Big Dick Energy: A Meet-Cute Novel

  Big Dick Energy

  A Meet-Cute Novel

  Cindi Madsen

  Copyright © 2021 by Cindi Madsen

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  About the Author

  Cindi Madsen is a USA Today bestselling author of contemporary romance and young adult novels. She sits at her computer every chance she gets, plotting, revising, and falling in love with her characters. She loves music and dancing and wishes summer lasted all year long. She lives in Colorado (where summer is most definitely NOT all year long) with her husband and three children. She and her family also take their Marvel addiction very seriously, as their one-eyed cat, Agent Fury, and their kitty named Valkyrie can attest.

  To all the women who’ve been breaking glass ceilings for generations,

  and all those who continue to do so.

  Contents

  1. Penny

  2. Archer

  3. Penelope

  4. Penelope

  5. Archer

  6. Penelope

  7. Archer

  8. Penelope

  9. Archer

  10. Archer

  11. Penny

  12. Archer

  13. Penny

  14. Archer

  15. Archer

  16. Penny

  17. Archer

  18. Penny

  19. Archer

  20. Penny

  21. Archer

  22. Archer

  23. Archer

  24. Penny

  25. Archer

  26. Penny

  27. Archer

  28. Penny

  29. Archer

  30. Archer

  31. Penny

  Epilogue

  Also by Cindi Madsen

  Acknowledgments

  1

  Penny

  “Cheers to having a dick. Must be nice,” I said, lifting my drink in the air, and my two girlfriends gaped at me, their glasses lowering to our usual table instead of lifting.

  Catalina Mendes, the bad-ass attorney of our group, pursed her lips, and I flinched, steeling myself for her to let me have it the same way she did to whoever dared to cross her in court. “That’s a piss-poor toast, Penelope Jones, and I refuse to cheers to anything involving piss. I’d happily celebrate you finally catching a dick after your lengthy dry spell—”

  I made an offended noise in the back of my throat. It’d been four months, and I was still healing. Healing and horny, as it were, but that was a different subject entirely.

  “—but this is merely a hurdle on your way to greatness, and you’re going about it the wrong way.”

  There was a right way to deal with having my dream project yanked out from under me?

  My stomach sank, the numbing effects of the alcohol not doing much with the booze still in my glass instead of infiltrating my system. For two months, several renowned architecture firms and I had courted a client no one believed I could land. It was the biggest project San Diego had seen in a while, and they’d picked me.

  Only for my boss to insist I didn’t have enough experience to handle designing a soccer complex all by my lonesome.

  If he would just give me the chance, I’d show him not only what I could bring to the table, but that I didn’t need help. But he’d told me he was calling in an experienced architect people referred to as the Home Run King, end of story. No doubt the dude would be some mansplaining douche who’d reject my ideas before using them to get promoted over me.

  You need to show initiative, Mr. Bishop had said when I’d asked why Ron got the promotion over me, which had taken a lot of courage, FYI. Establish yourself as a leader, like Ron has.

  If leadership skills meant taking credit for other’s ideas, then yeah, Ron was excellent. The year before in my review, Mr. Bishop had told me to show I could step up, which somehow meant he expected me to fetch the coffee—something he’d never asked my male counterparts.

  I gripped the stem of my glass with extra gusto and glugged the salty sweet mixture inside. “I know I’m supposed to be the wide-eyed optimistic one, but my boss treating me like some ditzy, inexperienced damsel really took the wind out of my sails.”

  Ellie reached across the small circular table we frequented and placed her hand over mine. Due to the noise of the typical Friday night crowd at Paddy’s Gaslamp Pub, she had to raise her voice. “Totally understandable on that last part. As for the first, when have any of us ever pigeonholed one another?”

  “Well, there was that night in college when we drank all that cheap rum,” Cat said. I snickered, a bit of sunshine breaking through my stormy mood. During an epic cuddle session brought on by three simultaneous breakups, Ellie had suddenly squeaked and told Cat she was sorry if she’d given her the wrong idea. Turned out the discarded bottle had gotten a bit friendly with Ellie’s bum, and she’d assumed Cat was making a move. With what, we still weren’t exactly sure, and we often teased Ellie about it, even to this day.

  As we’d lamented that night, though, we were one hundred percent into boys. Which we’d also joked proved that no one in their right mind would choose to be straight.

  “Like Penny,” Ellie said with a longing sigh, “I haven’t been anything- holed in a very long time.”

  The three of us burst into laughter, raucous enough that several of the men lining the bar glanced in our direction. With her tan skin and shiny dark hair, Catalina was no stranger to the male gaze, and Ellie could go from cute brunette next door to sexy siren with a hair flip and a red lip.

  With my sun-kissed skin and blonde beachy waves, I looked like the typical SoCal female, although I had a little more cushion for the pushin’ than my surfer counterparts. Whereas they caught waves, I liked to snooze and catch rays, and I was used to third-wheeling it when men hit on my gals.

