Here are a few more chapters in the struggle of my beloved Ilian Jansen.
I would appreciate any feedback.
Thank you very much.
Penelope didn’t plan on seeing Jack that Saturday.
She was already cranky about losing the parking battle to the stroller industrial complex, and the day had started with a text from her mom that just said:
“Do you remember that girl from swim team who broke her arm? The one you liked. She’s engaged now. To a lesbian!”
Which somehow felt equal parts supportive and threatening.
Chapter 3 - Video Games
Jack hated company happy hours on principle.
They were loud, overpriced, and full of people performing friendship like it was part of their job description. Everyone clustered in tight little circles, shouting over music that wasn’t good enough to justify the volume. Someone had already taken their badge off and clipped it to their waistband like it was a personality.
He’d said yes this time only because Penelope asked with a voice that dared him not to.
“You coming tonight?” she’d asked, leaning on the side of his desk, breath smelling faintly like those tiny oranges she hoarded. “Or are you gonna fake a calendar invite again?”
He scoffed. “That was one time.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You color-coded it.”
“It was a deeply important fake meeting.”
She’d just smiled, slow and smug. “So… I’ll see you there?”
The hoodie was technically to blame.
So was the office AC being overaggressive and Penelope’s brilliant decision to wear a sleeveless top. She just hadn’t counted on the meeting room being cold enough to store beef.
By the forty-minute mark of a two-hour strategy session, her teeth were on the verge of chattering. She tried all her usual coping mechanisms: tucking her hands between her knees, wrapping her arms around herself, pretending she wasn’t slowly freezing to death while some guy from finance said “runway” for the sixth time.
Jack caught her visibly shivering.
He didn’t make a thing of it. No grand announcement, no, “wow, someone’s cold.” He just glanced over once, took in her goosebumped shoulders, then peeled off his hoodie in one smooth motion and tossed it into her lap.
She blinked down at it.
Jack found out from Marcie.
Not on purpose–she just intercepted him at the espresso machine like it was a gossip toll booth.
“Just so you know,” she’d said, in that casually-concerned tone people use when they’re absolutely being nosy, “Brandon’s been… circling Penelope.”
Jack had done a neutral face. A professional face. A face that said wow, interesting intel, thank you, valued colleague, while his brain quietly set Brandon on fire.
“Circling,” he’d repeated mildly, watching the espresso drip. “Like a hawk? Or like… a Roomba?”
Jack knew her tells.
The real ones–not the big, performative, table-banging Penelope-isms she gave to the world. He knew the quiet things.
The way she pulled her sleeves over her hands when she was overthinking. The way her laugh got a fraction too sharp when she was dodging something real. The way she tapped her fingers against the side of her water bottle when she wanted to say something but wouldn’t.
Today, she was doing all three.
And trying to pretend she wasn’t.
They didn’t talk about that night.
Not the rooftop.
Not the silence after.
Not the almost.
Instead, they did what they always did.
They hung out.
They made each other laugh.
They sat close.
But the comfort now came laced with tension–like wearing someone else’s jacket, familiar but tight in the sleeves.
It was a Thursday when it finally caught up to them.
Long meetings. Rainy morning. Someone brought donuts. Penelope took two and didn’t eat either.
Jack rolled up beside her desk just after lunch.
“Wanna hit the bookstore after work?” he asked casually. “I need to buy a gift. And someone to shame me into not buying a Star Wars mug.”
Penelope looked up. Smiled too quickly. “Yeah. Sure.”
He watched her for a beat. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
She always said that now.
He didn’t push.
Just waited outside when she clocked out, hoodie pulled over his head, rain speckling his wheels. When she saw him waiting, she felt something in her chest tug.
I feel honored to be able to share my beloved Ilian Jansen with you.
I started this book in September and it has been a great pleasure to tell this story.
Thank you for the feedback. Please let me know if you find any errors or inconsistencies. Advice is welcome.
Thank you for reading..
Penelope woke up tangled in a shirt that didn’t belong to her and a body she suddenly had full access to.
For a second she didn’t know where she was. There was just warmth, and cotton that smelled like detergent and boy, and the heavy weight of sleep pinning her down.
Then her brain caught up.
Jack’s bed.
Jack’s shirt.
Jack’s everything.
Oh.
Oh, last night.
Her eyes snapped open.
They don’t make it two floors.
