Chapter 3 #2
“You watched him put Pink to sleep?”
“Yes,” I croak.
“But, why? That sounds awful.”
I sniffle and wipe my nose on my shoulder before answering.
“Gran always said that when you love someone enough, your sole purpose in life is to make sure they are good enough to get to Heaven. Pink always made sure I was good enough, so I had to be there to make sure God knew Pink was good enough, too.” My voice trembles and a sob bubbles in my throat.
When do I run out of tears? When I do, will I make more tears if I drink more water? I hate tears.
“Oh, Poppy,” Booker soothes as he shuffles me over to his bed to sit down. I rest my head on his shoulder and he tucks me under his arm. “He was a good dog and he definitely made it to Heaven.”
“I don’t know how Dad does that to dogs every day. Puts them to sleep. It’s nothing like when they really sleep. His eyes stayed open. It’s the grossest thing I’ve ever seen. I thought I wanted to be a veterinarian like Dad, but never again. I hate everything about that place.”
Booker shushes me, and I stop sniffling for a moment so I can yawn. “Do you want to sleep over?” he asks.
I nod even though I know I shouldn’t. Mum said a couple years ago that Booker and I couldn’t have sleepovers anymore because we were getting too old. Yet she doesn’t mind when I stay over at Emma’s house. It’s not fair.
I lie down on the edge of Booker’s small bed and we face each other. Suddenly, he sits up and turns his bedside lamp on, casting the room in dim yellow light. I squint at his dark eyes as they pin me with sadness. “Sorry, I know you hate to sleep in the dark.”
I smile and attempt to close my eyes, now comforted by the light shining on my lids and the warmth of him next to me. But Pink’s eyes appear behind my lids. “I can’t stop seeing Pink’s sad little eyes, Booker. Who will make sure I make it to Heaven now?”
He exhales and wipes a tear running down my nose. “You have me for that, silly.”
I follow the Harris Twins up the four flights of stairs to the second floor, watching them balance three boxes each to my one.
They razz each other the entire way up, and I smile as memories of our childhood trickle in.
Booker and I used to hide from Camden and Tanner all through the park, making up scenarios where we were chasing down bank robbers in a high-speed chase.
We loved playing MI6, mostly because it let Booker be boyish and it let me use my imagination.
He didn’t even mind when I said that I had to sing in order to open up all the secret passages. It was fabulous.
I wonder if I can get Booker to sing now?
When we reenter the flat, Booker’s standing in the middle of the living room. My eyes are instantly drawn to him, drinking in every square inch and noting all the subtle changes about him.
After tripping and spilling my shit all over, I never got a chance to really take in the sight of him.
Of how much he’s changed. How much he’s matured.
Now that I can, I notice how different he looks.
True he still has that dark, tousled hair that curls at the ends when it needs a cut.
And those smooth, curved facial features with dimple creases that will forever make him look more like a boy than a man.
Even that tenderness he gets in his dark eyes lurks within.
It’s all still there.
But now there’s something else. Something more powerful.
Maybe it’s the way he stands with his arms bowed away from his sides as if he’s ready to catch something.
Or the thick muscles that line his shoulders to his neck.
Or the satiny olive skin covering the veins down his forearms. He has a presence about him now. He feels larger than the room.
I swallow hard and barely hear Camden tell Booker they’re going to leave because Cam has a team meeting. The boys wave their goodbyes to us, and the audible click of the door closing makes my mouth turn to cotton.
Not ready to meet Booker’s dark eyes head-on, I twirl on my heel and begin rummaging through a couple boxes in the kitchen to find the gadgets I have to contribute.
I didn’t bring much because Booker informed me the flat came fully furnished.
So my boxes consist mostly of clothes, toiletries, and a few odds and ends I thought we’d need.
I’m taking a mental inventory of everything I brought in a vain attempt to forget that we’re alone now. Just me and Booker. Booker and Poppy…sitting in a tree…K-I-S-S-I—
My thoughts stop when I hear his footsteps approach behind me. I steel myself and turn to look at him. He’s smiling at me—that same boyish smile that’s always a little bit soft around the edges, like he has a secret that no one else knows.
He crosses his arms and leans against the kitchen counter. “Poppy.”
I smile and blow a piece of hair out of my eyes. “Booker.”
