Jaxson
Days floatby with Poppy by my side. It’s a surreal feeling to have her here, to have her near me at all. But I realize it’s all for show, with each outing we partake in is well-orchestrated to either directly or indirectly involve our mothers. First, there was bowling, which she beat me at legitimately, and I’m still pretty ticked about it. Next, there was a bar crawl at Starry Nights with friends. And let’s not forget that each time I picked up Jensen from daycare, Poppy was right there making sure we went for hot chocolate right after. I think Jensen is starting to like Poppy just as much as I do. And I do like Poppy. I’ve always liked her. And yet there’s something about this revelation that saddens me.
What the hell is there to sadden me about hanging out with Poppy? Yes, things were great when we were kids, but that gray zone we entered once puberty hit threw us off track. Something went wrong that I can’t quite put my finger on. It’s not like we were together. We dated other people. And then, like a spear to the heart, it hits me. That right there is the tender spot that never truly healed. Poppy might have dated other people all those years ago, but tonight Poppy Montgomery is dating me—and unfortunately, this hot date involves my mother.
The doorbell rings, and I head straight over to find Poppy’s smiling face on the other side of the glass. I thought since my mother will be glued to the television tonight watching her favorite standby,Ice Skating with the Stars, Poppy should come over for dinner and a movie. That way my mother gets to watch the real show firsthand, and I get to reap the benefits.
“I can’t believe you live at home.” Poppy’s perfect bowtie lips contort into all sorts of delicious shapes I’d like to dive my mouth over.
I realize that Poppy just said something to me, that the words were most likely an insult, but I’m too mesmerized watching her cherry red lips and the magnificent way they move. Hell, everything about Poppy is magnificent tonight in that short white dress, the black leather boots that come clear to her thighs.
Crap. I am in trouble. I’ve never been around a gorgeous woman who looked like a stick of dynamite going off in your face and not gotten laid.
“You’re beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she whispers as she gives a quick glance around. “Where’s your mother?”
“Don’t know, don’t care.” I offer a lazy smile. “She’s in the living room. Why don’t we say hello before I have you cook me a meal?”
“You’re such a sexist pig.” She strides right past me, and the scent of her perfume pulls me with her like a leash. Sweet. Poppy holds the scent of a flower just like her name suggests. And damn, she looks good from behind. “Aunt Deb?” she calls as she heads straight for ground zero. I haven’t heard her call my mother that in eons. It makes me long for those olden, golden days of our fantastic youth.
“Oh!” Mom jumps at the sight of us from the couch. Her hair is wrapped in a towel, and she cradles a pint of ice cream on her lap with a spoon spiked through it. “Goodness! I was just about to indulge. You two want to take a seat? It’s quarterfinals night!” She claws at the television just as the intro comes on.
“No thanks.” Poppy wraps a slender arm around my waist, and my dick startles to life. “Jax here was just about to fix us dinner. Would you like something to eat?”
Mom’s brows jump with amusement, and she gets that look in her eyes that spells out danger ahead. “I’m betting this is a private menu he’s concocting just for the two of you.” She saysconcoctingas if it were a sexual term, and my appetite takes a nosedive.
“It’s pizza,” I flatline. “We’re making our own. You’re welcome to join us.” I lay the invite out like a threat, and she smirks my way.
“Heavens no. You two have fun. I’ll be right here if you need anything. Bon appétit!” She lifts her spoon into the air before taking a bite.
“Pizza?” Poppy practically skips to the kitchen. “God, I’ve forgotten what a palace you live in. Are you sure we need to make our own dinner? That’s something only peasants do.” She gives my ear a quick tug, and a jolt runs clear down my right side from her touch.
“What a coincidence?” It takes great restraint not to take her in my arms. “Tonight we dine like peasants. Besides, you love pizza.”
“Only if you’ve got anchovies.”
“We’re going old school because I have more salted greasy fish than you’ll know what to do with.”
I pull out the spread I had my mother’s personal chef put together. Yes, we might be eating like peasants, but the food was prepared for us as if we were kings. I lay out over twenty potential toppings and roll out six balls of dough onto the marble counter.
“Wow, this is amazing,” Poppy marvels as I sprinkle the counter with flour and hand her a rolling pin. “You do realize this is the only house with a built-in pizza oven in all of Oak Grove.”
“I bet you every house in L.A. has two—one in the kitchen and one in the bathroom.”
A laugh belts from her, and it warms me right down to my feet. “And why pray tell would they have a pizza oven in the bathroom?”
“Because they’re weird like you.” I brush my finger over her nose, but those eyes. When we were kids, I’d openly stare at her neon green eyes, and she wouldn’t mind. I’m still not sure that hue is found anywhere else in nature. “And I bet they sandwichpray tellin between every sentence.” I pick up a ball of dough and pretend to fling it at her.
A sharp laugh pumps from her. “Don’t you dare turn this into a food fight.”
I spot my mother watching us from the reflection in the wall mirror hanging before her.
“I’ll turn it into whatever I like.” I pull Poppy into my arms, and we do a little twirl right here in the kitchen. “A pair of sixty-year-old eyes is watching from the living room,” I practically mouth.
“Almost sixty,” Poppy corrects because she’s a smartass that way, and she knows I secretly love it. Her arms find their way around my back as she looks up at me from under her lashes. “By all means, let’s put on a show worth watching.”
“I don’t know, Pops.Ice Skating with the Starsis pretty heavy competition.” I press my lips close to her temple, and I can feel her body quiver beneath me. I may not know how Poppy feels about me, but I know the female body. I can read its every quiver, its every shiver like sheet music, and hers just gave me the green light. I’d love to act on it. I’d love to land a kiss to that perfect mouth of hers, take her upstairs and love her the way I’ve wanted to for so long.
