Chapter 4 #2
She hands me one of the drinks and narrows her eyes.
“Ja, habe ich.” She winks and adds, “Yes, I did tend bar. It was a great way to meet people while being forced to learn the language. Although, most speak English around the campus, but they were happy to slip into German for me if I asked them sweetly.”
“I’m sure there are not many people who would ever say no to you, Poppy.” We clink glasses and take a drink. It’s got a raspberry flavouring to it, but it’s not overly sweet. The burn of the whiskey sets it off perfectly. “This is much better than tequila and cream soda.”
Her giggle is adorable.
“How’s your hair?” I ask as she hoists herself up beside me on the counter and runs her hand through the locks.
“It’s fine, thanks to you.” She takes a sip. “Good God, I was in a panic thinking I’d have to shave my head to get myself out of there.”
“And then you thought you might look like a boy.” I mimic her whiny tone and can’t hold back my immature chortle.
She nudges me with her shoulder and then asks, “Do you remember that boy on the playground in primary school who said I sounded like a boy?”
I nearly choke on my drink. “I’d almost forgotten him! What a fucking wanker. What was his name again?”
“Giles Windsor.” She gets a weird look on her face and drums her fingers on her dewy glass. “In all fairness, he was only nine. You were more upset than I was.”
I puff out my chest in defense. “Well, he was ridiculous. He deserved the Harris Shakedown we gave him. You have a great voice.”
“I have a raspy voice,” she argues and licks a dribble of whiskey drink off the side of her glass. “I sound like Lindsay Lohan on a bender.”
“You do not!” I argue and stare at her mouth as she licks her lips. “Your voice is sexy.” My face heats. I’ve never used the word sexy to describe Poppy. I take another drink. How quickly things have shifted. To get the attention off of me, I add, “It makes you a brilliant singer, too.”
Her eyes find mine as she laughs around the rim of her glass. “You would know. God, I can still remember singing at the very top of my lungs on that fallen tree when we played in the park. I can’t believe you even liked hanging out with me. I was such an odd little duckling.”
“You were normal compared to Cam and Tan.”
She smirks and grabs the shaker to top off my drink that I didn’t even realise I’d finished. “We had some great adventures growing up, didn’t we?” She pins me with a twinkle in her green eyes. Man, they really pop out so much more. Must be because of her short hair.
I roll my glass in my hands and silently muse for a minute. “Except for that time we got caught by the park warden.”
Her eyes fly wide. “Oh, I know! What a twat! None of the other wardens ever looked twice at us being back there after eight p.m. Then one tiny prick fopdoodle who flunked out of copper school thought he’d make an example of us. What a dick.”
“You can say that again,” I reply.
“What a dick!”
We both laugh and cheers and drink again, slipping back into the comfort of our memories.
Around a chunk of ice, Poppy adds, “That was the warden who wanted to break down our fort. Do you remember?”
I nod. “That was the first time my dad actually gave two shits about anything besides football. He completely reamed out the council about the wardens treating the park like the ‘wild fucking west.’”
We both giggle at that. “This drink is good, Poppy.”
She slides off the counter and throws her hands up in the air. “Redemption is mine!”
A song she likes comes on the radio at the same time, so she rushes over and cranks up the volume.
She begins dancing with her drink in her hand and I can’t help but laugh at her cheesy moves.
To help set the mood, I reach back and flip the overhead light off in the kitchen.
The room is cast in blue hues from the backsplash lighting, giving the perfect illusion of a nightclub.
“See, Book? Who needs to go out when we have all the fun we need right here?” She downs her drink and throws her hands above her head as she drops into a low squat.
Her curves are accentuated with every move she makes.
Curves that she had to have spent a lot of hours in the gym to achieve.
She’s completely lost her little girl features.
Now she’s powerful, like she could go all night.
Shaking my head, I slide off the counter and jiggle the martini shaker at her. “Show me how to make these so I can make the next round.”
She shimmies over to the counter playfully, rubbing her butt on my hip as she makes quick work of explaining how much to measure out of each component.
We’re standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Or I should say shoulder-to-elbow.
Poppy’s maybe five-seven on a good day. Barefoot in the kitchen, she’s lucky if she’s hitting five-five.
“I think I can handle this,” I say, but her smirk is saying otherwise. “You don’t think I can?”
