Chapter 11
I’m a fool.A lust-drunk, ridiculous fool.
I shouldn’t have allowed Poppy to drag me from the table, but I also shouldn’t have spat my mouth off on her behalf beforehand. There are things that you don’t do when you’re in my position, the first and most important being to not make irrational decisions. Whether that’s in a boardroom with a dozen eyes searching for your downfall or in a bar with a gorgeous woman and a raging desire to bend her over the closest available surface and fuck her until you both see stars.
Failure burns, but not once have I loved the pain as much as I do now.
“How long are you here for, Garry? I don’t think I’ve ever heard a return date,” Caleb asks, a cheese-loaded nacho chip on his fingers.
I relax back against the leather-cushioned bench, spreading my legs enough that my knee knocks Poppy’s from her spot beside me. An innocent move on my part. Mostly.
“Hopefully only two months.”
“And you’ll be working with Brody the whole time?” the dark-haired woman I’ve learned to be Bryce asks.
She appeared at the table a few minutes after Poppy and I did, a tray of assorted drinks in her hands. The one she slid in front of Poppy remains untouched a half hour later.
Brody removes his face from Anna’s hair long enough to answer. “We’ll see. As long as he keeps up the fantastic sweep job, I would be an idiot to turn ’im away.”
“You got him sweeping? What a hard-ass,” Caleb says.
I’m unsure what convincing everyone at the table had done in Poppy’s and my absence to have the man take Poppy’s chair at the end of the table, leaving the bench completely open. She didn’t question it as she slid right in and made herself at home. I followed suit and haven’t moved since.
Bryce leans into Anna’s side, both she and Brody using the woman as a human-sized cuddle pillow. She beams beneath the affection, clearly not bothered one bit by it.
“Poor baby,” Poppy coos.
I snap my eyes down to stare at her as she traces a finger along the back of my hand beneath the table. My breathing shallows when she hooks one around my pinky and flips my hand palm up. The smooth feel of her nails against my new calluses has goosebumps scattering up my arms.
It’s been months since someone has touched me this way of their own accord and years since I’ve allowed it.
“I’m not a hard-ass,” Brody grunts.
Anna sips on her drink and twists her head, batting her lashes at him. “In that shop, yes you are.”
His smirk has me diverting my attention to the table. Those two are . . . something. Something ooey and gooey in a way I wasn’t prepared to have to bear witness to every single day while in Cherry Peak. It’s not something I have to pay much attention to outside of this place other than when things take a turn for the worse. Luckily, Brody and Anna haven’t had many problems over the past year.
I may give him a hard time for preferring this town over Calgary or Nashville, but he hasn’t failed to hold up his side of our agreement thus far. He stays home as much as possible and continues to do what he’s contracted to do—make us both money.
Poppy continues tracing the length of my palm, her nails scratching over every curve and dip until I’m positive she’s attempting to memorize them. I’m beyond stiff in my slacks, the tease of having her so close, touching me like this, knowing what I hope will be coming soon, driving me mad.
“Sweeping is better than breaking out in hives, though, right, Garrison?” Johnny shouts from beside Caleb, the alcohol he’s drank tonight loosening his tongue more so than usual and cranking up the volume on his voice.
“Hives?” Poppy asks, halting her touching.
Brody laughs lowly. “Got ’em during his first day of work. Turns out he’s allergic to hay.”
“He looked sunburnt as all hell. Had to rush him to Eliza,” Johnny slurs with a howl.
Poppy abandons my hand, opting to grip my knee instead. “I’m sad I missed that.”
My throat tightens around a silent moan before I croak, “There wasn’t much to see.”
“I doubt that.” She isn’t near breathless enough.
With my eyes flicking through the people at the table, I zone out of their next conversation topic and lay my hand over Poppy’s thigh, the tight denim wrapped around it scraping at my sore hand. Fuck, she’s warm, even through the jeans. Warm and soft, yet as I dig my fingers harder into her flesh, I’m met with hard, thick muscle.
It’s impossible to keep my mouth in its typical tight line when she snaps her legs closed, sandwiching my hand between them. I give in to the impulse and squeeze her harder as the corner of my mouth tips upward.
“Usually, when a man has his hands between my legs, I’m having a lot more fun,” she whispers.
“Is that what you want, Poppy? Fun?”
Here it comes. Verbal confirmation or denial. No heated looks, reckless flirting, and tips of our chins this time. It’s a yes or no. We do this, or we don’t.
I can’t believe I’m contemplating this.
“Yes. So much fun. All night long.”
My nostrils flare. “Do you live close?”
“Five-minute walk.”
“Tell them you’re ready to go. I’ll offer to walk you home.”
“You’re demanding.”
I bite back a laugh. “I am. With everything I do.”
“Is that a warning?” she asks, that confident voice finally growing weak.
