“I didn’t look at your boobs,” I whisper, tossing a quick glance over my shoulder. “And would you keep it down?” A laugh strums from me because we happen to be off to a great start on our pizza adventure. Slow dancing with Poppy? Six pizzas in the oven? Who knew one of the best dates of the year would take place in my mother’s kitchen of all places?
“You wanted to sneak a peek.” She gives a conniving grin. “I can tell. I can read your mind, remember?”
A warm smile comes to me. When we were kids, Poppy would swear up and down she knew what I was thinking, and eerily no matter how hard I tested her telepathic abilities, nine times out of ten she was right.
“Busted.” I close my eyes a moment. “But in my defense, the girls are right there.” My voice breaks as a sad laugh emits from me. “You’ve donned a rather eye-popping dress—pun intended.” The music picks up, and I press my hips closer to hers as we keep time to the rhythm.
“Oh—ho!” She belts out a laugh. “So, you’re blaming me for the fact you can’t keep your eyeballs in their sockets? I bet you have at least a dozen sexual harassment suits filed against you. And now it all makes total sense why you have Conner on your payroll.”
Now it’s me belting out a laugh.
“You kids smell something burning?” Mom shouts from the living room.
“Shit.” I work to get the pizzas out and land four nearly charred messes onto the counter. Two come out unscathed. “We’ve got it under control,” I shout back before glancing to Poppy. “One for each of us. I hope you’re not too hungry.”
“Are you kidding? I’m starved. You’re lucky my anchovies made it out unsinged, Gordo, or you’d have to call whoever chopped up all those veggies to get right back to the drawing board.”
“Ah, busted again.” I laugh, landing her salty catch of the day pizza onto a plate and do the same for mine. “Follow me, Eight Ball. It’s time for the grand finale.”
Not only is the dining room perfectly parallel to the couch that my mother is firmly seated on while feasting on Ben and Jerry’s, but I know for a fact Sixteen Candles happens to be Poppy Montgomery’s favorite movie, and I’m about to kill two birds with one pizza-sized stone.
I set the plates onto the center of the dining room table and hop up on the lengthy mahogany monstrosity that can easily sit fifty and help Poppy climb onboard as well.
“What in the H-E-double-hockey sticks are you up to?” Her hair flashes around as she gets herself settled. I’ve always been fascinated by her long glossy hair. Once in that tired tree house of mine she set it out the window like Rapunzel. The light hit her just right, and it was the first time I thought that my best friend was beautiful. I guess it’s fair to say that Poppy’s hair started it all.
A warm laugh tumbles from me at the fact she ditched the hardcore language. “You remember the no expletives rule.”
“Are you kidding? I once accused Conner of farting in here, and I was banished from video games for a week.”
“Well, technically, that is an F word, and if you use it again I might have to implement my own form of punishment.”
She makes a face as she sits with her legs crossed, and I do the same. “I’d say it again, but personally it would ruin my Jake Ryan moment. Why must you invoke the seductive powers of a John Hughes movie on me, Gordo? You know I’m a sucker for a good romantic scene recreation. What’s next? Are you taking me shopping on Rodeo Drive so I can be your call girl for the weekend?”
“You are a pretty woman.” I tick my head to the side, proud of the fact I got that reference. “Now kiss me.” I lean in and pucker my lips. From the periphery, I see my mother bring her phone up, just waiting for the perfect moment to snap that picture. I have no doubt I know where she’ll be sending it. And I’m sure it’ll make the blog come morning, too.
“A kiss, huh? Just give me a sec.” She picks up a giant hunk of garlic off her pizza and chews the shit out of it before fanning herself as she forces it down her throat. “’Kay, I’m ready.”
The olfactory assault hits me before she ever leans in, and yet even that doesn’t scare me away. “I hope you realize I can see the fumes pluming from your breath.”
“You like?” She pops another one into her mouth and moans as she leans in hard. “So good. I bet all the girls wish they could sanitize their mouths with vampire repellant once you come in for the kill. You do know that garlic is a natural disinfectant. I bet it can kill all that fungi you have lingering around in that mouth of yours.” She gives a cheeky grin, clearly proud of her knowledge of mythological blood-sucking creatures. “How many Whoppers are your boxers serving now, anyway? A million? I guess it’s lucky for me that you prefer hamburgers over hot dogs.”
“You’re not funny.” A short-lived laugh trembles through me regardless. “And is that the kind of talk you seduce those L.A. boys with?”
