After about ten minutes of switching gears and talking shop, I excuse myself for the night. I glance back just as I’m about to take off and find both Sadie Richards and Larissa double-teaming Conner. That happy-go-lucky look jumps right back on his face where it belongs. I care about Conner. Just like I care about Poppy. That’s why I’m headed off to do what I’m about to.
But instead of heading out the door, I head for the kitchen.
Consideringit’s almost ten o’clock, I opt for texting Poppy rather than giving her sleeping parents a heart attack in what amounts to the middle of the night to them.
Downstairs. Let me in? Please. :)
I thought I’d better tag it with please and a happy face. I’m getting the feeling I’m on her shit list, and if I’m not, I probably should be.
A minute goes by, then two. A light switches on in the entry, and a face peers out from the blurry glass door before it swings open wide, revealing the most stunning woman on the planet.
“What are you doing here?” Poppy Montgomery stands there with her hair in a ponytail, pink fuzzy slippers—but those PJs, they’re white and silky, and right about now they’re daring my fingers to pet them. “And what is that in your hands?”
“Peace offering.” Shit. Could I think before I speak? “I mean, a get well gift, sort of. Chicken soup—fresh from Starry Nights. Hunter sends his love.” Great. Her buddy from the bar sends his love, but the man shehelped outthis afternoon can’t even get a proper hello in. “Hey, hello.” Crap. “I mean”—I scratch at the back of my head a moment—“would you mind if I come in?”
“Absolutely! Here, I’ll take this.” And just like that, everything feels normal between us.
“There’s a spoon in there for you,” I whisper. “I was going to bring it up to your room. Conner mentioned you felt like you were coming down with something.”
“Oh, right.” Her eyes enlarge for a moment. “Um, I was actually in my room. Lame, I know. But we can go into the kitchen if you want. Or I can take you up for the grand tour. I actually redid it just before I moved. It was my attempt to prove to my mother that I was a true adult.”
“How does one prove adulthood via rearranging room furniture?”
“You’re forgetting it’s my specialty,” she teases. “But in the event curiosity is about to bite your balls off, I framed a still shot of the stock market and hung it prominently above my bed.”
“A shot of Wall Street?” I’m not sure if I should be impressed or perplexed. I’m leaning toward the latter.
She shrugs a little and looks downright adorable in the process. “Of the stock feed. I took it with my phone and printed it out. It’s blurry, and silly, but in my defense, I had senior-itis that year and wasn’t thinking rationally. Anyway, she must have bought it because she commended me on all the mature changes I made. I kept the stuffies, though. If you say a word, you die.” She leads me upstairs—to the apparent “stuffie” haven—and I’m anxious to soak it all in.
I’ve been at the Montgomery’s more times than I can count, but the sacred upstairs has been pretty much off limits. After Conner moved out, there was no reason to venture on up. One summer during a barbeque, there was a line at the downstairs bathroom, and I volunteered to head upstairs. At that point, I hadn’t seen Poppy in years, and, of course, she wasn’t there. But I craved her. Instead of heading left to the bathroom, I made a right and bumped into Charlene who gently corrected my error before I could ever hit Poppy’s bedroom. It was a stupid idea to begin with. What was I going to do? Touch her things like a stalker? Hell, I probably was. I wanted to smell her—feel her if only through her pillowcase. I wanted to rub my face in her clothes and let my heart shatter thoroughly at the tragedy that had become of us.
The second floor of the Montgomery home is L-shaped with the master bedroom at the small base of the letter and three more bedrooms down the long stretch of the hallway. Conner’s room first, then Mack’s old room, then jackpot.
Poppy glances back at me with a mischievous look in her eyes before opening the door, and I feel like a kid being let loose in a chocolate factory for the very first time—think opening day at Willy Wonka’s, and I’m suddenly feeling a lot like Augustus Gloop. Only it isn’t chocolate I want to sink my teeth into. It’s Poppy. She’s so cute and innocent tonight, and that silk—I want to pull her in and never let go.
The room is still as pink as I remember—the old twin bed with a frilly lace canopy has been replaced with a bigger sleigh bed, and a large screen television sits mounted on the wall in front of it.
Poppy puts the soup down and hops onto the bed. An entire row of stuffed animals bounces up and down as if extending their own greeting. I sit down beside her and snatch up a bright green dragon.
“Remember that?” She scoots in as we lean against the headboard together.
“Hell yes, I remember this. I gave it to you. I wanted it for myself, and my mother said I was too old, but you had a birthday coming up and she said I could get it for you.”
“Uh-huh, and every time you came over, you made a beeline toward Freddy.” She takes him back and gives him a rocking hug. “Face it, you used me to get to my stuffed animals.”
“That’s because you had such a vast collection.”
“Impressive, isn’t it?” She kicks off her shoes, and I do the same. “So, what are we watching?” She turns on the TV, and an old Western blinks to life.
“This looks good to me.” I shove a small pink rabbit behind my head and use it as a pillow as I get nice and comfy.
“Are you kidding? It’s all blood and gore. And they’re always fighting in the desert. Just watching it makes me hot and sweaty.”
A chuckle runs through me as I wrap my arm around her and Poppy lands against my chest, her arms curled over me. “So, you’re saying a bunch of sweaty men get you hot and bothered?”
“Eww. Trust me, that’s the last thing they get me. But speaking of which.” She leans over the side of the bed and nearly falls to the floor, so I grab ahold of her waist and hoist her back up. “Thanks.” Her ponytail smacks her in the face, and my stomach cinches because everything about Poppy Montgomery is so damn cute. “I came home to find my battery-operated boyfriend waiting for me.” She pulls a ten-inch hot pink rubber dick out of a box and waves it in front of my face.
“Crap. Get that thing away from me, Pops.”
