Chapter 7 #2
She stares at me like I just shocked the crap out of her. “What’s wrong with you?”
Everything. Everything is wrong with me. I’m so damn in love with her, and she has no idea.
Violet swoops in and smooths the tension like she’s putting out a fire. “Here, let’s go over to the pool tables,” she tells the guy, dragging him away.
Cami says, “Time for more drinks.” She gives Jack a look and guides Poppy toward the bar.
Poppy and Cami go up to order drinks, muttering something about men and their stupid egos. But I don’t miss how Poppy looks over her shoulder at me as she heads up to the bar, still looking confused by what I said. Hell, I’m confused, too.
“She hates me,” I say quietly.
Jack laughs. “No, she doesn’t. She’s just like Cami. Hyper independent and allergic to asking for help.”
I scrub a hand over my face. “She’ll never see me as more than a friend. Always keeps me at arm’s length.”
Jack leans back, studying Cami across the table as she talks to Poppy, animated and fierce. “Yeah. I had one of those.”
“You wrangled my sister, though,” I say. “How did you do that? She’s crazy.”
He snorts. “I’m still working on that. But you know how much I love her and I’d do anything for her. We started out best friends, kind of like you and Poppy.”
The words hit me like a punch. “I don’t know about that. Poppy and I are legit best friends. You and Cami wanted to kill each other. And for a while, most of us thought you two would.”
He laughs and tips his beer at me. “You’re not wrong about that.
But it always works out. A relationship built on friendship is one that will last a lifetime.
A relationship without that will be harder to make last. First and foremost, we love each other’s company.
We don’t get sick of each other. That matters.
Hell, I think Cami would crawl into my pocket and let me carry her around all day if I could. We love to be together.”
And that makes me think maybe he’s onto something here, because it’s exactly how I feel about Poppy.
She’s been my friend since we were teenagers.
In high school, I played every sport I could, mainly so I could be away from home as much as possible.
If I were off at sports, I wouldn’t have to deal with my parents’ drama.
And Poppy was busy with Owen. When she and I became friends, her mom had just gotten sick.
Owen was a newborn, and she stepped up to take care of him.
We were barely kids. Not that much older than Owen is now.
She and I would hang out, bringing him along in his little carrier everywhere we went.
I’ve known the little dude since he was a baby.
I even changed his diapers. And when her mom died, Poppy officially took over raising him, which was hard for her.
But she chose him. He was like a piece of her mother that she still had when her dad turned to his biker club and alcohol, and whatever else he was doing back then. God only knows.
I’d do anything for her and Owen. Anything. That’s never changed. But my feelings for her have changed. I love her so damn much. This isn’t best friend level and hasn’t been for a long time.
Poppy and Cami come back to set down their drinks and they are off to dance. I can’t take my eyes off her. She looks at Cami and laughs so hard she covers her face. Her eyes shine and her whole body relaxes when she lets herself be happy.
God, I want to be the one who gives her that every day. I want to be her choice. I want to be the one she reaches for, and not just as a friend.
Jack nudges me again. “You gotta give her time, man. She’s scared. People leave her. She probably thinks you will too.”
“I won’t.” The words come out of me like a vow. “Never.”
“I know,” Jack says. “But she hasn’t figured that out yet.”
I look over at the guy who asked her to dance, who is now dancing with one of my mom’s friends, a nurse at the hospital. Good for him.
But I don’t want anyone else dancing with Poppy or even looking at her. And most definitely not touching her.
Because I want her, and I want it all with her. Always have, always will. It will always be Poppy. She will always be my choice, and I will choose her, no matter what. I want the three of us to be a family and I’m not sure how long I can pretend I don’t.
Across the bar, she glances over, and our eyes lock. Her smile fades into something softer. Something that looks like fear and want and confusion tangled up together.
She looks away first. I swallow hard and realize Jack is watching this whole thing go down with amusement.
Jack taps the table. “That’s love, brother.”
And deep down, I already know that.
It’s always been her.
Poppy leaves The Black Dog like a tiny furious tornado in boots. I follow a few steps behind, my hands stuffed in my pockets. Owen got dropped off at her house after hanging out with a friend and she needs to get home to him.
The cold night air slaps my face, but it does nothing to cool the jealousy still boiling in my chest.