  I snagged fries from the basket we’d ordered before the place had gotten so busy and dunked them in the house made ketchup I couldn’t get enough of. I’d seriously considered ordering a Bloody Mary if they would make it with the ketchup.

  Then again, I was more about drinking my fruits than my vegetables. As I took another drink of my margarita, my overly long bangs fell in my face and irritation bloomed as I blew them out of my eyes.

  As if I needed another reminder of the ways I failed at life.

  It’d started with my favorite hairdresser relocating to the Midwest and had ended with bangs so thick even Rainbow Brite would’ve been like whoa, that’s a lot of bang. I’d requested a little sideswept fringe and platinum highlights, only for the hairdresser to argue with me.

  It was one of many instances in my life when my inner voice had been screaming remain firm, Penny! Tell the woman it’s your hair, and if she can’t do what you want, you’ll need to find someone who can.

  Considering that would’ve required breaking from my nice girl persona, I’d remained quiet. The reflection of my chunky peach mess of hair sent panic through me, yet I’d thanked the woman and generously tipped her. Then I’d rushed to my car, FaceTimed my friends, and burst into tears.

  They’d assured me it didn’t look “that bad.” A phrase that should be struck from the English language, by the by. It took a new hairdresser, cutting off several inches, and a shit-ton of toner and purple shampoo to return my hair to its current state. And it’d take another six months to a year to grow out the last of my “fringe.” For reals, I’d rather search for a new gyno than another hairdresser, and I’d been called a prude before when it came
to flashing my downstairs area.

  “Pen?”

  I yanked myself back into the here and now. “I can’t keep doing this. Maybe it’s not all on me that I keep getting walked over, or that I’ve remained in the same salary bracket as the day I joined the firm, but surely there’s something I can do. After all, you two have managed to get ahead in your careers.”

  “That’s because I don’t care if people call me a cold-hearted bitch,” Cat said with a shrug. Ugh, why did I care so much what others thought about me? Being as blasé as my bestie would be awesome and make life so much easier, but that’d never been me. I’d been raised by a perfectionist mother who expected me to carry on the anal retentiveness.

  It meant I didn’t throw out an idea until it was fully formed. As opposed to my male counterparts, who lobbed theirs at Mr. Bishop like beads at Mardi Gras. A shudder ran through me at the image of my boss shirtless, and while I was sure the pale, hairy man boobs were an accurate depiction, why’d my brain have to go there?

  Ellie licked the salt off her upper lip. “I also work for myself and can choose my clients, so it’s a fair comparison.”

  I rubbed a hand over my face, wishing it would do a better job of removing my worries. “First Dawn screwed over my confidence, and then Ron wrecked me. Didn’t I say dating my coworker was a bad idea? That it’d leave me too vulnerable and biased and that I should’ve known better? Yes, I did.”

  Catalina crinkled her forehead, likely on account of me talking to myself. Both of my friends told me I shouldn’t be so hard on myself, but there was an overly-critical voice inside my head—one that sounded suspiciously like my mother’s—and it refused to listen to reason. “Yeah, Ron’s a real piece of work. As I’ve said before, I’d love to follow him into a dark alley and introduce his ass to the pointy tip of my heel. But who the hell’s Dawn?”

  “The hairdresser who gave her a Kate Plus 8 haircut,” Ellie said.

  I gasped and launched a fry at her head. “You said it didn’t look that bad!”

  “It didn’t.” Ellie fished the fry from her cleavage and popped it in her mouth. “However, it did make you look like a soccer mom who drove a minivan full of sticky kids. But, like, the hottest soccer mom out there.”

  A snort of laughter mixed in with my groan. “If you guys try to cheer me up anymore, I’m going to need a box of tissues to wipe away my tears.”

  They both rolled their lips inward, doing their best not to laugh at my pain. They freaking failed.

  “That’s it.” I reached for my glass again. “This time I’m toasting to finding new friends.” Since they wouldn’t join me, I went ahead and tapped the empty air before taking a generous swig.

  Catalina simply crossed her legs as though patiently waiting for me to finish throwing my faux tantrum. “A real friend will tell you the truth, no matter how unpleasant.”

  “Yeah, but in the same way a margarita does. It might be salty on the rim, but it follows up with sweetness.”

  Cat lunged across the table, knocking salt shakers and happy hour flyers aside, and then planted a smacking kiss on my cheek. “I lurve you, Penny. You’re the bestest friend ever, and your hair is the envy of models in shampoo commercials. That’s one hundred percent true.” She kissed my other cheek and whispered, “Now, anyway.”

  I shook my head, but then Ellie was coming over the table, too. My chair wobbled, dangerously close to tipping, and I gripped the tabletop with one hand, hoping my friends’ weight would keep it steady enough we wouldn’t all end up on the floor.

  Now we were getting stares that were about more than just Cat’s and Ellie’s striking looks. I hugged them with my free arm as Ellie also proclaimed her affection, not caring how much added attention it gave us. This was why they’d always be my ride-or-dies. Even when they were teasing me, it was with love and support.

