Page 49 of Sweet Distraction

Vince: Sorry, we held them off as long as we could

I blink.

“The hell does that—”

Ding-dong.

Fuck. It’s such a rare sound, one that means whoever’s here is already on my approval list at the guard shack. Between the text and that knowledge, I already know who it is.

Poppy whips her head up like a rabbit about to bolt.

Willow shoots me a look. “Do you know who that is?”

“No,” I lie.

But I do.

I open the door, and there they are. A feminine wall of energy. Perfume. Designer handbags. Matching grins.

Quinlan. Bristol. Hendrix.

I’m fucked.

“Get out of the way, Caldwell,” Quinlan says as she puts a hand on my chest and pushes past me. “You’ve been holding out too long so we took matters into our own hands.”

Bristol presses a kiss to my cheek as she brushes past. “This was all her idea.”

Hendrix pulls me in for a quick, sympathetic hug. “It was all our idea.”

And with a sigh, I follow behind my bandmates’ wives and their quest to finally meet Poppy.

The gasps come first. Then the squeals of delight and clapping of hands. I trail close enough behind to see Poppy’s face as she takes in these three new faces. She sits a little taller with a glance from Willow to me and then back to them.

“Look at her curls,” Bristol says, practically vibrating as she steps into the kitchen.

“And those Caldwell eyes,” Quinlan says.

Hendrix? She doesn’t even speak—she just makes a squeaky noise in her throat and beelines for the counter.

Poppy shrinks a little as Willow steps closer to her, and she tries to figure out what the hell is going on.

“Hey, whoa—maybe ease in—” But the wave of my hands over my head is futile. They’re already descending.

Willow smiles at Poppy and leans in. “It’s okay, sweetie. They’re Dadd—Rocket’s friends and are just excited to meet you.”

Poppy peeks over her shoulder at the women standing there staring at her expectantly.

Then she nods, just once, as her shoulders square and her smile lights up her face. And just like that . . . she lets them in.

Literally and figuratively.

“Oooh, she’s a brave one,” Quinlan coos, crouching to eye level. “That’s good. We like brave girls.”

“She’s gorgeous,” Bristol says. “Look at her eyes. She’s totally a mini you, Rocket.”

I choke. “What?”

“I said she looks like you,” Bristol says, glancing back at me with a wink. “It’s unmistakable.”