I groan again.
“I mean, unless you need me there…” he adds, more than a little reluctant, like he’s afraid I might say yes.
Dragging a hand down my face, I stifle yet another groan. “No. It’s okay. I’ll… figure it out. But no one better piss me off,” I warn, meeting Jonesy’s smiling eyes across the table. “I’m not in the fucking mood.”
When I arrive home, I’m stopped in my tracks by the sight of Poppy in the kitchen. Dressed in a pair of tiny shorts and a bikini top, her back is to me, and she has a pair of noise cancelling headphones covering her ears, so she’s completely unaware of my presence. And I don’t know what music she’s listening to, but the way she stands at the stove doing fuck knows what, moving her hips and shaking her ass, I’m forced to bite down on my bottom lip as I lean my shoulder against the doorway while I watch, knowing full well I shouldn’t.
And I know this is bad and borderline creepy, especially considering the way my dick is starting to stir, but I can’t stop staring at her. She’s like an eclipse; you know it’s dangerous, but you can’t help but stare directly at it.
“Oh shit!”
I startle, pulled from my trance by Poppy’s uncharacteristic profanity. And it’s only when she slaps a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide, that I realize this is the first time I’ve actually heard her cuss. And I can’t help but laugh.
“You scared me half to death!” She gasps, tugging her headphones off and tossing them onto the island counter.
I clear my throat, trying to act casual while hoping the tent pitching in my shorts isn’t as obvious as it feels. I tug down the hem of my t-shirt, just to be sure.
“What are you making?” I ask, looking at the pan instead of where my traitorous gaze is trying to wander to her ass barely contained in those tiny shorts.
“Scrambled eggs.” Poppy turns back to the stove. “Want some?”
“No. Thanks.” I turn away quickly, busying myself with opening the fridge and looking through it for what, I don’t know.
“I didn’t realize you were home,” Poppy says.
“I can tell.” I chuckle.
She spears me with a pointed look. “You’ve been gone so often, I was starting to think I’d ran you out of your own house.”
“Nah, I’ve just been busy with meetings and interviews and shit. Everyone wants a piece of me after Oklahoma.” I take a bottle of Gatorade and close the fridge, resting back on the door and watching her cook.
“You free tonight?”
“Yeah,” Poppy says with a laugh. “Of course I am.”
I frown at that. “You know you’re not…contractedto me twenty-four-seven, right?”
She turns, cocking her head to the side as she regards me.
“You can still have a social life.”
Poppy shrugs. “Well, I don’t really have a social life. Rodrigo is pretty much my only friend in the entire state of Florida, but he’s all loved up with his boyfriend.”
I nod slowly, feeling a little bad that she doesn’t have any friends. I mean, I don’t have many friends but that’s by choice. Poppy is so fun and kind and sweet; who wouldn’t want to be friends with a girl like her?
“I have a dinner meeting tonight with the assholes from Royale who severed ties with me after Hilton Head.”
Poppy quirks a brow, clearly intrigued by the development.
“Seems they want to…negotiatea new deal.” I roll my eyes. “Those guys are the biggest d-bags, and Cam can’t come with me, so I—” I rub at the pinch at the back of my neck. “I waskinda hoping that you might come with me because I’m scared I might lose my cool and, well, since I can’t risk making headlines, not now while everything is going so good…” I knock my knuckles against the wooden cutting board for luck.
“I can come with you. Lori and her friend June helped me pick out a few different dresses the other day, so I have some options,” Poppy says. “Just let me know when and where so I can make sure I look the part.”
I feel my heart tug at that. As confident as Poppy is, there’s a self-conscious side she tries to hide, and I hate that. She doesn’t need to look the part… she is the part; I just wish she could see that.
CHAPTER 23
POPPY
