“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
So I do.
We’re kissing again, rougher this time, him walking me backward until I hit the wall. His hands are everywhere—my hair, my waist, cupping my face like I might disappear.
“Dean.” I break away, breathing hard. “This is—”
“Complicated. I know.”
“I was going to say probably a bad idea.”
“Definitely a bad idea.” He kisses my neck. I forget how words work. “Terrible idea.”
“The worst.”
“Should stop.”
“Absolutely.”
Neither of us stops.
“Poppy?”
“Mm?”
“You really think I look good in a suit?”
I laugh. Can’t help it. “You’re not going to let that go, are you?”
“Never.” He pulls back, looks at me. Really looks at me. “I meant it. The apology. I was an ass.”
“Yeah. You were.”
“How do I fix it? Really?”
I think about it. About the Reddit post and the comments and how he’d said I was in his brain like that was a bad thing.
“Delete the post.”
“Done.” He nods once.
“And…”
“What?”
“Maybe stop acting like wanting me around is such a hardship?”
Something shifts in his expression. “Poppy. Wanting you around isn’t the hardship.”
“Then what is?”
“Knowing you’re leaving.”
Oh. Right.
We stare at each other. The kitchen’s too quiet. My heart’s too loud.
