Terms and Specific Conditions - Chapter 8

 

Horrible Idea, Validated

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.

Project Rodzina - Part 2

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..

Terms and Specific Conditions - Chapter 9

 

Morning After & Work Crimes

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.

Terms and Specific Conditions - Chapter 10

The Sex Dimension

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.”

Terms and Specific Conditions - Chapter 11

 

Loud About It

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?”

Terms and Specific Conditions - Chapter 12

Joint Idiot Custody

They technically started it.

Not HR. Them.

Specifically: Penelope, at 3:17 p.m., perched sideways on the edge of Jack’s chair in an empty glass conference room while he pretended to walk her through a Jira board and actually had his hand under the hem of her sweater.

She’d meant to sit in a normal chair. She really had. But there he was, rolling in, wheeling up close, murmuring, “You good?” after a brutal standup, and the actual chair seemed unnecessarily far away.

So she ended up in his lap, legs crossed over his wheel, leaning into him sideways, scrolling through tickets while he gave real feedback and occasionally kissed the side of her throat.

They were fine until Brandon walked past, did a full cartoon double-take at the glass, and knocked his coffee against the doorframe.

“Uh,” he said, eyes ping-ponging between them.

Jack’s hands vanished from under her sweater like they’d been yanked by a stage hook. “Hey,” he said smoothly. “Just…running through blockers.”

Penelope, who was breathing like she’d just sprinted a mile, raised a hand. “I’m the main one.”

Brandon made a noise that might have been “cool” and fled.

So. Technically, they started it.

Terms and Specific Conditions - Chapter 13

Armpit Portals & Other Hate Crimes

They’re halfway through a shared basket of fries when the shadow falls across their table.

Polo shirt. Name tag. Expensive watch. Vibes of “regional sales manager who says girl boss unironically.”

Cam.

Of course.

“Hey, excuse me,” he says, leaning a hand on the back of Penelope’s chair like he owns it. “Sorry to interrupt.”

Jack shifts just enough to angle his chair toward him, easy, relaxed. “Alright, Cam,” he says, half-grinning. “Make it good.”

Cam blinks at having been pre-read, then focuses on Penelope, smile dialed up.

“I just had to come over and say you’re, uh… you’re really beautiful,” he says. “And it’s so nice what you’re doing.”

Penelope’s spine goes cold.

“What… I’m doing?” she says.

“Yeah,” Cam says, with the confidence of a man who has never heard himself. He nods toward Jack’s chair without looking at him. “Being out. Helping him. Are you his nurse or…?”

He lets it hang there like he’s offered them a compliment.

Jack’s face doesn’t change much. Just the tiniest brightening, like somebody handed him a toy.

“Oh, good question,” Jack says. “What do you think?”

Cam blinks. “Uh… sorry?”