22. Wyatt
22
Wyatt
“ M athers!” Bruce Tisdale claps me on the back, and I push my mouth into a smile. Bruce runs a landscaping company in New Jersey, and I’ve never much liked him. He’s a rotund man; loud, offensive, always into the booze, and hard to avoid at these awards ceremonies.
“Bruce.” I shake his hand with reluctance. “Good to see you.”
“It’s been a while.”
He smooths two fingers over his mustache, gaze straying to Poppy as she trails behind me in awe, enjoying a glass of champagne and babbling excitedly. She’s been entranced since we left the house in the limo, and when we walked in here, she gasped at the decorations—huge flower arches, pilasters wrapped in ivy, and a living wall set up for photos. Each year this event gets bigger and more ostentatious. This year is no exception, and I’m sure the two years I missed were the same.
Poppy grins at my side, glowing. “Everything looks amazing,” she breathes, and Bruce’s gaze rakes across her appreciatively.
“I don’t think we’ve met yet, darling.” He reaches for her hand, and though she seems hesitant to shake it, she does so out of politeness.
“Hello. I’m Poppy.”
“Poppy!” Bruce presses his mouth to the back of her hand, and I resist the impulse to punch him. “Well, aren’t you a sweet little thing?”
Jesus.
I glower at him, my blood simmering. “Bruce—” I begin, but Poppy puts a calming hand on my arm.
“Why don’t I grab us some drinks?”
“Good idea,” Bruce says, completely oblivious to her discomfort. “Scotch for me. Thanks, darling.”
She gives him a tight smile, then glances at me. I can’t tell if she’s asking what I want to drink, or asking me to rescue her, but I’m taking no chances, placing a hand on her elbow and steering her toward the bar. “I’ll join you.”
Poppy nods and turns away, but Bruce stops me before I can leave.
“Great little piece of ass you’ve got there, Mathers,” he says under his breath. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”
I blink. Is he for real? Bruce is easily ten years older than I am.
“What the fuck did you say?”
Bruce doesn’t so much as flinch. “You have to admit she’s nice to look at.” He elbows me with a conspiratorial wink. “Bet you can’t wait to get her home.”
The rage that sweeps through me is unexpected, and I clench my fists at my sides. “Don’t talk about Poppy again. In fact, don’t even look at her for the rest of the night. Got it?”
Bruce laughs. “Come on, you can’t say you haven’t—”
“ Got it ?” I repeat through gritted teeth.
He lifts his hands in surrender. “Whatever you say.”
And with that, I stalk off to the bar. Poppy has already ordered us drinks, a glass of white wine for her and a bottle of Miller, which she hands to me with a strained smile.
“Friend of yours?” she asks, motioning to Bruce across the room.
“God, no. I won an award he was angling for a couple years back and he’s been trying to hone in on my work ever since.” I inspect her face. “He’s a creep. Are you okay?”
She smiles. “I’m good, but I didn’t want you to say something you’d regret.”
I grunt. For a twenty-five-year-old, she’s surprisingly mature.
“What about you?” she asks, taking a sip of her wine. “Are you okay?”
The blood drains from my face. Did she hear what Bruce said? What I said?
But Poppy clarifies, saying, “Are you nervous about the award?”
“Oh.” I take a pull of my beer, thinking. Nervous, no. When you’ve been to enough of these things you realize half of the fuss is about who knows who, who’s paid who off. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a tiny dart of anticipation, being here with Poppy. Even with my feelings cooling toward my work lately, her palpable and contagious excitement lifts me up. “Not nervous. Happy to be here, with you.”
Shit. I probably shouldn’t have said that, but the smile that curves her lips makes it hard to regret.
“Me too,” she murmurs. She smooths a hand down the front of her dress.
“And since I didn’t say it back at the house, you look…” Careful. Choose a word that’s appropriate . “Beautiful. Really beautiful.”
She glances up at me, almost shyly. Two rosy dots form on her cheeks, and she whispers, “Thank you.”
God, I need to kiss her. There’s something about being out with her, dressed up and away from home, that makes this feel magical. Like it would be stupid not to kiss her. Almost like… it doesn’t count.
But I know better.
I look away. The MC asks us to take our seats, and we settle in as the ceremony begins and the lights dim.
The first few categories are over quickly, and Poppy is enthralled, commenting on the designs as they come up on screen. When it gets to my category, she looks at me, grinning, holding up crossed fingers.
“I probably won’t win,” I say, mainly to warn her. She seems a lot more invested in this than I am, and it’s making my heart do funny things. When was the last time someone cared this much on my behalf?
But she waves my comment away, staring at the screen. When my company is announced as a finalist and the design flashes up, Poppy sucks in a breath.
