“Honey,” Melena says quietly, assuming I’m not listening, “that boy is a walking red flag. He looks at you like you’re the cure for cancer.” More like my personal demons, but she’s not wrong.
“Yeah, he is.”
“Uh oh. Something tells me it’s too late. You already have hearts in your eyes. Just don’t lose yourself. You don’t need a man to be happy.”
And the ability to resist the urge not to look up and see Poppy’s reaction is real. And I fail, but only lifting my eyes just enough to see her shake her head.
“I don’t have hearts,” she chuckles, and my heart sinks.
Because I’m a bitch boy now? What the fuck? Besides, I can’t expect her to feel some type of way so soon, right?
Even if I’ve already lost my goddamn mind and turned into an obsessed psychopath to rival my brother.
“But there’s also nothing wrong with wanting the red flag bad boy, right? And I mean the bad boy—not the bad guy.” My ears perk up, waiting with bated breath to hear where she’s going with this. “A bad boy with the attitude and swagger, doesn’t always say a lot, but knows how to handle himself. He’s usually hot-headed and jealous as hell, but he will do anything and everything to keep the girl safe. To make her feel cherished. He has issues and flaws and couldn’t be further from perfect, but he will burn the world down just to see her smile. The world tells us we have to be independent, never taking a man’s money, be strong, refusing their help to prove we don’t need them, be content with being alone, shouting from the rooftops that we don’t need men to be happy. But at the end of the day, what does it all get you? I’m twenty-one years old, and I already know I can take care of myself. I can be happy without anyone else. But there’s nothing wrong with letting someone else take care of me, either. It doesn’t mean I need him. It means I want him.”
A smile threatens my lips.
Choke it back, asshole. Doesn’t mean she’s talking about you.
“Okay, then.” Melena sounds a little startled by Poppy’s response. Speechless, maybe. Then spins Poppy around and gets to work.
I continue to listen to the chatter of typical girl talk, pretending I’m not, learning about the girl I can’t get out of my head without her realizing it. She probably assumes I’m not paying attention. Most guys wouldn’t. The me of two weeks ago wouldn’t have.
I wonder if obsession runs in the family. Graham is anal as fuck, with a massive case of OCD not many notice. His stapler always on the left, his screen on the right. Three knocks before entering. Sanitizer before everything. Control in every corner of his life.
But the way he is with Casey. He knew her daily routine years before he returned to town. If she hadn’t been so slick, he would’ve known her diet, too. Any time she had a break in that pattern, he called me, demanding to know what she was doing as if I were her keeper.
Now that I think about it, it doesn’t seem that crazy.
The one tidbit I catch is that Poppy doesn’t want to be a dancer. She never admits it, but more than once, I catch her mumbling about no other options and obligations.
Her phone ringing brings the session to a pause as she looks at Melena with an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, I have to take this,” she tells her.
I watch as shock and astonishment race over her features before her face lights with joy and relief.
It doesn’t take much of the one-sided conversation for me to know who she talked to, but I pretend to be just as surprised when she says, “The bank figured out what happened to my money. It was a system glitch, and it’s all back in my account.”
“That’s great,” I tell her.
“They also told me they’re granting an extension on the loan. I have another year to get it paid.”
“That’s fantastic news, Halfpint.” I smile widely to match hers. “We need to celebrate.”
She nods excitedly as Melena gets back to work.
And I’m patting myself on the back for being the slick bastard I am.
Poppy
When you first meet Jagger, he comes off as aloof and arrogant, another trust fund playboy trying to look like a badass with too much time and money on his hands. That’s how the tabloids paint him.
I’ve always seen more. Everyone thinks the anger and pain are just entitlement. They don’t see the distrust in his eyes. The mask he wears works too well. But I see Jagger Davis. Really see him.
Then today he…His walls are still high, but he started crumbling mine by showing this sweet, considerate side, even after our morning fiasco. He’s made my stomach flutter and my breath hitch. It has been endless surprises and pampering. The most swoon-worthy gestures and heart-melting words.
He indulged as I teased him—well, it was sort of teasing—about another guy. Took my petty attack on his balls in stride. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him so light, unencumbered by whatever ghosts haunt him, even when he tries so hard to fake it.
Except for one moment.
