She belts out a laugh right in my face. “And you would be right.” Her lips quiver as her expression turns to stone. “You look perfect tonight.” Her lashes lower as if my perfection managed to bring down her mood.
“I did it for you. Shaved, too.” I touch my hand over my face. “Smooth as a baby’s bottom.”
She bites down over her lip while carefully placing her palm over my cheek. “You did that forme?”
“Damn right. Did you shave anything for me?” I dip my gaze south for a moment, teasing. God, I pray she knows I’m teasing.
“Yeah, right. Any man who’s with me needs to be appreciative of a good old-fashioned corn maze en route to my vagina. ThinkPlayboycirca 1970.”
I inch back, swallowing down a laugh. “Did you just liken your bush to a corn maze?”
“Did you just say the wordbush?”
“I believe you saidvagina, which totally trumpsbushin just about any vulgar category.”
A soft rock instrumental floats through the speakers, and I bob my head to the rhythm. “May I have this dance?” I hold out a hand, old school style, and a couple of audible sighs go off about ten feet behind me. It’s clear my moves are mother approved.
“You may.” Poppy wraps an arm around my waist before setting her tiny hand in mine. Her hips snuggle up against me, and we move as if our bodies were a single entity. “I bet you’re a regular at the POTS fundraisers with moves like this.”
“Not true, but after the donation I make tonight, I might be bumped up to the official invite list.”
She belts out a laugh. “So it’s not your moves they’re after.” She wrinkles her nose and looks cute as hell. “It must be tough navigating your way through life never knowing who’s really there for you as a person rather than an extraordinarily built ATM machine.”
“So you’re saying I have a good body.”
“I’m saying you qualify as a bank.Yousaid you have a good body. By the way, you have an ego to match that bank account.”
I let out a barking laugh and catch my mother and Char whispering to one another from the corner of my eye.
Without putting too much thought into it, I dance Poppy over to the other end of the room.
“Hey, we’re losing our audience.” She tries to navigate us back, but I prove to be stubborn.
“Maybe you’re all the audience I need tonight.” I swallow down the unexpected lump in my throat. “Don’t worry. They’re still watching.”
“Oh—good.” Her breathing picks up as if we just danced a lap around the building.
Our bodies slow to a hip-grinding crawl, and soon enough we’re hardly breathing, let alone moving to the music.
My thumb brushes over her lips ever so softly. For so long I’ve thought of Poppy as a work of art that demands to be worshiped. I’d love to do just that—worship every last part of her beautiful body with my mouth, her perfect lips, those tits that haven’t stopped quivering for me the second she landed in my arms, those perfect stems she walks over my heart with, all of her. My mouth demands to cover every creamy inch. I’d love nothing more than to carry her into my truck and drive us anywhere but here.
My mouth finds a home against her beautiful neck as I take in her perfume and press soft kisses all the way up to her ear. “Why didn’t you let me pick you up?” My voice shakes. I’ve never been so aroused, so thoroughly aching to have somebody.
Poppy leans back as those velvet eyes of her press into mine. “Because I knew that I’d want to go home with you.”
And there it is. Poppy would come home with me. She wants me, and she doesn’t. In typical Poppy fashion, she’s sending me both signals all at once.
A thousand questions beg to surface, and yet not one escapes my vocal cords. Instead, I lean in, and she meets me there with a slight nod as if letting me know it’s okay to cross that invisible line we’ve adhered to like a promise.
My mouth crashes over hers, and I lose it. My tongue meets with hers as I slip into her mouth, and a deep guttural groan that’s been working its way up for years is finally unleashed. Poppy meets me right there with her own hungry kisses that only seem to grow in urgency as we swim in one another’s mouths. This is Poppy I’m kissing, Eight Ball, the girl I’ve claimed as my own for as far back as I can remember. How have we never done this before? And why in God’s name is it finally happening to a roaring applause bustling from behind? We deserve it, though. This kiss deserves every applause, every whoop and holler anyone wants to offer. Poppy tastes sweet like peppermint as if she went out of her way to welcome me tonight. At least that’s what I’d like to believe.
I’d like to believe Poppy wants something more than just a few make-believe kisses. That she’s in this to do more than impress the living hell out of our mothers before we pull the rug out from under them. But she’s L.A. and I’m Oak Grove. She’s always been the forbidden one, and I’ve always accepted the fact she could never be mine.
But this kiss…
Something is about to change between us. Something has already changed between us, and I’m loving it.
I’m hoping she’s loving it, too.