“Oh my God,” she whispers, transfixed. It’s a rooftop design we did for a hotel in Brooklyn, utilizing the industrial features of the roof to create a space that was both functional and beautiful. The owner was a real pill, too, initially wanting a vegetable garden and farm animals up there, which, while not realistic, was definitely ambitious, but we talked him down to something more practical.
“And the winner is…”
Poppy’s hand slips into mine, squeezing hard, and my chest does the same. I look at her, the nervous purse of her lips, the way she’s holding her breath, waiting to see if I’ve won. I’ve never had someone beside me, wanting something for me so badly, and all I can think about is leaning in and brushing my mouth across hers.
“Tisdale Landscapes Limited!”
The room erupts into applause. Bruce booms a loud laugh across the aisle from me, rising to his feet. He winks on his way past, and I send him a tight-lipped smile. Looks like he finally schmoozed his way into an award.
Beside me, Poppy deflates like a balloon. “I can’t believe it,” she whispers. Her gaze swings to me, shaken. “You should have won.”
I chuff a quiet laugh. “It’s okay. These things are so political.”
“It’s not okay.” Her eyes shine in the dark. “I can’t believe they gave it to that jerk over you. Yours was way better.”
I study her; the sincerity in her gaze, the fierce determination on her face. I’ve lost awards before, many times, but not once have I had someone beside me who believes I deserved to win. Someone who believed in me , without me needing to prove myself. Emotion rushes through my chest, and I swallow. It’s too much.
The lights come up as the awards end, applause ringing through the room. I blink against the brightness, eying the exit as we go to the bar for more drinks. And when I see Bruce waving to me across the crowd, my shoulders sag.
I don’t want to deal with that asshole right now. Not when all I can think about is Poppy.
“I’m going to get some air,” I mutter, and she glances at me.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I lie, because I’m not fine. I’m here with the most amazing woman I’ve ever met, and I can’t kiss her. She’s not even my date.
I can’t keep doing this, can’t keep pretending she’s nothing more than my daughter’s friend. I need to get away from her and take a breath to clear my head. I need to find a way to stop feeling the things I feel for Poppy.
“I’ll be back soon,” I grate out.
Poppy nods, regarding me warily, and my heart shrivels. So much for making tonight better than her shitty prom.
But either I leave, or I kiss her.
And I’m running out of reasons not to.
I slip outside into the warm night air, desperate to stop feeling like this. It doesn’t help, as all I do is pace back and forth across the gravel of the parking lot, agitated. I haven’t smoked in almost two decades, but, fuck, I could use a cigarette right now.
The sound of shoes crunching over gravel makes me glance back at the entrance. Poppy picks her way across the parking lot, watching me with concern. The moon is high and bright, bathing her in a silver glow. She looks like a goddess, and my heart twists, forcing me to look away.
“I’ll leave if you want,” she says when she reaches my side. “But I needed you to know… you don’t have to be alone in this. You deserved to win.”
How is it possible she believes in me this much? That she sees the goodness in me that no one else does?
“I mean it, Wyatt.”
God, she’s using my name again. I clench my jaw hard, my chest rising and falling rapidly. I’m on the edge of a cliff, barely holding on, and one wrong move could push me over.
Poppy’s hand brushes my arm gently, and that’s all it takes.
I turn to her, my heart beating wildly, and capture her mouth with mine. She lets out a tiny yelp of surprise, then her arms twine around my neck, pulling me into her. I lose myself to the heat of her mouth, the sweet taste of her kiss, the feeling of her soft body pressing into mine. Her tongue nudges into my mouth, and when it strokes mine, heat spills through me.
Fuck .
It’s better than I imagined, kissing her. The way she moans as I tilt my head to deepen the kiss, as I slide a hand into her hair. I forget all the reasons I shouldn’t be doing this and let myself have one moment. One moment to forget everything but her.
“And I thought I was the winner.” A familiar voice pierces through the fog of lust, and I pull away from Poppy’s lips to see Bruce sauntering past. In his hand he holds his award and on his face he wears a shit-eating grin.
Shame douses me. After what he said about Poppy, and here I am, behaving like this.
I lurch away from her, my pulse ringing in my ears as Bruce totters off across the parking lot, laughing merrily.
What the hell was I thinking? So she was supportive—how does that justify kissing her? She’s my daughter’s friend. Bailey trusts me to look out for her, and making a move on her is the last thing she needs. I’m the last thing she needs.
I spot our limo across the parking lot and turn on my heel. “Come on,” I mutter, pretending I don’t want to haul her back into my arms. Pretending I didn’t notice the way she kissed me back.
“Wyatt—” she begins behind me, but I shake my head.
“It’s time to go.”