I quickly turn it to check the screen, my chest clenching at the admittedly cute picture and tag ready to go out to nearly a million followers.

  “It’s up to you, Penny,” he says. “If you wanna keep it quiet, then we will. Otherwise, hit send and we’ll tell the world.”

  My thumbs twitch. I bite my lip. I swallow hard. I take a breath to combat the searing heat taking over my skin.

  Hayden smiles and my heart skips at those fucking dimples.

  I tap send.

  Holy shit.

  I sent it.

  “There,” I say, shoving the phone back into his hands. “It’s done.”