Chapter 37 Pub Subs
Pub Subs
Poppy
Chester sweeps into the room, tray in hand. “Margarita?”
“That’s what you thought would go with a Pub sub?” Jack asks, voice tinged with amusement.
“Everything goes with Pub subs,” Kiara says, joining us in the living room with another tray piled with sandwiches and chips.
We brought them over, Kiara and I, in lieu of a proper dinner, after standing on a hellishly long line in the deli section
of Publix.
“I still don’t get it,” I say, reluctantly taking the margarita Chester’s holding out to me. It’s a fifty-fifty shot on whether
the tequila will make me feel more or less anxious about tomorrow. Riding a horse—a sweet old gal named Meadow—alongside Kiara
this afternoon was amazing, but it didn’t do much to dampen my nerves. “What’s so special about them?”
“It’s unexplainable,” says Chester.
“Magical, really,” Kiara adds. She throws Jack a look. “I still can’t believe you’ve lived somewhere without Publix this long.”
“Neither can I,” Owen says, from his place on the couch next to Mateo. Mateo, so far, seems shy, but Hazel has already declared
that she’s going to coax him into dancing with her at some point tonight. I get the sense that Owen is the more exuberant
one in their relationship.
Jack peels himself away from the wall, coming to my side. “It’s been difficult, but I’ve persevered.”
“You, too?” I give him wide, betrayed eyes.
He snorts. “Just try a bite.”
“You seem remarkably calm about tomorrow.”
He reaches for me, reeling me close to his hard chest. We kissed in the kitchen earlier, so it’s useless to pretend to everyone
that we’re not doing . . . whatever it is we’re doing, but I’m still surprised when he kisses me, hands gripping my backside.
It must be the leggings I’m wearing. They make my butt look like a perfect peach. Heat flares through me, and I’m sure he
can tell because he laughs. By some miracle, he lets me press my face against his throat until I get myself under control.
“I’m fine,” he says. I shut my eyes; the rumble of his voice feels nice. It’s sending vibrations through my body. “It’s all
fine. We’re good, sweetheart, I promise.”
Kiara holds out a paper-wrapped sub for me. “Try it. I swear it’ll change your life.”
I take half, reluctantly, and bite into it. It’s filled with fried chicken tenders, plus lettuce, mayo, and tomato—the perfect
way to have it, according to Kiara.
“Oh. Oh my god.”
She grins. “Good, right?”
“So good.” I take another bite. “I’m offended that all of you let me live in Florida for almost three months without tasting
this.”
Jack chuckles, his arms wrapping around me from behind. He steals a bite.
Approximately two hours later, several things have happened: I’ve scarfed down an entire Pub sub and seen the light, Kiara
broke out the last of her dad’s good rum, and we’ve turned the living room into a mini club. Hazel, Kiara, and I are trying
valiantly to dance to the Clash, thanks to Jack winning the last round of king’s cup.
“How am I supposed to dance to this?” Kiara says, arm looped through mine. She’s practically yelling, even though it’s just
the seven of us in one room. We do another spin, horribly off beat. “Put on some party music!”
“Yes,” I say, bouncing on my heels. “Dance playlist! Pop!”
Jack, to my chagrin, doesn’t seem inclined to listen. He tilts his head to the side, watching us with sharp, yet warm, eyes.
The alcohol has given his face a flushed quality. I shake my hips. I want to shimmy right over there and grind against him.
If we were in a club, I’d consider it. Find a quiet corner, feel his lips trail up my neck . . .
A club. Jack Hartman in a club. Hazel has told me some stories about the two of them going out after shifts, but I still can’t
believe it. Watching him in a club would be like watching a fish flop around on the beach. I break into giggles at the thought.
“Remember when you had that house party while Sal was at a convention in Atlanta?” he drawls.
Kiara jolts to a stop, then lunges for him. “You promised never to bring it up!”
“We drank so much of his stash then.” He holds Kiara an arm’s length away, voice rich with amusement. “You know how long it
took me to replace it?”
“That was a great party,” Chester says. He steals Kiara away, dipping her to make her laugh. “What about you, Pop Rocks?”
“My house parties always ended with noise complaints and people running away half-dressed.”
“I’m sure Douglas loved that,” Jack says.
“I know, right?” I sail into his arms. He catches me easily, just like I knew he would. That reassurance makes me warmer than
any of the drinks we’ve had. “He was always like yes, Poppy, fuck up the house again while your mother and I are at Lake Como.
