“The best terrible idea,” I counter.
Despite her panic, despite her armor, despite all the fear she carries like weights strapped to her ribs, she laughs. A soft, helpless little laugh that makes my knees go weak.
She steps backward through the door. “Goodnight, Ollie.”
I step forward. “Goodnight, Poppy.”
She closes the door before either one of us accidentally decides to be brave.
I stand on her porch, heart pounding, feeling like I just died and survived at the same time.
Inside, I hear Owen say, “You were kissing,” and Poppy instantly hissing back, “No, we weren’t!”
I grin into the dark.We almost did and almost counts.
Chapter 8
Poppy
Spin You Around by Morgan Wallen
Music thumps through the shop, loud enough to keep my hands moving but not loud enough to quiet my brain. It’s supposed to drown out the noise, the worry, the constantwhat nowthat’s been circling my life lately, but it barely makes a dent.
I’ve only had one customer today. An oil change.One.It’s not enough to keep me busy. And definitely not enough to stop my brain from replaying last night over and over, every look and every word stuck on repeat, no matter how hard I try to shake it.
I scrub grease from my hands as if I scrub hard enough, I can erase the memory of almost kissing my best friend on my front porch.It doesn’t work. I didn’t sleep well. Every time I closed my eyes, Ollie was there. Standing too close. His hand cupping my chin. His voice was low and steady when he told me he wanted me. He wasn’t joking about it. He meant it. He was dead serious.The look on his face was real, raw, and terrifying.He wants me, and I’m still trying to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do with that information.
Because I want to want him, God, I do. But the second I imagine letting him close, really close, it feels like standing on the edge of a cliff with no railing. One bad step and everything falls apart.And things already feel shaky enough in my life.
Loving Ollie means trusting that someone won’t leave.And that has never gone well for me.
My mom died, and then my dad somehow became a completely different person and abandoned us in the most vulnerable and horrible moments of our lives.People leave in different ways, and I learned that early. I learned to expect that, and that’s what’s so hard about this. It’s hard to handle good when you’re dealing with shit sandwiches.
I hear heavy footsteps overhead. The apartment floor creaks, followed by the unmistakable sound of boots thudding on the stairs.Then Ollie gets to the bottom of the steps, and my brain completely shorts out.
He’s shirtless and sweaty. His chest is all muscles and glistening, and my mouth goes dry just looking at him. His hair sticks up like he ran his hands through it too many times.
The full firefighter workout fantasy has entered my workplace.My stomach does an unhelpful swoop.Fantastic. Now I’m going to be weird.Best friends don’t think about tracing the outline of their best friend’s muscles.
“You doing okay this morning?” he asks, like he hasn’t been haunting my every waking thought.
“I’m great,” I say way too fast. “Totally great.”
He lifts one eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.
He takes a swig from his bottle of water and leans his hip against the workbench, sweat sliding down his neck, and I have to physically force my eyes away.
“Okay,” he says. “I’m heading on shift for the next two days. You know where to find me if you need anything.”
Ball’s in my court. Typical, Ollie. He won’t push me. He’ll wait for me. But for how long? How many chances will he give me to love him?
Instead, I nod, trying to be casual and normal. Definitely not thinking about how much I already rely on him.
“Still leaving your truck?” I ask. “I want to rotate the tires and check the fluids. It’s making that weird noise again.”
“Yeah,” he says easily. “That’d be great. Thanks.”
“Owen has practice tonight,” I add. “How do you coach when you’re on shift?”