“It’s really good to see you, even if you do have a lot less hair than before.” He narrows his eyes on me speculatively.
I shake my head so my fringe fans over my eyes. “Look. There’s more than you think.” I grab hold of the tresses in a fist. “It’s still a good fistful.”
His eyes widen. “And what were you getting up to in Germany that required enough hair to grab hold of?”
I release the locks and pin him with an odd look. Booker and I don’t really talk about our romantic relationships. It’s one area we’ve always avoided. Is that really where he’s going with this line of questioning?
“Probably nothing different than what you get up to in England. Or wherever your football travels take you, I’m sure.”
He quirks a sardonic brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean, I’m sure you don’t have to sleep alone very often, Book.” He’s not going to fool me into thinking he’s been celibate these past few years that his football career has taken off. The Harris Brothers are a hot ticket item in London. I’m sure he hardly has to lift a finger for a shag.
He gets an awkward look on his face and then diverts his gaze to my boxes. “Tell me which boxes go to your bedroom.”
Good change of subject, Book.
I bend over to shuffle a few toward him. He steps up close to me, brushing his arm against mine. “I’ll get these. If you can believe it, I’m even stronger now, Pop.” He winks and it makes me laugh.
“So I’ve noticed,” I murmur, grabbing a smaller box and following behind him as he weaves through the flat. I’m not even ashamed to admit I’m totally staring at his arse in those loose-fitting jeans. It’s like a peculiar time warp seeing him again, but now he’s a man instead of a boy.
He talks me through the flat as we walk, showing me the drawer my keys are in, which will get me into the building, the flat, and the gym on the top floor.
The space is cosy, but not small. It’s quite perfect actually.
The white-washed kitchen has a cute oak table and four white chairs that separate the space from the living room.
The front room has a black leather sectional, a big screen, and modern double glazed windows that open up onto a large balcony.
I follow Booker down the hallway to the right of the living room.
He points to the first door on the left that’s the bathroom where I’ll hopefully never have to poo, especially because it’s so pretty.
It’s all glossy white tile with a funky modern sink that sits on top of the counter.
And the glass walled shower tub…It’s sexy as fuck.
I just hope and pray neither of us ever defiles it.
He stops off at the next door on the left and says it’s his room.
All that sits in there amongst several boxes is a big bed, two nightstands, and two lamps.
Halfway down the hall on the opposite side are bi-fold doors that contain a washer and dryer unit.
Then, at the end of the hallway, he slides open a white pocket door.
“This is where you’ll be staying. It’s technically a den, so it’s a bit small. But it has its own balcony, so I thought you might prefer it.” He looks at me nervously and adds, “Of course if I’m wrong, just say the word and we’ll switch.”
I stride past him to the glass balcony door and swing it open, smiling as the smell of flowers breeze in like a dream.
Fresh floral scent in the city of London.
How in the world does one achieve that? It’s positively magical.
It makes me think of The Sound of Music, running through a meadow with dancing children frolicking all around.
“…smells like flowers all the time.”
My head jerks at the sound of Booker’s voice. “What? What were you saying? I didn’t hear all that.”
His eyes crinkle with a grin as he watches me. “I said the Columbia Road Flower Market takes place near here, so that’s why it’s so fragrant.”
“It’s lovely,” I sigh. “This room is exquisite, Booker. Thank you.” I eye the daybed along the wall. “I told you I have an air mattress. You didn’t have to get me a bed.”
“Yes I did,” he murmurs and drops the boxes on the floor. “I wish it could be bigger, but—”
“It’s perfect. Everything is perfect.”
He smiles and looks around the room, stuffing his hands in his pockets and appearing a bit nervous all of the sudden. “Well, I’ve got unpacking to do as I’m sure you do, so I’ll…leave you to it.”
He slides the door closed as he leaves and I exhale heavily, not realising that I was holding my breath.
This entire scenario may be more difficult than I thought.
Sharing a bedroom wall with my best friend—whom I thought I was in love with—has the potential to be epically awesome… or epically awful.
It’ll be awesome. I’ve decided.
I’m not the same girl I was six years ago. I’ve grown and matured. I’ve had real relationships, not figments of my imagination. I’m not in love with Booker Harris anymore. He’s simply my best friend whom I’m excited to spend some time with again. This is great. We’ll be like brother and sister!