Chapter Twenty-Nine
Poppy knows she’s not a particularly skilled seductress.
Her face and body usually do all the work: Men come on to her.
But Alec Martin is really putting that to the test. The more he drinks, the more he talks about Mallory: They’ve broken up, he doesn’t recognize her anymore, he’s lost the love of his life.
Somehow, over the past few hours, Poppy feels herself sliding firmly into the friend zone.
Not acceptable. But she doesn’t know how to turn this night around.
By now the restaurant is hopping. The bar is three deep, and the windows are fogged with the heat coming off the crowd. It’s like they’re in a cocoon, and she knows if she’s going to get anywhere with Alec, she’ll never have a better opportunity.
“Let me ask you something,” he says, leaning closer from his side of the table. “How well do you know Bette Noire?”
Poppy’s instantly on high alert. She doesn’t know why he’s asking, but she has an idea.
“I already told you,” she says. “Besides, no one really knows Bette. Why?”
He looks at his glass, turning it in circles. “Ever since she pulled Mallory onstage that night, nothing has been the same.”
“I know!” Poppy says, thrilled to hear him put into words exactly what she’s been feeling.
“You do?” he says, surprised.
Poppy nods eagerly: This is her opening. If she can’t get his mind off Mallory, maybe she can provoke him into a revenge fuck.
“Something’s going on between them,” she says.
“What do you mean?” he says, looking at her with a penetrating gaze.
“They don’t appreciate us, Alec.”
Now he’s the one to look surprised.
“You … and Bette?”
Poppy sighs dramatically. “You know, it feels like fate that your article brought us together tonight.”
Alec looks at her as if considering this. But then he says, “I’m in love with Mallory.”
Yes, you’ve told me already! Let’s move on …
Poppy takes a breath before dropping the conversational bomb.
“She’s in L.A. with Bette.”
Alec freezes. “How do you know?”
She shrugs. “It’s a burlesque thing. Everyone knows.”
He downs his glass of bourbon. “Let’s get out of here.”
At the door he helps her with her coat. It reminds her of how long it’s been since she’s been on a proper date. She’s not sure this really counts since it started out as business. But really, it doesn’t matter how the night begins. It matters how it ends.
When the cab pulls up in front of Poppy’s dilapidated building, the old lady from 4G is sitting on the step, smoking as usual with her cat on her lap. Poppy doesn’t understand why the cat doesn’t scamper away. Maybe it’s too old to run.
She wonders if Alec lives in a big fancy building like Justin Baxter, and decides probably not.
She’s still got a lot to learn about the world, but she knows writers don’t make a ton of money.
She doesn’t care—this isn’t about advancing herself in that way.
This is about fair play. If Mallory is going to encroach on her world, her territory, then she’s going to do the same.
See how she likes it! Poppy is confident she certainly won’t.
So maybe she’ll get the message and back off.
They walk past the old lady and neither she nor the cat seems to notice.
“That cat must be too old to run,” Alec says.
“That’s what I was thinking!”
Poppy can imagine them as a couple. They already have this in common—their shared theory of why the cat from 4G doesn’t run.
Alec told her over drinks that he’d been with Mallory since college.
That seems like an extraordinarily long time for people their age.
Poppy’s longest relationship lasted a year.
His name was Trent and they were together her entire junior year of high school.
He had shaggy blond hair and blue eyes and looked like an Abercrombie model.
Last she heard, he worked at a gas station.
“This building is old-school,” Alec says as they climb the stairs to the third floor. The staircase is stone with a thick wooden railing. The tiling along the wall and ceiling is elaborate and seems ancient.
“I like it but my room is tiny. And my roommate is annoying, but she’s in London for the month.”
“What does she do?”
“She’s at NYU. I get the sense that her parents are loaded and she’s slumming it here for a year or two before she gets her own place in SoHo.”
She opens the door and her roommate’s cat greets them excitedly at the door. Realizing it’s only Poppy, he slinks back to the other bedroom.
“I see there’s a feline vibe in this building.”
“Yeah. And I hate cats. My mother told me they carry evil spirits, and it’s hard to shake that sort of thing off just because you move to a city where they’re everywhere.
The first time I went to one of those Korean delis and saw a big fat cat in the corner near the rack of potato chips I almost had a heart attack. ”
She gives him a tour of the place, concluding with her closet of a bedroom just off the kitchen. She hopes tonight isn’t one of the nights when the mice get super active and slide under her door. That would not help the vibe.
“So that’s it. Do you want a drink? I think there’s a bottle of wine in the fridge.”
“No,” he says, and the way he looks at her, she knows he’s going to kiss her.
She puts her arms around his neck and he pulls her close.
He smells good, and he’s at least five inches taller than her, which is a rarity and a huge turn-on.
She wonders how Mallory the Mouse scored a guy like this.
Probably the same way she scored Bette. It seems unfair that for some people, things come easily.
That’s why she doesn’t feel bad about this.
They sit on the edge of her twin bed and he presses her back, his body tight against hers. He unbuttons her dress, kissing her neck, moving down to take one of her breasts in his mouth.
“You’re perfect,” he breathes.
She says nothing, because Yes, I know probably wouldn’t sound right.
Poppy reaches for his belt, fumbling with the buckle until he takes the lead and pulls off his own pants. She feels him hard against her leg and is surprised by how much she wants to take him in her mouth.
His hand moves between her legs, stroking her clit.
She moans and presses his hand deeper, wanting his fingers inside her.
An image of Bette flashes in her mind, and she imagines it’s her hand touching her.
But it feels nothing like Bette’s touch, and this distracts her.
Alec moves his finger in and out with sharp, quick strokes and she’s dying for him to eat her pussy—that’s the way she comes the fastest. But he doesn’t seem to be moving in that direction.
She thinks maybe she should lead the way, and wriggles free of his touch so she can maneuver herself on top of him to suck his cock.
She kisses his chest, working her way down.
She slides her tongue along the shaft and he makes a noise, winding his hands in her hair.
Like Justin Baxter, his cock is bigger than she’s comfortable with for blow jobs, but she wants the satisfaction of making Mallory’s boyfriend come in her mouth.
And then she wants him to put his face between her legs and eat her pussy so she can come in his mouth.
And then she’ll get on top of him and fuck him.
The thought of this makes her even more wet as she sucks his cock.
She presses her pussy against his leg, grinding it gently in a way that sometimes makes her come.
She works her mouth around the tip of his cock, her hand stroking his thick shaft in a way he seems to like.
Her pussy throbs, hungry for an orgasm. Plus her mouth is getting tired.
She wonders if she should make him come with her mouth or get on top of him and fuck him.
But before she can decide, he pulls away from her.
“It’s okay,” she says, slightly dazed. “You can come in my mouth.”
“Um, no. It’s not that.” He sits up.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No! No, absolutely not. You’re incredible.” He sits back against the window and presses his hands against his forehead as if contemplating a difficult math problem. “I just can’t do this. I’m in love with Mallory. I thought maybe with someone like you—so gorgeous and cool. But I can’t.”
This is unbelievable. That bitch is thwarting her at every turn!
“Do you want to just … talk or something?”
“No,” he said, pulling on his jeans. “I’m really sorry, Poppy. This has nothing to do with you. Please don’t take it personally.”
And then he leaves.