Anna giggles again, so loud it makes me jolt. Poppy attempts to join in the conversation with a short answer but then grows quiet again, waiting for me to answer.
“A warning or a promise. Which would you prefer?”
Her hand drifts from my knee to my thigh. But it doesn’t stop. It keeps going. And going. And fucking going. I curse beneath my breath when that firm hold pauses a finger’s width from where my briefs end, the tip of my cock not much further up.
“Definitely a promise, City Boy,” she murmurs, and then her hand is gone, resting on the table as if it had been there the entire time. Her tone is innocent when she addresses the table. “I’m going to head home. I pushed too hard at the studio today.”
“Okay, P. Do I have time to finish my drink before we leave?” Bryce asks, lifting her half-empty cup.
“Stay, Ice. Garrison actually offered to walk me home, so you stay. I’ll see you tomorrow, right? Anna?”
The expressions around me would have offended me had I cared what they thought. Curiosity, disbelief, all the usual suspects for a man like me and a woman like Poppy. These people care about her, and I’m more or less a stranger they’re trusting to look after her.
“Are you sure, Pops?” Anna asks, chewing on her lip.
Her boyfriend narrows his eyes on me. “He knows better than to let anything happen to her, sweetheart. Right, Garry?”
“She’s safe with me, Annalise.”
I make the promise easily, and despite being drunk, she seems to recognize the honesty in the words. Her shoulders relax as she offers me a slight smile.
“Alright.” Focusing on Poppy, she adds, “Text me when you get home.”
“Me too,” Bryce says.
Poppy blows them both a kiss, and I slide out of the booth. An awkward silence lingers as I wait for her to follow.
“Wait—how are you getting back?” Johnny asks me, his lids drooping from either alcohol or exhaustion.
“Back where?”
“The ranch,” Brody grunts. “We should still be here when you get back.”
“I’ll figure something out,” I tell them, a queasy feeling starting to grow in my stomach. It puts me on edge, and that frustrates me to the point I leave them there without another word.
It’s rude, incredibly so. But what’s more worrisome is the guilt that follows.
“Wait up!” Poppy calls from behind me.
I shoulder open the entrance door and catch sight of her close behind me. Extending my arm, I hold the door for her while rejecting the notion to ask if I’ve upset anyone in my haste to leave.
Poppy takes the lead, tucking her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. I fall into step beside her. It’s so quiet out here, the air clean and crisp as we walk for a couple of silent minutes.
“You don’t make it easy for them to let you in, you know,” she says, breaking the quiet when a line of houses appears on our right.
“That’s for the best.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“You don’t need to.”
Her exhale is forced, angry. “I don’t buy this whole charade. The ‘I don’t care about anyone or anything’ act. Nobody wants to be alone, Garrison. No one. I don’t care who you are or where you come from.”
“If you believe that, then you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”
She nods once, not denying it as she inhales deeply. “You’re right. But if you let us, we might want to get to know you.”
The statement rattles the steel walls around my heart, and I immediately reinforce them.
“The only person I’m interested in getting to know right now is you,” I admit brazenly.
She looks up at me with wide eyes. I realize my misstep instantly. Cold sinks into my bones, but my chance to correct myself disappears when she stops walking.
“We’re here.”
The house is small. Quaint, to be polite. The lawn is thin in width, maybe double that of the sidewalk. Shutters sit on both sides of the front window, the white paint peeling to reveal old wood. Cement steps lead up to a front door with a bright-coloured wreath hung from it and a sign that says come back with tacos.
I tug at the back of my shirt. “It’s nice.”
“I’m sure you’re used to penthouses and mansions, but this is home.”
“Does your voice echo when you step into the living room?”
She furrows her brows. “No?”
“Then you’re already better off than any penthouse or mansion.”
Silence returns as she turns her body to face mine completely and takes my hand in hers. She brings it between us and stares down at it, measuring the length of my fingers compared to hers.
“You make it hard to believe you’re not lonely when you say those things, Garrison,” she murmurs.
I swallow, tugging on her hand. She stumbles into me, and my arm is already there. I wrap it around her waist and haul her against me, chest to chest, breath to breath.
“I’m not lonely right now,” I whisper, lifting my other hand to brush a strand of silky hair behind her ear.
Her lips part, words forming between them, but they don’t come. The tension between us pulses with its own life force. I feel it. So does she. There’s a clock counting down above our heads, and I’m ready for when it hits zero.
Poppy is less patient than I am.
My vision goes white when she reaches for my nape and pulls me in, chasing the promise of pleasure that I haven’t been able to ignore since the moment I saw her.
The world ceases to exist when she slams her lips against mine. I shatter and glue myself back together in the same breath. Something inside of me snaps, a lock clicking open on the chain around a beast that’s been starved for a lifetime.
And Poppy’s its meal of choice.