The elevator doors slide shut and she’s already in his space–one hand on the rail, the other curling in the neck of his shirt, backing him into the corner. His chair bumps softly against the wall and then her mouth is on his, hot and not sorry about it at all.
He makes a low, wrecked sound that lands straight in her spine.
His hand finds her hip, fingers digging in like he’s trying to anchor himself while the floor numbers climb. She kisses him harder, thumb dragging along his jaw, then pulls his bottom lip between her teeth just to feel him shudder.
“Pen,” he manages, but it’s not a protest. It’s a curse, a problem, the way he says her name when he’s already gone.
The little catch of his breath. The way his fingers tighten. Every reaction is a hit and she wants more of them.
The elevator hums. The world shrinks to the thud of her heartbeat, the warm press of his chest against her, the faint squeak of his wheel as she crowds closer.
The doors ding open and she doesn’t even look. She pulls back just enough to breathe, both of them panting.
“Apartment,” she says, voice rough.
He licks his lips, eyes dark and dazed. “Right. Okay.”
They were flat on their backs, starfished, staring at the ceiling like it had answers.
The sheets were a disaster. Her hair was everywhere.
Penelope could feel her heartbeat in her toes.
“Okay.” she said finally, voice rough. "So. Question.”
Jack’s head rolled on the pillow toward her. His hair was wrecked, cheeks still flushed, chest rising and falling like his lungs were catching up.
“Oh boy,” he said, “here we go.”
She kept her eyes on the ceiling. It felt safer.
“Is it always like this for you?” she asked.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw his brow crease. “Define ‘this.’”
She flapped a hand weakly in front of her. “This. Whatever we just did. What we keep doing. Level of…intensity. Time dilation. The whole ‘oh cool, my soul just left my body’ thing.”
There was a pause. She could feel him looking at her now.
“I mean,” he said slowly, “I don’t have a spreadsheet, but…no?”
She winced. “Okay, let me rephrase before you answer for real.”
He snorted. “That was the fake answer?”
Hello everyone,
I've been visiting this blog for many years but this is the first time I've written. I have one book already completed and I'm writing the second volume. It's a large book and I intend to post a few chapters here every Tuesday. Please let me know if there are any errors. Thank you very much.
Not really, but that would be amazing, wouldn't it?
Hi everyone, Lovis again!
Lately I’ve been jumping back and forth between several story projects. It’s fun… but also a terrible strategy if I ever want to finish even one of them. Since I simply can’t decide which one to focus on, I figured I’d let you choose for me. Hah, problem solved, right?
Below are first chapters to three brand-new stories, each featuring a guy with cerebral palsy in a different setting. Please use the poll at the end to vote for the one you’d like to see developed into a full story.*
*Author is making no promises whatsoever...
Story 1: Assisting David
Laura works as a personal assistant for David. One day he trusts her enough to admit that he’s never had an orgasm in his life. Laura—who’s very much in tune with bodily pleasures herself—is determined to change that. But it turns out to be far more complicated than she expected, blurring first professional, then emotional lines.
Story 2: Third Wheel
Ethan has a crush on his flatmate Jared… until he discovers Jared is actually in a relationship with his newly returned boyfriend, Tyler. Ethan can't decide which is worse: finding out that Tyler is indeed ridiculously attractive, or listening to the two of them having very enthusiastic sex on the other side of the wall each night.
Story 3: Benjamin, the Dragon, and I
Lea finds herself unexpectedly drawn to Benjamin, her professor’s son. He’s unlike any other boy she’s ever dated—down to his power wheelchair and the fact that he needs help with the simplest tasks. To make things even more complicated, Lea is almost convinced that his assistant, Vivienne, breathes fire.
So yes… you can probably see why choosing just one is impossible for me.
Thanks for helping me out! 💛
Lovis
Edit:
The poll is now closed. Thanks for voting, everyone! I’m so glad you’re enjoying the stories, and you’ve made the decision clear: Story 3 wins with 39 votes! Yay—confetti, fireworks, Lea possibly getting drunk and falling into Benjamin’s lap… oh wait, too early!
Honorable mentions go to Story 1 with 22 votes and Story 2 with 7 votes. Oodles of love for these stories and for everyone supporting them!
I’m really looking forward to writing Benjamin and Lea’s story, and I hope to hear from you sometime soon(-ish). Have a wonderful holiday and a happy New Year, everyone!
