Chapter 2: The Fabric Between Them

The next morning came with an awkward sweetness neither Penny nor Jack could quite shake. Jack found himself hesitating outside her door, pretending to scroll his phone while really waiting for another glance of her in something too small, too snug, too…intentional. The hallway still smelled faintly of her vanilla perfume and coffee beans from the kitchen, and the ghost of her laughter echoed in his mind like a craving.

Inside, Penny was staring into her closet with a smirk she didn't try to hide. Yesterday's outfit had clearly left an impression—and while she wasn't usually one to dress for anyone but herself, Jack had ignited something in her that made vanity feel delicious. This morning, she wanted to press the line again—subtly, but firmly.

She chose a silky pale green top that clung like a second skin and a pair of high-waisted jeans that hugged every curve. The buttons on the top strained slightly near her chest, and she smiled at the idea of Jack trying not to look, again.

When she walked into the kitchen, Jack was already there, shirtless, his toned arms on full display as he poured himself water. He glanced up—and the moment their eyes met, the air shifted.

"Morning," Penny said, reaching up into the cupboard just a little too slowly.

Jack blinked. "Morning. Uh—coffee?"

She turned and leaned against the counter, arms crossed just beneath her breasts. "You offering to make it for me now?"

He shrugged, flashing a cocky half-grin. "You looked like you needed it."

She tilted her head. "And what exactly do I look like, Jack?"

He opened his mouth to answer, then closed it. "Dangerous," he finally said.

Penny laughed. "That's fair."

The tension simmered between them again, growing thicker with every glance. Jack took slow sips of his water, eyes constantly drifting back to her shirt—the way the fabric clung to her, how the outline of her bra teased through the material. He tried to distract himself by talking.

"So… got any plans today?"

"Just errands. Need to stop by the tailor, actually," she said, looking down at her chest dramatically. "Seems nothing fits quite right anymore."

Jack chuckled, but it came out low and rough. "Yeah, I… noticed."

Penny sauntered past him toward the living room. "You keep noticing, Jack. It's cute."

He followed, but kept a respectful distance. "You know I'm not trying to… cross any lines here."

"Of course not," she said, settling into the couch. Her legs crossed slowly, one foot dangling just enough to draw the eye. "You're just being neighborly."

Jack sat across from her, the low coffee table between them feeling more like a barrier than furniture.

"Seriously, though," he said, "you wear things like that and expect me not to look?"

"Would it be better if I wore a garbage bag?" she teased.

"Honestly?" he muttered, "Even that wouldn't help."

There was a pause. A beat too long. Penny's lips curved.

"Flatterer."

Silence again. The kind charged with every unspoken thing. Jack leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"You like playing this game, don't you?"

Penny didn't answer right away. She reached forward to adjust the throw pillow between them, leaning just enough to deepen the view down her neckline. Jack stared. Didn't even try to hide it this time.

"I like knowing I still have it," she said. "Is that so bad?"

"No," Jack replied. "Not when you really do."

There was a thud between them—not literal, but emotional. Heavy, heated.

Penny's smile faded into something deeper. Her eyes lingered on Jack's jawline, the little scar near his lip, the tension in his hands like he was holding back everything he shouldn't say.

"You ever wonder," she asked softly, "what would happen if we stopped pretending there's a line?"

He swallowed. Hard.

"Yeah," he said. "I wonder all the damn time."

Neither of them moved for several seconds, the weight of those words swirling like storm clouds above them. Penny shifted slightly, the silk of her top rustling. Another button strained. Jack's eyes flicked to it. He had to.

"God," he whispered, leaning back. "You're driving me crazy."

"That's half the fun."

He laughed, but it didn't have much humor in it.

"You think this is a game, Penny?"

Her smile softened. "No. But I do think it's something we both need."

Jack leaned forward again, elbows braced. "You think I don't know what you're doing? The outfits? The looks?"

She shrugged. "It's more fun when you notice. And when you squirm."

"I'm not squirming," he said, though his voice betrayed him.

"Oh, honey," Penny said, standing slowly and walking toward him. She didn't touch him, but she came close—close enough that he could smell her perfume again, feel the warmth of her body, the swell of her chest just inches from his face. "You're practically vibrating."

Jack looked up at her. "You want me to crack?"

Penny leaned down, her breath brushing against his ear. "I want to see how long you can hold out."

She straightened, smirking, and walked away—leaving Jack in a mess of desire and restraint, his hands clenching the cushion beside him, his breath uneven.

He didn't follow. Not yet.

But they both knew he would.