Chapter 7
Ollie
Worst Way by Riley Green
The bass from the band thumps through my chest as I shoulder my way through the crowd at The Black Dog, dodging swinging elbows and shouting greetings as half the town seems determined to stop and say hello.
“Hey, Ollie!” someone calls out from somewhere in the bar.
I lift a hand in response, weaving past a group clustered near the bar and angling toward the back. The place is packed—all noise and warmth. It’s been cold as hell outside, and everyone must have cabin fever and wanted to show up at The Black Dog at the same time.
I spot our booth and aim for it like a man on a mission, smiling and waving, but no longer stopping to chat.
Poppy’s laughing so hard at something, she has to grab Violet’s arm, cheeks flushed and eyes bright, hair twisted into that messy knot she does when she’s exhausted. Cami’s mid-story, hands flying, clearly thriving off the attention. My sister loves to tell animated stories.
I slow down and take in Poppy in her element with the people she loves and who love her.
God, she’s beautiful when she forgets to be guarded.
And the truth is, I love seeing her relaxed and happy.
Lately, these moments have been few and far between due to life repeatedly kicking her butt.
I do everything I can to lessen her load, but I know she treasures these moments with our friends when she gets to just be Poppy. And have some fun.
I slide into the booth just as Violet finishes whatever punchline has them all cracking up.
“About time,” Cami says. “We were taking bets on whether you’d get stuck talking to half the town.”
“I powered through,” I say.
Poppy takes a sip of her drink, then sets it down between us. The ice clinks softly, and my eyes track the movement without meaning to. I clock the faint mark her lips leave on the rim before I can stop myself.
I don’t hesitate.
I reach for it and lift it, taking a drink from the exact spot she just did. It’s instinct. Familiar. Comfortable. And the second the cold hits my mouth, I’m aware of her freezing beside me.
“It was touch and go,” I add, like this is nothing. Like my pulse didn’t just kick hard in my chest.
I swallow and glance at her over the rim. Her eyes are on me, wide and curious, something warm flickering there that makes my grip tighten just a little.
“You know that’s mine, right?” she says.
I nod, calm on the outside. Anything but on the inside.
“Yeah,” I say easily. “I know.”
I set it back down between us, close enough that our fingers almost touch. Almost.
The space hums. Familiar. Loaded.
I lean back like I didn’t just do something that feels a hell of a lot like crossing a line I’ve spent years pretending doesn’t exist.
Poppy furls her eyebrows together. “You look tired. You doing okay?”
“Productively tired,” I tell her. “I got a lot done today.”
I finished up the paint, and the carpet gets installed in the morning, but I’m not telling her that. I just need to convince her to move in there.
I grab a menu and pretend to read it while my brain does an unhelpful replay of seeing her naked the other morning. That memory isn’t going anywhere. Ever. Poppy is gorgeous.
She catches me looking and lifts a brow. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly. “You just look… happy.”
She smiles, “I am happy.” But I don’t miss it. Behind the smile there are layers of worry and sadness I wish I could take from her.
The music is live and good, the table shakes as someone dances past, and Poppy’s knee bumps mine under the table. Neither of us moves away. In fact, somehow, we end up closer.
“Where’s Owen?” I ask.
Her eyes lift to mine, and something in her softens immediately. “He’s at Ben’s house,” she says. “Pizza and Fortnite.”
“Good,” I say. “He needs that.”
She nods and looks away as if she’s nervous.
I’m acutely aware how familiar and dangerous it feels all at once. Pure torture to be exact. She smells so good like a clean, faintly soap-like scent and something sweet underneath it. I can feel the tension in her even sitting here, like she’s wound too tight and pretending she isn’t.
I keep my hands to myself, and I keep my voice easy. But my body knows exactly how close she is.
Every now and then, she glances over at me or pulls me into the conversation like I’ve always been there. Like I belong there. It’s effortless and natural, just like it always is between us.
I’m very aware of what she’s wearing. Loose jeans that sit low on her hips.
A soft tight top that hangs easy, not trying to show anything, but now I know better.
I know exactly what’s underneath. The curves she hides, the gentle dips at her waist. The generous line of her hips that fit my hands far too well in my imagination.
A body that’s hella strong and sexy from working hard day after day.
A body I’ve memorized in my mind and heart.
That knowledge sits heavy in my chest, making every inch of space between us feel charged.
She shifts, and her knee brushes mine again. I don’t move away.
