17 WOLFIEAs we stumble over the threshold of Penelope’s apartment, every nerve ending in my brain is firing with the same persistent message . . .
Let the f**k go.
Let go of the past, of the anxiety, of all the bullshit that’s been holding me back from the gorgeous woman in front of me.
I’ve spelled it all out for her, showing her where I grew up, admitting what happened to me there. And despite it all, she’s still here, clutching my shoulders and kissing me with a sense of urgency, like she can’t get close enough, like she wants to take on all my pain and help me heal.
It does things to me—warm, soft, sweet things—to know that this gorgeous, perfect girl actually wants me.
The door has hardly closed behind us before my fingers are weaving into her soft blond hair, pulling her back in