We’re so proud of you.” I accidentally stomp on Jack’s foot. He pinches my bottom in recompense. We fall onto the couch in
a tangle of limbs, kissing. I discover a sensitive spot on the underside of his jaw and toy with it with my teeth until he
takes in a delightfully shaky breath.
I wonder what he’d be like if he truly let go. If it’s possible to make him lose control, the way I did when he spanked me.
Has he ever allowed himself to be that intimate with anyone? Has he ever shed all of his armor?
Maybe he did with Jessica. I looked her up; I couldn’t help myself. Stalked her Instagram like a pathetic loser. She screwed him over, in the end, but that doesn’t mean what he felt for her wasn’t real.
“Poppy,” Jack says gently.
I shake my head to clear it. More rum would help, probably.
“Was there anyone else?” I work my hands underneath Jack’s T-shirt. I haven’t traced every last tattoo line with the tip of
my tongue yet, and that feels long overdue. That might be enough for me to focus on. I’m always searching for focus, and almost
never find it. “Other than Jessica, I mean? Any other blondes in your closet?”
“That’s enough rum for you,” he murmurs, brushing my hair behind my ears. Our limbs knot together like shoelaces. I keep messing
with his shirt. “You need a glass of water.”
“It’s raining.” That started a little while ago, a hard, pounding thunderstorm that has made the party inside all the more
fun. “We could go outside and stand in the rain.” Another, better idea occurs to me. “We could make out in the rain.”
His lips slant upward. “No. We’re not going to do that.”
“I like the rain here,” I say, tracing around his octopus tattoo. “It doesn’t hold back.”
“Like you.”
I scramble off of Jack, itching for one more drink before he cuts me off. He chases me into the kitchen and kisses me against
the refrigerator until the others stumble in behind us, and then I get my last drink, plus a stash of pop tarts that he managed
to hide until now. He used more dye than he normally would for the icing, and all our tongues end up glorious, childhood blue.
“I think Jack should make a speech,” Kiara says eventually, mischief in her eyes. “On the eve of Fable’s unofficial opening.”
Jack groans, but all of us chant loudly enough that he has no choice but to listen. He holds his hand up, taking a long gulp
of rum.
“Thanks for being here,” he says. He meets everyone’s eyes individually, lingering on mine. I wrap my arm around his, leaning
into his side. “I wasn’t sure any of you would want to be in my life, much less help me open a fucking restaurant. But we’re
all here. And we’re gonna rock it. To Sal.”
“To Sal,” we all echo.
As the night slips on, we stay at the kitchen table, chatting.
I love seeing Jack like this, animated yet relaxed, his fingers playing with my hair idly as we listen to our friends.
Owen and Hazel share more kitchen stories.
Mateo and Owen tell us how they met, and what their Vegas elopement was like.
Chester has me in stitches with almost everything that comes out of his mouth.
It hits me all of a sudden, just how comfortable I am right now.
No pretending. No pretentiousness. It’s been hours, and I haven’t once thought about how I look, or if someone might take
a horrible picture of me that makes its way online, or if my scattered energy has scared off anyone, or any one of the hundred
other things that typically go through my mind when I’m around other people. That’s not thanks to the alcohol; I’ve been close
to blackout drunk before and still remember the anxiety.
Instead, I’m safe. Cherished. I’m resting against Jack’s chest, pretending I can burrow inside him like some small woodland
creature, as Kiara and Chester slip into their familiar bickering. I can’t remember feeling like this before in a social situation.
Definitely not lately. Perhaps not ever.
I sneak a look at Jack. He’s having a good time. He’s glad that his friends are finally together. Glad to have reconnected
with Owen, and to be in the same kitchen as Hazel once more. He notices me blinking at him from underneath my lashes and kisses
my forehead. He’s glad that I’m having a good time, too. I hardly know what to do with this feeling, other than wishing I could bottle it and drink it for
courage the next time I have to pretend to be @itspoppywinfield.
It’s all too easy to think about staying. Buying a house where Gator can hunt lizards to his heart’s content. Running the
restaurant with Jack, day in and day out. Meeting up with our friends to have nights like this.
It could be so easy.
And yet I know it’s impossible.
After the pop-up, it’ll only be another week before the restaurant reopens. Jack and I will have proved our points. Our roads
will untangle. And I’ll be home.
That’s what I want.
Right?