Rubbing at the sudden knot in the back of my neck, I stand in the center of the room, momentarily debating with myself. Ofcourse I should just ignore it, pretend I heard nothing, and go into my bedroom and straight to sleep. That’sexactlywhat I should do. But again… I’m only human.
Padding across the living area, I approach Poppy’s door like a goddamn creeper, my heart jumping up into the back of my throat when I hear another sound. A moan. Fuck. Me.
I pause again, dragging a hand down over my face.
This is wrong. This is so fucking wrong.
“Oh, God!”
I startle at that, every ounce of horniness brewing deep inside me suddenly disintegrating because she’s not doing what my perverted mind was imagining she’s doing. She’s… crying.
I close the distance in a few strides, knocking my fist gently against Poppy’s door. “Poppy? Are you… okay?”
My question is met with nothing but another whimper, but it’s far from a sexy whimper. It almost sounds like a sob.
“Pops?” I knock again.
Poppy groans. “Hang on… let me… put on some… pants.”
My brows knit together because sheiscrying. “Poppy, I’m coming in, pants or no pants.”
She huffs in response, and I push open the door to find her lying on the floor, dressed only in a t-shirt and underwear, her legs elevated up on the king bed.
“W-what are you doing?” I ask, equally confused and concerned.
Sniffling, tears streaming down her face, Poppy tugs at the hem of her t-shirt in an attempt to try to cover as much as she can, but I’m really not concerned with what she is or isn’t showing. I’m more worried about what the hell happened and why she’s on the goddamn floor.
“Did you fall?” I ask, crouching down next to her.
“No,” she whimpers. “My legs are just… sore.”
I do look then, allowing my gaze to trail down to where she has her legs up, knees bent over the side of the bed, and holy shit, they’re super swollen. I mean, she’s naturally thick, buteven her lower legs, her ankles, her feet—they’re all puffy, the skin red and tight.
“Are you having an allergic reaction?” I ask, suddenly panicked. “Did… did somethingbiteyou?”
“No!” Poppy says through a sob, but it’s combined with a laugh despite the tears still rolling down her cheeks.
“Okay, so I’m a little confused.” I shake my head. “Poppy, what the hell is going on?”
“I have lipedema,” she finally says, wiping her damp cheeks.
I don’t miss the way my stomach dips at that because I don’t know what it is, but it sounds bad. And although I don’t really know this woman, the thought of her being sick incites a wave of concern I’ve never felt before to rush through me.
“What is that?” I press impatiently. “Are—are you okay?”
“No, Brookes. Clearly I’mnotokay.” She laughs through another sob mixed with a groan.
“What can I do?” I ask quickly. “W-what do you need?”
“It’ll go down soon,” she says. “It’s just from the flight…”
“Wait!Thisis from the flight?” I wave a hand over her swollen limbs.
She nods. “I told you I hate flying…”
I balk. “I thought you hated it because you were afraid or something. I-I didn’t know it was because ofthis!” I’m incredulous, my voice all high and pitchy as I indicate her legs again which, on closer inspection, look like they’re about ready to bust open. “I think we need to get you to a hospital!”
“Brookes, I’m fine,” Poppy says with a groan. “If I keep my legs elevated, it should ease. And I can just book in for a massage in the morning.”
