"David?"

Penny almost didn't recognize him, dressed in a t-shirt and a pair of faded jeans. She'd never seen him without his suit and tie before. And he'd done something different with his hair, too. He usually kept it parted and slicked down, but tonight, he'd swept it straight back from his forehead. It stuck up messily on top of his head. She'd seen it that way once before—one night when she'd offered to work late to help him meet a deadline. She'd walked into his office and found him lost in concentration, absent-mindedly running his fingers through his hair as he stared at a spreadsheet on his computer. He'd smoothed it back down hastily, but she'd been tempted to tell him to leave it that way. It took a good ten years off his face. Did he know that? Had he spiked it up deliberately before he came over here tonight? Or did it look that way because he'd just rolled out of bed?

He smiled and held up a red plastic cup in salute. "Good scotch!" he said, raising his voice to be heard over the din.

"What are you doing here?"

Penny mentally slapped herself in the forehead the moment the words were out of her mouth. That came out way more unfriendly than she meant it. Her mind was reeling, completely caught off guard by his presence. David. Here. Looking like that. How was he the oldest person here by a decade and still the hottest guy in the room?

"You invited me!"

"Did I?"

"Didn't you?" He laughed and took another sip of his drink. "Well, I figured someone had to drink all this scotch."

He made a gagging face as he swallowed. She couldn't quite tell if he was faking it or not.

"No, totally!" she stammered. "Sorry. I'm just surprised to see you—but welcome! And thank you for the liquor!" She took a step toward him and reached out awkwardly to hug him. He stiffened at the contact and then swayed unsteadily against her.

"Are you drunk?" she asked as he released her.

"I'm a lightweight, remember?" He tossed back the remainder of his scotch. Then his eyes left her face and began wandering around the room, looking for something.

"Bathroom?" She gestured behind her with her thumb. He shook his head vaguely and bent close to speak directly in her ear.

"So does everyone else here live in Brooklyn?"

Penny laughed. "Probably. What did you expect?"

"Brooklyn." He closed his eyes and groaned. "I'm going to need some more scotch."

With that, he moved away from her and headed back toward the liquor. Penny followed him with her eyes as he eased his way through the crowded room. Should she play hostess and introduce him around? He didn't seem to need it. When she caught sight of him again a few moments later, he was surrounded by a group of three girls, laughing and flipping their hair at him as he mixed their drinks. No, David Powers needed no introduction. He might not be a fan of Brooklyn, but Brooklyn was a fan of him.

The party was winding down by the time he approached her again, not quite at the point where his words were slurred, but decidedly unsteady on his feet. Penny laughed as he weaved his way over and came to a stop in front of her. "Tolerance of a flea," she said, putting out a hand to steady him as he leaned toward her.

"I confess I am a wee bit intoxicated."

"Do you want to crash here?"

"No. No no. Nonono." He shook his head vigorously. "Definitely not. No."

Penny raised her eyebrows. "Are you sure?"

"There's a rule against that."

"What rule is that one?"

"I can't remember." He drew his eyebrows together for a moment, lost in thought. "Something about Brooklyn and the stroke of midnight. Possibly involving a pumpkin."

"It's after two AM, David."

"Shit."

"Come on. I'll help you find a cab."

They made their way down to the street. Penny led the way in case he took a tumble down the stairs, all the while holding onto the secret hope that there would be no taxis to be found so late at night on an out-of-the-way side street. To her disappointment, they arrived at the curb to see a cab coming up the block. David flung out his arm to hail it and nearly toppled forward. He grabbed her on the shoulder to catch himself.

"Careful!" she exclaimed.

He'd regained his balance by the time the cab pulled up to a stop in front of them, but his hand still lingered on her shoulder. He turned back to face her one last time.

"Thanks," he said. His face was closer to hers than it should have been. Close enough to smell the scotch on his breath.

"Do you remember your address?" she asked.

He bit his lower lip. "I'm sure it'll come to me."

"Maybe I should go with you."

"Maybe you should."

"Maybe you should stay here tonight."

"Maybe." He paused, looking down at her. She saw his chest rise and fall in a long, deliberate breath. His face had grown serious. His fingers, still resting on her shoulder, had slipped beneath the edge of her cap sleeve and started tracing a slow circle on her skin. She realized she was staring at his mouth. She forced herself to inhale and raised her eyes back up to meet his. He raised a single eyebrow in response.

