Chapter 15
I head back to Shoreditch feeling like ten tons of horseshit after leaving an angry sister behind. I hate disappointing Vi. I hate seeing her cry even more. This is the kind of shit that keeps me up at night.
I walk into our flat to Poppy blasting music from her portable speaker.
I drop my keys on the side table and frown at a strange setup in the middle of the living room.
The closer I get, the more I realise what I’m looking at.
It’s a wooden rack with long dowels. Stretched over the wooden spindles are lacy, colourful knickers and bras.
Red, black, print, pastel. You name it, Poppy has it.
It looks like her entire drawer of unmentionables are spread out to dry on this rack in the middle of the bloody living room.
My dick twitches with awareness as I zero in on a sheer black pair of knickers that I recall from the other night.
“Fuckwit poppycox!” Poppy’s voice exclaims from down the hallway. “No, please…God, no!”
She cries again and I rush to see what the commotion is. The bi-fold doors where the washer and dryer are located are open. When I peer around them, I see Poppy squatting down in front of the washing machine, shoving heaps of bubbles back inside the door.
One would think the oozing amounts of soap and water running out of the machine would catch my eye first, but nope.
It’s not. It’s Poppy, down on the ground wearing nothing but a pair of pale blue knickers and a white cotton tank.
It doesn’t take a genius to know that the way she’s trying to block the bubbles with her chest means she’s going to turn around and—
“Booker!” Poppy states, as she catches me looking down on her from my high vantage point where I can see a clear hollow of cleavage peeking out. She moves to stand and shrieks loudly when her foot slips and she goes tumbling backwards onto her arse.
“Fuck, Poppy,” I croak and bend down to grab her by the arms. She’s stretched out on her back, soaked nearly head-to-toe with bubbles all over her.
The corner of my eye catches two dark spots on her white tank top that’s drenched and completely fucking see through.
I’m totally not looking. I’m totally not looking.
Bloody hell, she’s not wearing a bra.
I looked.
My dick presses against the back of my zipper as I move to help her stand. When I think I’ve got her stable, I reach over and press a button on the washer to stop it from running. The room falls silent aside from our heavy breathing.
“What’s going on?” I ask, shoving a bubble-covered hand through my hair.
Poppy stands before me, tugging on the bottom of her tank top like it’ll miraculously grow trousers and cover her bare legs that are on full display for my wandering eyes. Not that I’m looking.
“Laundry day?” she says with a shrug, her toes wiggling in the foam.
She glances down and her cheeks flame as she realises I can see her nipples through her tank. Her hands cover her breasts. “I wasn’t expecting you home so early.”
“Clearly,” I murmur, my eyes warring with where to look that’s not quite so bloody indecent.
“I had a little mishap with the soap powder.” Her finger points to the washer.
I nod and turn my head so I’m looking at the wall. “I’ll erm…get the mop. Maybe you should…get a shirt.”
She nods awkwardly, and we brush against each other as we each make a move to go in opposite directions. Fuck me, I think her hard nipples brushed my arm.
I make my way to the kitchen until she calls out, “Hey, Booker.” She stops at the doorway to her room and looks over her shoulder.
“What?” I turn my gaze, begging myself not to check out her supple arse barely covered by her blue knickers.
“I want you to know this wasn’t done on purpose.”
I pull my lip into my mouth and frown. “Why would I have thought otherwise?”
She gets a weird smile on her face. “No reason. Simply wanted to be sure you weren’t thinking unfavourable thoughts about me.”
I exhale. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Sunday is Harris family dinner night. Booker invites me like he always does but is surprised when I accept this time. Since the first dinner, I’ve been visiting my own parents while he visits his family. But tonight, I have goals.
Belle and Indie’s game plan for me to win Booker’s heart is a bit half-cocked.
Basically I have to sexually frustrate him in a million different ways until the wedding.
It seems juvenile, but I enjoy treating life like a performance.
If ever there was a way for me to find out if Booker Harris loves me, this would probably be it.
The other option is to walk right up to him and tell him my feelings, but that plan went horribly wrong the last time.
So I think this game plan is worth a shot.
The one caveat Belle said was that I can’t allow a slip before the wedding.
She was very clear about that. I need to be “slip free” with Booker until D-Day.
Yesterday went a bit off script with the whole washing machine incident, but I think for once my clumsiness actually helped my cause. Bubbles on my tits…Fucking genius! I want to text Belle for a pat on the back, but I refrain because I’m not five.