She walks fast, and I match her pace. She still doesn’t look at me. Finally, she turns on her heels and snaps, “Why are you being so weird?”
I blink. “I’m not being weird.”
She points at me. “You practically barked at that guy for wanting to dance with me.”
“I didn’t bark,” I say, offended.
“Okay, you growled, Ollie. It was… aggressive.”
I step a little closer. “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”
She crosses her arms. “Maybe I want someone to look at me like that.”
My heart tries to jump out of my body. “Someone? Or him?”
She scoffs. “I don’t know. Anyone. I have needs, Ollie. I want someone to want me.”
God help me. Again, with the needs. The word needs ricochets around in my skull like a firecracker. I don’t want to think of her with anyone and needs. I practically come unglued with even the thought of someone touching her.
She turns and storms off again, boots stomping against the gravel, each step ringing sharp in the quiet lot. The streetlights cast her in a halo of pale gold, and I can’t stop staring. She looks impossibly beautiful, every line of her body animated, furious, alive.
I follow, chest tight, hands itching to reach for her. Halfway to my truck, she spins on me, hair catching the light, arms flaring, eyes blazing. “You don’t own me. You don’t get to choose who I talk to or dance with.”
I lift my hands, rubbing the tension from the back of my neck. It’s now or never. “I know.” I swallow hard. “I just hate watching someone else want what I can’t have.”
She freezes mid-step, fingers twitching, lips parting, brows knitting, the moonlight catching the curve of her cheek. The air between us thickens, heavy, electric. My own fists clench at my sides, and every nerve in me is awake, wanting, aching.
“What are you saying?” she whispers.
I step closer, letting the tension hang in the moonlit lot, every muscle coiled, every heartbeat loud. “You act like I’m not allowed to want you. Well, I’m sick of it. Because I do want you.”
She stares at me, eyes full of shock. “I didn’t know. You never said anything…”
I open the truck and she reluctantly climbs in, still looking at me like she doesn’t know what to say.
“You never had to,” I reply. “You keep me at arm’s length, so I never try. It’s like you’re terrified I’ll leave if you let me close.”
I climb into the driver’s seat and we head to her house in silence, but it’s not awkward. It’s like she’s thinking about what I said.
She looks away but doesn’t deny it. We pull into her driveway, and I follow her up to the house.
We reach her porch and she fumbles with her keys. I gently wrap my hand around her wrist before she can unlock the door. “Look at me.”
She looks up at me slowly and cautiously. Like, I might ruin her whole life with one word.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell her. “Not ever.”
A tiny, shaky breath escapes her. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“Because I’ll believe you,” she whispers.
My heart physically hurts. I step in, close enough that I feel the heat radiating off her. “I meant it. I want you.”
She stares at my mouth, which I consider a good sign.
I tilt her chin up with my fingers, my thumb brushing her jaw. Her lips part on instinct. I bend, noses touching, her breath mixing with mine, every cell in me screaming to close the distance.
We’re right there. One inch from everything. Then the front door flies open.
“Are you guys fighting or kissing?” Owen asks, hair sticking up, blanket wrapped around him, a box of cereal tucked under his arm.
Poppy leaps a whole foot away from me like I’m on fire. “Fighting!”
“Kissing,” I echo way too fast.
“You’re both weird.” Ollie squints at us and looks at our empty hands. “I thought you were bringing home chicken strips.”
Poppy groans. “Go inside, bud.”
He shrugs and disappears like a tiny chaos goblin.
We stand there, staring at each other with freshly scorched souls.
“You almost kissed me,” she says.
“You almost kissed me back.”
She sucks in a breath. “This is a terrible idea.”
“The best terrible idea,” I counter.
Despite her panic, despite her armor, despite all the fear she carries like weights strapped to her ribs, she laughs. A soft, helpless little laugh that makes my knees go weak.
She steps backward through the door. “Goodnight, Ollie.”
I step forward. “Goodnight, Poppy.”
She closes the door before either one of us accidentally decides to be brave.
I stand on her porch, heart pounding, feeling like I just died and survived at the same time.
Inside, I hear Owen say, “You were kissing,” and Poppy instantly hissing back, “No, we weren’t!”
I grin into the dark. We almost did and almost counts.