The words hit me like a punch. “I don’t know about that. Poppy and I are legit best friends. You and Cami wanted to kill each other. And for a while, most of us thought you two would.”
He laughs and tips his beer at me. “You’re not wrong about that. But it always works out. A relationship built on friendship is one that will last a lifetime. A relationship without that will be harder to make last. First and foremost, we love each other’s company. We don’t get sick of each other. That matters. Hell, I think Cami would crawl into my pocket and let me carry her around all day if I could. We love to be together.”
And that makes me think maybe he’s onto something here, because it’s exactly how I feel about Poppy. She’s been my friend since we were teenagers. In high school, I played every sport I could, mainly so I could be away from home as much as possible. If I were off at sports, I wouldn’t have to deal with my parents’ drama. And Poppy was busy with Owen. When she and I became friends, her mom had just gotten sick. Owen was a newborn, and she stepped up to take care of him. We were barely kids. Not that much older than Owen is now. She and I would hang out, bringing him along in his little carrier everywhere we went. I’ve known the little dude since he was a baby. I even changed his diapers. And when her mom died, Poppy officially took over raising him, which was hard for her. But she chose him. He was like a piece of her mother that she still had when her dad turned to his biker club and alcohol, and whatever else he was doing back then. God only knows.
I’d do anything for her and Owen. Anything. That’s never changed. But my feelings for herhavechanged. I love her so damn much.This isn’t best friend level and hasn’t been for a long time.
Poppy and Cami come back to set down their drinks andthey are off to dance. I can’t take my eyes off her. She looks at Cami and laughs so hard she covers her face. Her eyes shine and her whole body relaxes when she lets herself be happy.
God, I want to be the one who gives her that every day.I want to be her choice. I want to be the one she reaches for, and not just as a friend.
Jack nudges me again. “You gotta give her time, man. She’s scared. People leave her. She probably thinks you will too.”
“I won’t.” The words come out of me like a vow. “Never.”
“I know,” Jack says. “But she hasn’t figured that out yet.”
I look over at the guy who asked her to dance, who is now dancing with one of my mom’s friends, a nurse at the hospital. Good for him.
But I don’t want anyone else dancing with Poppy or even looking at her. And most definitely not touching her.
Because I want her, and I want it all with her. Always have, always will. It will always be Poppy. She will always be my choice, and I will choose her, no matter what.I want the three of us to be a family and I’m not sure how long I can pretend I don’t.
Across the bar, she glances over, and our eyes lock. Her smile fades into something softer. Something that looks like fear and want and confusion tangled up together.
She looks away first.I swallow hard and realize Jack is watching this whole thing go down with amusement.
Jack taps the table. “That’s love, brother.”
And deep down, I already know that.
It’s always been her.
Poppy leaves The Black Dog like a tiny furious tornado in boots. I follow a few steps behind, my hands stuffed in my pockets.Owen got dropped off at her house after hanging out with a friend and she needs to get home to him.
The cold night air slaps my face, but it does nothing to cool the jealousy still boiling in my chest.
She walks fast, and I match her pace. She still doesn’t look at me. Finally, she turns on her heels and snaps, “Why are you being so weird?”
I blink. “I’m not being weird.”
She points at me. “You practically barked at that guy for wanting to dance with me.”
“I didn’t bark,” I say, offended.
“Okay, you growled, Ollie. It was… aggressive.”
I step a little closer. “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”
She crosses her arms. “Maybe I want someone to look at me like that.”
My heart tries to jump out of my body. “Someone? Or him?”
She scoffs. “I don’t know. Anyone. I have needs, Ollie. I want someone to want me.”
God help me. Again, with the needs. The wordneedsricochets around in my skull like a firecracker. I don’t want to think of her with anyone andneeds. I practically come unglued with even the thought of someone touching her.
She turns and storms off again, boots stomping against the gravel, each step ringing sharp in the quiet lot. The streetlights cast her in a halo of pale gold, and I can’t stop staring. She looks impossibly beautiful, every line of her body animated, furious, alive.
