how about the possibility of you and me. penelope/nate. pg. 1/2.
“Did you hear who Nate’s dating?” Isabel chirps brightly over her Cobb salad with no cheese, no egg, no bacon. Her tacky charm bracelet clinks against her chilled Pellegrino. Penelope stabs at her grilled salmon rather violently.
“A high schooler,” Is continues, ignoring all social cues that she should just shut up. She purses her lips in disapproval and motions for another glass of pinot grigio.
Penelope tucks her hair behind her ear and sets her fork down.
“Of course I knew that,” she shrugs, noncommittal, “but did you hear about Hazel’s abortion?”
Technically speaking, it’s not exactly true. Hazel called her crying a while back after she slept with some lacrosse player, whining about how they didn’t use a condom. Penelope had bought her Plan B and instructed Hazel to try not to puke it up.
Still, it’s a change of topic is necessary.
Isabel gasps loudly and leans in closer, asking for more information, but Penelope just waves over the waiter and asks for the check.
“Gotta run,” she tells Is, reapplying her magenta lipstick, “I have a meeting.”
Penelope’s a junior editor at Random House, the youngest they’ve ever had. In high school she was a minion but she was never dumb, never stupid. High school isn’t forever, and Penelope sends her assistant to get her a coffee.
Her email dings and she double-clicks automatically.
Hey Pen, it says, I was wondering if you could read something of Dan’s. He’s looking for a new publisher. No pressure, just thought I’d ask. Nate.
Penelope wraps a tendril of hair around her lacquered finger and takes three deep breaths.
Nate, she types, carefully, her heart stammering against her rib cage, of course I’ll look at it. Send it over and we can discuss it over drinks.
She stares at the writing on her screen until her vision goes blurry around the edges. The end of the email reads Penelope and she counts that as a victory.
Dan’s manuscript is better than she anticipated. She tells her assistant to make an appointment with her boss and skips out of work early to get ready for drinks.
how about the possibility of you and me. penelope/nate. pg. 2/2.
The bar is full of the post-work crowd, obnoxious men in suits and half-drunk girls in impeccably tailored pantsuits. Nate’s waiting for her in a corner booth, his sleeves rolled up neatly. There are two drinks already in front of him. He waves her over with that stupid beautiful grin of his.
“Hey,” he says, standing up to kiss her on the cheek and help her out of her coat. He hangs it on the post next to his. Penelope slides into the booth.
“Your drink is a vodka tonic right?” he asks, his brow knit. He always looks perpetually confused, even now.
Penelope’s stomach drops to her feet and she nods, takes a big sip of the perfectly made Ketel One with tonic. Nate’s foot brushes against hers underneath the table. She wonders if it was on purpose. His drink is already half-empty and he looks at her, eyes bright with booze. Penelope feels old all of a sudden, remembers the way she used to stare at him in his lacrosse uniform and how she would dream about Blair dying a quick, painless death.
Across the room, someone yells, “Archibald!” and Nate turns towards the noise, waving congenially and barking a response towards the guy.
“Pen,” he says, turning his attention back towards her, “how have you been?”
“Really great, actually. Youngest junior editor ever at Random House.”
He laughs like he used to laugh with Serena, with Blair. Her mouth felt too big for her face.
“That’s amazing, Pen!” he starts.
There it is again, that little dart of her name shortened into something incredibly familiar. She doesn’t think he ever called her that in high school. Blair wouldn’t have allowed it.
Nate’s eyebrows waggle up and down, the tip of his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth when he asks, “Any lucky boys in your life?”
Penelope takes a long gulp of her drink, and then another. There was Michael, briefly, but he was Jewish and her mother didn’t approve. It only lasted a few months. The sex was average, anyways.
“No one’s been able to meet my expectations yet,” she shrugs, not breaking eye contact with Nate.
“Why am I not surprised?”
There’s a beat, a pause, when Nate looks at her mouth briefly.
Penelope thinks, bold and a little drunk and pretty horny, fuck it.
She drains the rest of her drink and slams it down.
“You wanna get out of here?” she asks.
Nate looks, mostly, confused.
“Sure,” he says, shrugging,
He slips an arm around her waist on their way out; Penelope only makes it outside before pinning him to the brick wall and kissing him.
He smiles against the warm skin of her neck. In the cab he slips a hand in between her thighs and rubs soft circles that make her shiver.