“Are you kidding? L.A. is a vegan town. Even the cheese on this pizza would be considered sacrilegious.” Her tongue glosses the rim of her lips as the moment grows serious. “You’re a real breath of fresh air, Jaxson.”
“Wish I could say the same for you.” Truth is, Poppy is more than a breath of fresh air. She has my heart pumping once again after all these years. “Now, get over here and disinfect my mouth, would you?”
“As you wish.”
“Wrong movie,” I moan as our lips touch down over one another, careful and lingering. Her soft moans, those hardly audible whimpers of hers burn a hole right through me. I’d give all the pizza in the world to be alone with her right now.
A heavy flash comes from the living room, and both Poppy and I share a small vibration of a laugh, but our lips remain conjoined, the two of us kissing like a couple of thirteen-year-olds who have no clue what to do.
Poppy and I haven’t set any limits on what happens between the two of us with our proper audience in tow, and yet neither of us seems able to cross this line. But I want to.
Everything in me demands to cross the line with Poppy.
The end of the week shows up way too fast. Each moment I spend with Poppy seems like a flash in the pan. Soon, our mothers’ big birthday bash will be here, and Poppy will be boarding another flight back to L.A.
But tonight, the only place Poppy is headed to is the gala at the Grand Lodge Hotel where the dignified ladies of POTS celebrate a year of weight loss and charitable giving by way of a decent steak and chicken dinner. Poppy headed over with her parents, so I offer my mother a lift and we arrive at the event a solid twenty minutes late. In my defense, my mother had me run by the florist and pick up a corsage. All the way to the hotel, she lamented on the principles of how to treat a lady.
“Relax,” I say to her as we enter the noble looking establishment decked out in enough twinkle lights to outshine the sun. “I’m sure we didn’t miss dinner.”
“Oh, we wouldn’t miss dinner. We never have dinner at these kinds of events.”
“What? Why the heck am I here? I thought there’d be steak and potatoes. Should I be backtracking to the Burger Barn? Because you’re not going to like me hungry.”
“Hush, would you? I know all about how cranky you can get when denied a good meal. Trust me, I stayed up at all hours breastfeeding you for the first two years of your life just to keep you satiated.”
“And just like that, I’ve lost my appetite.” Being breastfed by my mother. Fuck.
“It’s a grazing event.” She claps her hands as if this were the best news in the world. “Lots of appetizers, all the spaghetti you can fit in that belly of yours, and a spare protein here and there.” A spare protein? Yes, the Burger Barn will very much be needed later this evening. “And be sure to open your wallet, would you? All proceeds benefit the local women’s shelter.” She straightens my tie just before we enter the facility. The ballroom is bustling with bodies, mostly polished women—all of which are my mother’s contemporaries—a few dapper, rather unhappy looking men.
“Grazing, huh?” Poppy comes to mind. Those lo
ng luscious legs, those sweet tits that have been playing peek-a-boo with me all week make my mouth water.
“Do you see her?” Mom sounds as anxious to spot Pops as I am.
“Nope.”
She cranes her neck into a sea of women all dressed in pastel. Soft music drifts through the speakers, and a few couples bravely dance away while the rest of the crowd hangs on the periphery with a drink in hand.
Mom swats me with her tiny sequined clutch. “Why in God’s name didn’t you pick her up? A true gentleman always goes out of his way for a lady.”
“She insisted we meet here.” For the life of me, I have no idea why, but I’m assuming it has something to do with the two we’re attempting to bamboozle.
And just like that, the sea of pastel parts down the middle, and a vision in red captivates me from afar.
“Holy hell,” I whisper.
“Mary, Joseph, and Peter,” Mom whispers, just as taken by the beauty smiling back at us as I am. She hands me the sickly carnation pinned to a giant spray of baby’s breath, and I head over in Poppy’s direction.
My feet glide across the dance floor, my eyes never leaving hers. Poppy’s smile expands ear-to-ear as we come in close, and I can’t seem to catch my breath at the glorious sight before me. Her hair is curled in long smooth waves, her lips a perfect shade of ruby that matches her dress, and her tits—do not get me started on her tits. I let my eyes dip down for a moment, and my boxers tick to life.
“You are beautiful.” The words puff from me.
“My boobs say thanks. Is that for me?” She snatches the flower, and I playfully snatch it right back, placing it on her hand like the prince my mother has warned me to be.
“You’re my date, Pops. I get to be the man tonight.”
“Are you implying I’m anything but a lady?”