Oh, fuck it, I’ll text her anyway.
Me: Washing machine is knackered. Wet T-shirt contest for the win.
Belle: Bubbly tits? Fucking perfection! You’re going to have him panting for it before the wedding at this rate!
The entire crew is present at the Harris house this evening because it’s the off-season. Booker’s oldest brother, Gareth, eyes me curiously when I come bounding in like an over-caffeinated child. Cam and Tan are wrapped around their fiancés, while Vaughn holds Rocky at the table.
I decide to help Vi prep for dinner, but I must have a crap poker face because she keeps giving me these looks like she knows I’m up to something with her brother.
When Camden, Indie, Hayden, and Vaughn decide to take Rocky for a walk in the pram to see if she’ll crash for a nap, I decide to activate day two of the GET BOOKER HARD scheme.
“So, Booker,” I say as he sits at the counter chatting with Gareth about football as usual. “Have you found a date for Tanner’s wedding yet?”
“Date?” Gareth and Vi both ask in unison.
“Yes,” Belle pipes in, sliding over to stand at the end of the counter beside Gareth. Her face looks peculiar. “I told them they both need to bring dates so I have someone to eat those lobsters that my parents won’t be welcome to.”
Vi gives Belle a sympathetic glance. “Are you sure there’s nothing that can be done about that?”
“I’m positive,” Belle states, plucking a grape from the fruit bowl on the counter and popping it into her mouth. Tanner comes up behind her, giving her waist a cheeky squeeze.
“I offered to go over and have a chat with her dear old daddy, but she practically tied me to the bed.” The two look at each other with naughty smiles on their faces, being about as subtle as a freight train.
Gareth’s deep voice cuts into their emoji heart eyes. “Can you two please stop dropping details about your sex life into random conversations? Some secrets are better left kept.”
“You’re just jealous because you don’t have sexy secrets to share,” Tanner cajoles and smacks his hand on the counter. “Mr. Celibate over here.”
Gareth’s eyes narrow and he shakes his head.
From the look in his glower, I have a feeling he’s hiding loads of secrets.
Quite honestly, I’ve always thought he’d be the type to have a Red Room of Pain—a kinky bugger through and through.
Something about his beefy build and rogue face that’s not classically handsome but oozing that dirty kind of masculinity has always made me a bit nervous around him.
I’ll take dimpled face Booker any day.
“So, Booker? Date yet?” I ask again. He looks at me curiously, his dark, lash-framed eyes narrowing with speculation.
“In the one day I’ve had since Belle informed me I need to bring someone? No, Poppy. Not yet.” He tilts his head, annoyance evident in all his features. “Why? Have you?”
Suddenly, Belle slides past me toward the refrigerator. “I’m grabbing an ice lolly. Anyone else want one?”
Tanner raises his hand, and Vi glares at all of us while Belle passes one to me and Tanner. She thinks we’ll be spoiling our supper. Ever the mother hen.
Locking secret eyes with Belle, I quickly unwrap my purple ice treat and pop it in my mouth.
I lean across the counter so I’m only a foot away from Booker, who’s now watching my lips.
“So, Booker”—I suck hard and then take a nibble, my tongue swiping out to catch the syrupy liquid on my lips—“Do you know anyone who might be good for me?”
“Good for you for what?” Booker asks, his face devoid of any humour as he stares at my mouth with heat in his eyes.
“For a date. I thought maybe a teammate of yours might be good because they are familiar with Tower Park. They could show me around the stadium after the wedding. Give me a tour.” I wink.
His face turns red. “You’re not taking one of my fucking teammates to my brother’s wedding.”
“Why not?” I ask innocently and then plunge the lolly back in my mouth, going deeper this time.
He frowns as he watches my lips. “Because if you want a bloody tour of Tower Park, I can give you one.”
Rolling my eyes, I reply, “Fine, he doesn’t have to give me a tour. But I’m out of touch with people since I left, and you have a gaggle of teammates, Book. Surely you know someone who wouldn’t hate to spend the evening with me.”
“Roan DeWalt would be fun for her!” Vi interjects, snapping everyone’s attention to her as she whisks something in a bowl.
Tanner pipes up next. “Over my dead body he’s coming to my wedding. I’ve finally stopped wishing dismemberment on the prat.”
“It was only a suggestion!” Vi peals, looking perplexed. “It’s just that I set him up with our cousin Alice and she loved him! Roan is a South African dreamboat.” She waggles her eyebrows at me and I can’t help but smile.