turner
. . .
Dinner goes from bad to worse—from chill to personal, my sister has officially crossed all boundaries of propriety, and Poppy is not helping.
Not one bit.
She takes another sip of wine. Licks her glossy bottom lip. Smiles at me.
I nearly black out.
I’m sitting here pretending to care about entrees and steak temperature while my blood pressure is somewhere between "mild stroke" and "erupting volcano."
She’s so goddamn hot.
“Poppy does not need your help getting laid,” I push out, frustrated and glaring at the menu, embarrassment and guilt and lust coursing through my veins. I seriously wish she would change the subject but she’s like a dog with a damn bone.
“Everyoneneeds help getting laid.” My sister laughs. “Including you.” She leans toward my roommate. “Did you know he was basically a virgin until he was in college?”
“Not true,” I grind out. “I just wasn’t telling my baby sister about my sex life.”
“Oh? Ineedto hear more about this!” Poppy enthuses, eyes wide and too gleeful for someone I wanted to fuck in my pool.
“No,” I say firmly.
“Yes,” she counters, matching my tone like this is a formal debate and not the worst dinner of my life.
Georgia grins like the little gremlin she is. “Okay, so he was seventeen, braces, shaggy hair—like,actualBieber hair.”
“I didn’t have braces,” I snap. “And I did not look like Justin Bieber—what the hell is wrong with you?”
She’s being so annoying and embarrassing. She’s definitely doing this shit on purpose.
Poppy chokes on her wine, giggling at my sister.
I drop my head into my hands. “Stop.”
“I’m just saying,” Georgia continues. “Poor dude didn’t peak until, like, college. And even then, it was very much aslow build.”
“How the hell do you know?” I counter. “You were sixteen when I left.”
Once again, my sister ignores me. “He had this one hoodie he woreeverywhere.Like, weddings. It had grease stains down the front to it.”
“It wassentimental,” I snap.
“It was disgusting,” she says, looking at Poppy, then leaning in close. “In the time you’ve lived at the house, have you seen him do anything other than build LEGOs?”
Our eyes meet.
“No,” she confesses slowly, lips twitching like she knows I’m dying inside. “But he folds laundry with a level of precision I finddeeplyerotic.”
I stop breathing.
Georgia cackles. “I’m sorry,what?”
Poppy shrugs, casual as hell, sipping her wine like she didn’t just set my entire internal system on fire. “I walked past thelaundry room the other day and found him sorting his clothes. There’s just something about a man who knows how to do mundane household chores...”
Georgia thinks she’s hilarious, giggling like we’re at a damn comedy club—at my expense, by the way. “Foldingsocksis hot now?”