I’m out of water before I realize it, too distracted by the way her top pulls up when she reaches for her glass. Without breaking stride, she slides it over to me, smiles, and keeps talking to Cami like she didn’t just knock the air out of my lungs.
That’s how it’s always been with us.
We look out for each other. Quietly and instinctively. I usually know what she needs before she does. And she does the same for me. Always has.
The difference now is that I’m hyper aware of everything I shouldn’t be thinking. Everything I am thinking. How easy it would be to lean in. How impossible it would be to take it back if I did.
I pretend my pulse isn’t doing something reckless just sitting this close to her.
Jack claps me on the shoulder and slides in across from us. “How’s she doing?” he asks, nodding toward her, Poppy not paying attention to either of us.
“Sully’s been giving her crap,” I tell him, shaking my head.
“Do we need to handle that?” Jack asks, raising his eyebrows.
“We might,” I say with a nod. “I hate that he can’t just leave them alone. He’s making both of our dads look good.”
Jack’s dad is in federal prison for various white-collar crimes he got busted for a few years back, and he’s basically a giant prick like my dad, only my dad isn’t as organized with his criminal activity.
Jack laughs. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
We look up to a guy I’ve never seen before strolling over, his eyes on Poppy.
Mid-twenties, maybe. His smile is too cocky, stretched wide like he’s practiced it in a mirror.
His cologne hits before he does, sharp and heavy, the kind that tries way too hard to announce itself.
He’s got on a crisp button down tucked into pressed jeans, boots without a speck of dust on them, like he’s wearing a cowboy costume instead of living the life.
He leans against our booth like he owns the place, elbow too close to Poppy, eyes sliding over her in a way that makes my jaw tighten. Not friendly, and more like appraising. Like she’s something on a menu. Oh, hell no.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, voice slick, confidence borrowed instead of earned. “How about a dance?”
Sweetheart. Nope. Absolutely the fuck not.
I don’t move. Don’t speak. But everything in me goes still and sharp, because this guy is here to take. And I don’t like him on sight.
Poppy blinks and looks at Cami in surprise. “Me?”
He grins at her, and it’s predatory with all of his teeth showing. “You’re the prettiest girl in here. Come on. One dance won’t hurt ya.”
I’m on my feet before my brain can catch up. “She’s not interested,” I say, voice low and dangerous.
The guy almost steps back, but Poppy stands too, throwing me a glare fierce enough to take down a man twice my size. “Ollie.”
“What?” I ask, my eyes burning into Poppy’s, almost daring her to fight me on this. That guy is not good enough for her. Hell, no one in this bar is good enough for Poppy.
She leans into me, brushing my ear with her lips, breath hot as she whispers, “Just because you saw me naked doesn’t mean you get to tell me what to do.”
My entire bloodstream explodes into flames. Like an explosion, and I go rock hard at her mouth in my ear like that.
The guy waggles his eyebrows, still not getting the memo. “You comin’, sugar? You know you want to.”
I practically growl at the guy. “Get lost.”
“Ollie,” Cami grins. “Look at you being all hot and bothered over Poppy.”
“You are not dancing with him,” I say to Poppy, ignoring my sister. “Not that guy.”
She crosses her arms. “You know what, Ollie? I have needs. If I wanted to dance with someone, go on a date, or even go home with someone, you are not the boss of me.”
I have needs. The words land hard and ugly in my chest.
I don’t actually know how many people Poppy’s been with.
We’ve always kept that line clean between us.
Best friends. Safe territory. We talk about work and Owen and everything that matters but never details.
Never names. Maybe that was on purpose. Maybe we both knew some doors don’t open without wreckage we can’t undo.
I know she’s dated. I know none of it ever stuck. I know no one stayed.
As for me, I stopped trying a long time ago.
It wasn’t dramatic. No big decision. Just one date too many where I caught myself comparing. The way she laughed. The way she listened. The way she felt like home instead of effort. Every woman I sat across from came up short, and that wasn’t fair to them. Or to me.
So, I quit. Because if it wasn’t Poppy, it wasn’t right.
The guy still hasn’t moved. Still leaning too close. Still looking at her like she’s an opportunity.
Something dark coils low in my gut.
No one touches Poppy.
Not on my watch. Not ever.
Because she deserves better than someone who sees her as a moment instead of a whole damn life.
Something ugly and jealous rips out of me before I can stop it. “Maybe I should be.”