"Goodnight, Penelope," he whispered. His hand ran down the full length of her arm before he broke contact at last.

Then he ducked into the cab and was gone.

Penny felt deflated afterward. She watched the cab disappear around the corner and then turned to trudge back up the stairs. The last remaining stragglers were saying their goodbyes. They left her to her empty futon, now strewn with plastic cups. Penny wrinkled her nose as she swept them onto the floor and plopped down. She was exhausted, yet she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep. Not right now. Not the way her heart was still thumping.

She closed her eyes, but she couldn't help but picture him down on the street just now. That eyebrow he'd raised at her... She pondered it idly, replaying the image in her head. Had that been some sort of unspoken proposition? More like he'd been asking her a question, and Penny couldn't help but wonder what might have happened if the answer had been different. What if they hadn't found a cab? What if she'd brought him back upstairs?

She couldn't fight the urge to imagine how it might have gone. Maybe he would have made a move if she'd held his gaze a little longer, if she had run the tip of her tongue around her parted lips...

She imagined how his kiss would feel. Confident. Commanding. His mouth crushed against hers... His breathing hot and urgent... And how she would cling to him with her hands in his hair, messing it up and smoothing it down again. No, she silently corrected herself, adjusting the fantasy slightly. Not like that. What if he'd slid his hands down her arms and held them locked against her hips? Trapped her by the wrists so she couldn't move. She could only stay still and feel his tongue part her lips... and swallow his groan inside her mouth...

Penny let out a restless sigh as the daydream continued in her head. Somehow, in this version, he wasn't too drunk to make it back upstairs. He pressed her up against her apartment door as she fumbled with her keys. He smelled like scotch and something sweeter as he whispered in her ear. "You see, Miss Stewart. This is what happens when I cross the Brooklyn Bridge."

"What?" her dream-self answered, eyes wide with mock innocence. "What happens, Mr. Powers?"

And then her key clicked in the lock, and the apartment door burst open. They found the futon strewn with empty plastic cups, and he swept them all aside in his urgency to get her on her back. "I can't stop thinking about you," he would whisper as lips explored, teasing and tickling, raising goosebumps on every square inch of her skin.

"I can't stop thinking about you either," she would answer, and she knew it was the truth. There was a reason he kept trapping her limbs in her fantasies, preventing her from moving. He held her like that in real life, too. Transfixed and helpless. Unable to escape the aching longing.

At work, they sparred and teased each other. She gave as good as she got. But here, in her dreams, she didn't fight him. She gave in to him completely as he tormented her with practiced hands. His kisses wouldn't let her get a word in edgewise, hot and hard and demanding. She could only gasp with pleasure as she imagined how he pinned her hips beneath him...

Penny shook her head to clear it. Flushed and vaguely guilty, she couldn't escape the feeling that she'd violated some unspoken rule. Was it wrong to think about her boss that way? Surely, it was harmless as long as she never acted on it. And David would never cross that line with an employee. Never in a million years.

Would he?

She pulled out her phone and glanced at it. He had never responded to her text. Why did she still feel like she was waiting for something more from him? She set the phone down beside her and closed her eyes again, but she picked up her laptop a moment later. She flicked it open and pulled up her work email account. What was she expecting to see there, in the middle of the night on a weekend? Honestly, she told herself, how delusional could she be?

And yet, she wasn't surprised in the least when she saw a new message waiting at the top of her inbox.

David ([email protected]) 3:43 AM
Subj: cnan't sleep

She clicked the email open without a second glance—without a pause to look around, or to listen, or to think.

If she had looked, she might have seen she was standing at a threshold. And if she had listened, she might have heard the sound, just barely audible, of a door slamming shut behind her.

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David ([email protected]) 3:43 AM
To: Penelope Stewart
Subj: cnan't sleep

you see penelope, there are certain rules. ruuuuuuuuuules. rule #1: dont go to brooklyn. rule #2: if in brooklyn, dont get shitfaced. rule #3: if shitfaced in brooklyn.......... i forget. rule #3.5: if shitfaced in brooklyn, dont get so shitfaced that you forget rule #3. rule #4: if so shitfaced in brooklyn that you forgot rule #3, dont fall in love with penelope. rule #5: if inlovewith penelope, whatever you do, do noooooooooooooooooooot email her.

shit.

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