Sexcapades
Poppy
Jaxson Stade kissed me!
Dies. I can officially cross that off my bucket list of quasi-sexual things to do—not that I want to stifle it from ever happening again.
God. I knew once he stepped into that room, suit to die for, long silver tie that dripped down like a leash laden with dirty promises, that he was trouble incarnate—but that face. He shaved for me.Shaved! I’m not sure why the hell he thought it was something I needed, but in a strange way it was exactly what I needed to push me over the sexual edge. I bet he knows that.
Who am I kidding? This is Jaxson Stade. Of course, he knows all of the right sexual buttons to push to land a girl horizontal. And horizontal is exactly where every last cell in my body wanted to be. I knew that I knew that IknewI was weak. That’s precisely why I opted to drive with my parents down to the fancy shindig. If I was looking hotter than a firecracker in Sadie’s borrowed red dress, how could Jaxson Stade not look like a million dollars? Scratch that. Jaxson Stade looks his worth at a billion on an average day. Last night was gold.
And if Jax had picked me up, that would mean he would be taking me home, and the way my hormones have been exploding all over Oak Grove as of late, I was too afraid I’d beg for him to take me in the carnal sense. Not that it would be the first time—just the first time outside of my oversexed imagination.
Mack and Sadie are meeting me for lunch, so I head into the Starry Nights Bar and Grill and find a seat in the back. I’m chronically early everywhere I go, which is typically a good thing. Except for in L.A.—in a world where people are chronically late, it’s been a disservice to me. I’m also chronically overdressed, which explains the knee-high boots with three-inch heels, my black Seven jeans, and knee-length black pea coat. Back in L.A., nobody blinks if you wear black twenty-four seven. In fact, it’s the official uniform of the entire design business. But in Oak Grove, you get looks for sporting such a hue-deficient ensemble, and everyone assumes you’re going to a funeral.
Jax comes to mind, and just as quick as that exuberance overtook me, an oppressive sadness weighs me down. A group of girls comes in, laughing, talking a mile a minute as they make their way to a table nearby. They’re all exceptionally beautiful with their perfect curls, faces that scream ode to Ulta, but for the most part they come in all shapes and sizes. When I was in high school, I used to lament the fact that I wasn’t Jaxson Stade’s type.
It had never even occurred to me that this might be the case until Conner casually mentioned it one day. I was having one of my many existential crises—this particular one revolving around the fact I couldn’t get guys to notice me, not even the formidable Jaxson Stade. And that’s when my brother came to the existential rescue and assured me that there wasn’t a lip-gloss on Earth that would make that boy blink my way. By that time, Conner and Jax were pretty tight, so I took his word as gospel.
But many years later, and now that I’m older and wiser, I’ve come to find out Jaxson doesn’t quite have a type—more of a gender specific orifice—and in that sense, I do meet the bare minimum requirements. Back in the day, and apparently, this translates to the present, Jax wanted to rub his nub against everything with a hole in it, and for the most part he found plenty of girls willing to drop trou. Of course, he never made the offer to me, and last night I feared a proposition as much as I feared anything else.
Sadie and Mack storm in together, all bundled up for the snow apocalypse with scarves to their noses, their winter parkas ready for a day on the slopes.
“Aren’t you Miss Sexy?” Mack gives me a quick kiss to the cheek before disrobing.
Sadie grunts, “She’s hot to trot, and according to reliable sources, set the Grand Hotel on fire last night.” She strips down as well and falls into the seat across from me. “Spill.”
“He kissed me.”
Mack thumps her glittering silver nails over the table. “Was the mommy patrol aware of this mistletoe miracle?”
“Yes.”
“Then it doesn’t count.”
“Mack!” Sadie cries it out for me. “Everything counts.” She turns back to me. “Tongue or no tongue?”
“Tongue. First time, and it was sensational! That boy has a two-foot appendage he’s harboring in that mouth of his. And the precision that tip offered assured me of prehensile things to come.”
“Meaning you.” Sadie has always been a genius when it comes to finishing my slutty sentences.
“Eww.” Mack swats us both with a menu. “You do realize I’m still your sister. This was never about getting you laid. This was about gettingeven. Jaxson Stade is a player. He’s not the boy for you.”
Sadie gags as she tries to get her words out. “That may be so, but he’s the boy for her right now.”
Mack shakes her head as if this were an impossibility. “She’s heading back to L.A. in a couple of weeks. Poppy doesn’t have the talent of shutting off her emotions like some people.” She sneers at my old friend before redirecting her gaze my way. “Do not give your heart away, and donotsleep with him. This is a direct order from your big sister. Don’t force me to have Conner write up a cease and desist to Jaxson’s dick.”
“Would you stop with the penile legal threats?” I scan the vicinity in the event, God forbid, Jax or Conner crops up and ruins our good time, or at least what would have been if not for this spontaneous Mack attack.
“Speaking of Conner.” Mack leans in with that naughty look in her eye, and you can bet a juicy morsel of gossip is about to drip from her mouth. “Word on the Stade Steel streets is, he’sdatingagain.”
“Who?” Our brother doesn’t date by definition. He’s more of a mattress wrestler who likes to pin them down and release his captive audience by morning. He’s a manwhore personified right along with Jax.
The waitress comes by, and we put in our orders. Two Chinese chicken salads for Mack and me, and coffee and a scone for Sadie. I wait until the waitress takes off to judge my good friend properly.
“Coffee and a scone?”
“What?” Sadie makes a face. “That’s what I wanted.”
