Hang around for a while?“What do you mean?”
“I was going to start searching for apartments. Living in your spare bedroom was only short term.”
Oh.
Guess I had not known that, but it makes sense. Of course a grown ass woman doesn’t want two male morons for roommates—I’ve already caught her almost naked once. I don’t blame her for wanting to get the fuck outa here so she can have actual privacy.
"Right. Yeah," I say, forcing a grin. "Makes sense."
It feels like someone just sucker-punched me right in the ribs—and now I’m sitting here, grinning like a dumbass while my insides curl up and die.
Because I like having her here.
Ireallylike having her here.
"I mean," Poppy adds quickly, like she can sense the slight shift in my mood, "I’m not in a rush or anything. I haven’t met Cash or the dog yet, so there’s still a chance y’all might drive me completely insane.”
“Who me? Never.”
"Want to know something?” she asks softly. “You’re not what I expected."
"Is that so?" I turn toward her, so we’re facing one another.
"Yes. I thought you’d be cocky," she murmurs. "Arrogant. A bit of a big, dumb jock."
Well shit. Was that a compliment?
"Only a bit of a dumb jock?" I tease, even as my pulse thunders. “Thanks.”
Poppy’s head shakes. “I didn’t mean it like that—I meant. You surprised me, in a good way. Not once have I felt uncomfortable.” She hesitates. “Never mind, that’s a lie. I felt uncomfortable when you saw my tits on night one.”
Don’t look down at her chest, don’t look down at her chest, don’t look down?—
I glance down.
Of courseI glance down.
Her boobs are like beacons, drawing me in. Two magnets I can’t fucking not look at, addling my brain into wanting to say the dumbest shit. Into wanting to confess the thoughts swirling in my goddamn brain.
Like: I can’t stop thinking about you.
Like: I dreamt about you last night, and when I woke up this morning, my dick was hard.
Like: I think you’re beautiful and funny and would literally lose my mind if you ever looked at me the way I’m trying not to look at you.
I clear my throat, dragging my gaze back up to her face—because that's where it belongs, and because if I stare any longer, I’m either going to spontaneously combust or get slapped.
Poppy’s still watching me, like she can read every filthy, chaotic thought rattling around in my skull.
She shifts, tucking her legs underneath her again. Clears her throat too, which makes me feel marginally better about the fact that I am moments away fromabsolutely losing it.
“Can I ask you something?” she says, voice a little smaller now, like she’s not sure if she should.
I nod, settling back against the headboard. “Go for it.”
I am an open book.
Mostly.