She takes a drink and draws closer to me, a challenging curve to her lips. The glossiness of her eyes sparkles in the dim blue lighting as she husks, “You never were much use in the kitchen, Booker.”
I place my hands on my hips as she refills my drink. “Bartending isn’t exactly high-level chef work.”
“True, but it does require some math skills.” She giggles as if she knows she’s poking the bear.
“I was always great at numbers!” I exclaim, reaching out and giving her a cheeky squeeze on her side. “You were the one who was crap at them!”
“I’ve been cured,” she says, laughing and squirming out of my reach. I want to tickle her more, but I hold back. “Two years of slinging drinks and flirting with customers for tips earned me an education in all things number-erical.”
She slurs the last word. I’m not even sure it was a word. “Good Lord, you’re going to be teaching English?”
“Numerical!” she bellows. “I know the word. It was simply a silly slip of the tongue.” She leans into me and whispers, “Haven’t you ever had a slip of the tongue, Booker?”
The way she says it makes my body react surprisingly. A rude thought involving my tongue on Poppy invades my mind. I quickly shake my head and say, “We should order some food.”
“That we should,” she says before she downs another drink. How many have we drunk now? I’ve lost track. “You can use my mobile. Go ahead and order for us. You know what I like.”
She turns to head to the loo, and I momentarily realise I like the way she said “us.” I like having a flatmate.
Why would anybody ever want to live alone?
Having a flatmate is loads more fun than eating by yourself over the kitchen counter.
I think if I lived alone, I’d be like Vi and have a dog.
Maybe not a big slobbering mutt like her dog, Bruce, but something small that I could talk to when I’m lonely.
The pizza takes forever to arrive. We’ve been on straight whiskey and water for the past hour, both becoming too impatient for the sweet tea concoction. I’m impressed that Poppy is keeping up with me drink for drink, but I’m a lightweight during the season.
When the food finally arrives, it’s nearing ten o’clock, and we devour it like starved animals. I realise a bit too late that we could have used sustenance a while ago, but the hunger hasn’t stopped our humourous walk down memory lane.
“I’m stuffed,” I say, shoving the pizza box to the side of the coffee table and stretching out on the centre of the sectional sofa.
“Well, you ate six slices,” Poppy jabs.
I frown. “Did I? I lost count.” I quirk a brow at her. “I don’t think I like your tone.”
“No judgement! I lost count with these drinks.” She shakes her tumbler and then sets it by the pizza box.
Dropping down beside me on the couch, she rotates and presses her back to my shoulder.
She kicks her muscular legs out and mirrors my position as she extends toward the other end of the sofa.
She sighs, “This was fun. I much prefer this than going out on the town.”
“Did you go out a lot in Frankfurt?” I ask because I’m still curious to hear more about her time over there. “Did those German blokes you flirted with for tips show you a nice time?”
She twists her head to frown up at me, puzzling her brows at my random question. “Are we really going to talk about this?”
I shrug because, well, now that I’ve opened the can, I don’t really want to stuff it all back in. “Did you leave anyone behind broken hearted?”
“No,” she murmurs and a tense silence stretches out before us. “What about you? You have a girlfriend I should know about?”
I roll my eyes. “I wouldn’t have invited you to stay if I had a girlfriend.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because…look at you,” I scoff.
That tense silence returns, but this time I can hear her breathing. I can feel the rise and fall of her shoulders as she leans against me.
Her voice is soft when she asks, “What do you mean, look at you?”
I tug on my earlobe, feeling a stirring in my stomach that doesn’t have anything to do with the massive amounts of whiskey I consumed tonight. “I think it’s quite obvious, Poppy. You’re not merely a girl anymore. You’re…a woman. And that haircut. I don’t know. It just…suits you.”
She turns her head up and looks at me curiously. I return her gaze, noting the light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. I don’t think I’ve ever noticed those before. She draws my eyes downward as she licks her lips and a warmth spreads between us.
All of the sudden, she sits up, pulling me out of the trance I have on her lips as she situates herself crisscross to face me.
I inhale deeply as her hand slides into my hair right above my ear.
“Looks like you could use a cut,” she croaks, combing through the thick locks.
I expect her to pull away, but she lingers, her scent wafting over me.
My eyes fall closed as she slices through every strand and traces her fingertips along the nerve endings on my scalp, massaging in slow, languid movements.
God, that feels good.