I LOVE THEM TOO. In the same way I love Nelly Yuki and Dan. Like, they actually make a lot of sense together and it's a total Sliding Doors moment but it's always kind of a possibility? ALSO I filled my own prompt lololoz
“Did you hear who Nate’s dating?” Isabel chirps brightly over her Cobb salad with no cheese, no egg, no bacon. Her tacky charm bracelet clinks against her chilled Pellegrino. Penelope stabs at her grilled salmon rather violently.
“A high schooler,” Is continues, ignoring all social cues that she should just shut up. She purses her lips in disapproval and motions for another glass of pinot grigio.
Penelope tucks her hair behind her ear and sets her fork down.
“Of course I knew that,” she shrugs, noncommittal, “but did you hear about Hazel’s abortion?”
Technically speaking, it’s not exactly true. Hazel called her crying a while back after she slept with some lacrosse player, whining about how they didn’t use a condom. Penelope had bought her Plan B and instructed Hazel to try not to puke it up.
Still, it’s a change of topic is necessary.
Isabel gasps loudly and leans in closer, asking for more information, but Penelope just waves over the waiter and asks for the check.
“Gotta run,” she tells Is, reapplying her magenta lipstick, “I have a meeting.”
Penelope’s a junior editor at Random House, the youngest they’ve ever had. In high school she was a minion but she was never dumb, never stupid. High school isn’t forever, and Penelope sends her assistant to get her a coffee.
Her email dings and she double-clicks automatically.
Hey Pen, it says, I was wondering if you could read something of Dan’s. He’s looking for a new publisher. No pressure, just thought I’d ask. Nate.
Penelope wraps a tendril of hair around her lacquered finger and takes three deep breaths.
Nate, she types, carefully, her heart stammering against her rib cage, of course I’ll look at it. Send it over and we can discuss it over drinks.
She stares at the writing on her screen until her vision goes blurry around the edges. The end of the email reads Penelope and she counts that as a victory.
Dan’s manuscript is better than she anticipated. She tells her assistant to make an appointment with her boss and skips out of work early to get ready for drinks.
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The bar is full of the post-work crowd, obnoxious men in suits and half-drunk girls in impeccably tailored pantsuits. Nate’s waiting for her in a corner booth, his sleeves rolled up neatly. There are two drinks already in front of him. He waves her over with that stupid beautiful grin of his.
“Hey,” he says, standing up to kiss her on the cheek and help her out of her coat. He hangs it on the post next to his. Penelope slides into the booth.
“Your drink is a vodka tonic right?” he asks, his brow knit. He always looks perpetually confused, even now.
Penelope’s stomach drops to her feet and she nods, takes a big sip of the perfectly made Ketel One with tonic. Nate’s foot brushes against hers underneath the table. She wonders if it was on purpose. His drink is already half-empty and he looks at her, eyes bright with booze. Penelope feels old all of a sudden, remembers the way she used to stare at him in his lacrosse uniform and how she would dream about Blair dying a quick, painless death.
Across the room, someone yells, “Archibald!” and Nate turns towards the noise, waving congenially and barking a response towards the guy.
“Pen,” he says, turning his attention back towards her, “how have you been?”
“Really great, actually. Youngest junior editor ever at Random House.”
He laughs like he used to laugh with Serena, with Blair. Her mouth felt too big for her face.
“That’s amazing, Pen!” he starts.
There it is again, that little dart of her name shortened into something incredibly familiar. She doesn’t think he ever called her that in high school. Blair wouldn’t have allowed it.
Nate’s eyebrows waggle up and down, the tip of his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth when he asks, “Any lucky boys in your life?”
Penelope takes a long gulp of her drink, and then another. There was Michael, briefly, but he was Jewish and her mother didn’t approve. It only lasted a few months. The sex was average, anyways.
“No one’s been able to meet my expectations yet,” she shrugs, not breaking eye contact with Nate.
“Why am I not surprised?”
There’s a beat, a pause, when Nate looks at her mouth briefly.
Penelope thinks, bold and a little drunk and pretty horny, fuck it.
She drains the rest of her drink and slams it down.
“You wanna get out of here?” she asks.
Nate looks, mostly, confused.
“Sure,” he says, shrugging,
He slips an arm around her waist on their way out; Penelope only makes it outside before pinning him to the brick wall and kissing him.
He smiles against the warm skin of her neck. In the cab he slips a hand in between her thighs and rubs soft circles that make her shiver.
Penelope plans on calling in sick tomorrow.
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