  Still, when Cat pulled back to lock eyes with me, apprehension crept down my spine. An evil smile curved her lips, and I realized that Ellie’s embrace had switched to pin my arms at my sides.

  “Don’t you dar”—Goosebumps swept across my skin as Cat tucked my long bangs behind my ear, torturously slowly.

  With a squeal, I brought up my shoulder, freeing myself from Ellie’s grip and then shoving Cat toward her side of the table. I should’ve never confessed how ticklish my ears and neck were during that romcom. I’d admitted that, although I found the move super swoony in movies and books, in reality, I’d awkwardly giggle and wrench away from the guy. Maybe even smack him.

  On the way to her seat, Ellie snagged her drink and used the skewer to fish out the nasty green olives she loved. Her fridge had about three or four partially empty jars at all times, and besides that, she mostly survived on almond milk and Goldfish crackers.

  Cat sipped at her Long Island Iced Tea. “When I first offered to sue Ron for stealing your intellectual property, what did you say to me?”

  Damn, she was determined to launch truth-seeking-missiles tonight. She arched her eyebrows, not letting me off the hook with a nose crinkle.

  I sighed. “I told you I didn’t want to ruin his life or smear his name, regardless of him stealing my idea.”

  Ellie’s cheek popped out on one side with her unchewed olives. “You also said you had so many good ideas that he could go ahead and take that one, because you’d show him up with your plethora of stellar ideas. I distinctly remember the plethora, because I quoted the Three Amigos and you two hadn’t seen it, so we had to amend that.”

  “As I recall, you added that surely I’d seen it, since you know, I’m Mexican.”

  “That’s out of context, counselor. I asked if you’d make salsa to go with the movie because you make it best. Now whether or not that’s because you’re Mexican, I guess we can take it up with your grandma. From Mexico.”

  The two of them devolved into teasing one another, and I spun over what Cat had pointed out. Suing my ex seemed too mean at the time. I’d also been nursing a broken heart and foolish enough to think eventually Ron would see the error of his ways, apologize with some grand gesture that involved a boom box or a plethora of roses, and we’d get back together.

  Add naïve to the list of traits I was working to overcome. “I should’ve allowed you to crush him in court.” The statement came out weaker than I’d wanted it to, and analyzing why seemed too overwhelming when it was all said and done.

  “Admittedly, intellectual property lawsuits are time consuming and hard to prove. Not that I wouldn’t have won. I would’ve destroyed him.” Cat tapped the toe of her shoe to my shin. “But you weren’t ready for that, and that’s okay. But that fuse is lighting tonight, and I’d be happy to add enough oxygen to ensure it blows.”

  Hope welled along with my curiosity, and I leaned in to hear the secret that might unlock my success.

  “Do you know why I win so many cases? Why people refer to me as a shark in court?”

  “I’m sure you’re about to brag about it,” I said, shoving more fries in my mouth and sharing a chuckle with Ellie; it was rare Cat opened herself up enough for a jab.

  Ignoring it, Catalina lifted her chin. “Big dick energy—it’s as simple as that. You need to learn how to exude it, Pen. No more apologizing, no letting anyone interrupt or talk over you. No more blushing when a guy gives you the bare minimum of compliments.” She slapped her palm to the table. “You want a promotion? To be in charge of your own projects?”

  I nodded, even though she knew I did. We’d spent more time than this girls’ night discussing it. Being in a predominately male field meant constantly being talked over and overlooked. It meant my ideas were described as cute or adorable. That when there was a salon area in a giant hotel, they graciously let me be in charge of “the lady stuff.”

  As if ladies weren’t doing stuff all over the hotel, and a lot of that included running business meetings. Once I’d been asked to clean off the conference table after a messy meal I hadn’t even been invited to. I’d gritted back the response I wanted to
make, explained that we paid a company to clean, only for my boss’s fragile male ego to shatter in front of me. As retribution, he pulled rank, and as I’d wiped down the table, I’d fought back tears.

  That memory mixed in with the snide comments I’d heard—finding out they’d taken me along to a job site for “eye candy.” Hearing my pitched ideas presented by my male coworkers and them taking credit when the client fawned. The guy who’d been hired a short while ago made ten grand more than I did, and I’d been giving my all to BJB Architecture Firm for the past five years.

  If I stomped my stiletto and said it wasn’t fair, I was overly emotional, on my period, or a bitch. My cause wasn’t unique. Women across the nation experienced the same thing, and my minority sisters had even more hurdles in their paths. The unfairness settled like a rock in my gut.

  As someone who’d written papers on Susan B. Anthony, Katherine Johnson, Claudette Colvin, and the notorious RBG, I wanted to be among the great women who smashed the fucking patriarchy.

  If only I had the balls, and sometimes it felt like that was the only way. “Big dick energy,” I said, letting the idea stew.

  “You’ve got the biggest dick in the room, Pen. You’re Beyonce and Rihanna, all wrapped in to one. BDE goes beyond yard sticks. It tromps over toxic masculinity. It’s confidence without arrogance. It’s knowing that you’re the baddest bitch with the biggest dick in the room.”