“I’m implying that you’ve probably scared off your fair share of men by plucking the flowers right out of their hands.”
She belts out a laugh right in my face. “And you would be right.” Her lips quiver as her expression turns to stone. “You look perfect tonight.” Her lashes lower as if my perfection managed to bring down her mood.
“I did it for you. Shaved, too.” I touch my hand over my face. “Smooth as a baby’s bottom.”
She bites down over her lip while carefully placing her palm over my cheek. “You did that for me?”
“Damn right. Did you shave anything for me?” I dip my gaze south for a moment, teasing. God, I pray she knows I’m teasing.
“Yeah, right. Any man who’s with me needs to be appreciative of a good old-fashioned corn maze en route to my vagina. Think Playboy circa 1970.”
I inch back, swallowing down a laugh. “Did you just liken your bush to a corn maze?”
“Did you just say the word bush?”
“I believe you said vagina, which totally trumps bush in just about any vulgar category.”
A soft rock instrumental floats through the speakers, and I bob my head to the rhythm. “May I have this dance?” I hold out a hand, old school style, and a couple of audible sighs go off about ten feet behind me. It’s clear my moves are mother approved.
“You may.” Poppy wraps an arm around my waist before setting her tiny hand in mine. Her hips snuggle up against me, and we move as if our bodies were a single entity. “I bet you’re a regular at the POTS fundraisers with moves like this.”
“Not true, but after the donation I make tonight, I might be bumped up to the official invite list.”
She belts out a laugh. “So it’s not your moves they’re after.” She wrinkles her nose and looks cute as hell. “It must be tough navigating your way through life never knowing who’s really there for you as a person rather than an extraordinarily built ATM machine.”
“So you’re saying I have a good body.”
“I’m saying you qualify as a bank. You said you have a good body. By the way, you have an ego to match that bank account.”
I let out a barking laugh and catch my mother and Char whispering to one another from the corner of my eye.
Without putting too much thought into it, I dance Poppy over to the other end of the room.
“Hey, we’re losing our audience.” She tries to navigate us back, but I prove to be stubborn.
“Maybe you’re all the audience I need tonight.” I swallow down the unexpected lump in my throat. “Don’t worry. They’re still watching.”
“Oh—good.” Her breathing picks up as if we just danced a lap around the building.
Our bodies slow to a hip-grinding crawl, and soon enough we’re hardly breathing, let alone moving to the music.
My thumb brushes over her lips ever so softly. For so long I’ve thought of Poppy as a work of art that demands to be worshiped. I’d love to do just that—worship every last part of her beautiful body with my mouth, her perfect lips, those tits that haven’t stopped quivering for me the second she landed in my arms, those perfect stems she walks over my heart with, all of her. My mouth demands to cover every creamy inch. I’d love nothing more than to carry her into my truck and drive us anywhere but here.
My mouth finds a home against her beautiful neck as I take in her perfume and press soft kisses all the way up to her ear. “Why didn’t you let me pick you up?” My voice shakes. I’ve never been so aroused, so thoroughly aching to have somebody.
Poppy leans back as those velvet eyes of her press into mine. “Because I knew that I’d want to go home with you.”
And there it is. Poppy would come home with me. She wants me, and she doesn’t. In typical Poppy fashion, she’s sending me both signals all at once.
A thousand questions beg to surface, and yet not one escapes my vocal cords. Instead, I lean in, and she meets me there with a slight nod as if letting me know it’s okay to cross that invisible line we’ve adhered to like a promise.
My mouth crashes over hers, and I lose it. My tongue meets with hers as I slip into her mouth, and a deep guttural groan that’s been working its way up for years is finally unleashed. Poppy meets me right there with her own hungry kisses that only seem to grow in urgency as we swim in one another’s mouths. This is Poppy I’m kissing, Eight Ball, the girl I’ve claimed as my own for as far back as I can remember. How have we never done this before? And why in God’s name is it finally happening to a roaring applause bustling from behind? We deserve it, though. This kiss deserves every applause, every whoop and holler anyone wants to offer. Poppy tastes sweet like peppermint as if she went out of her way to welcome me tonight. At least that’s what I’d like to believe.
I’d like to believe Poppy wants something more than just a few make-believe kisses. That she’s in this to do more than impress the living hell out of our mothers before we pull the rug out from under them. But she’s L.A. and I’m Oak Grove. She’s always been the forbidden one, and I’ve always accepted the fact she could never be mine.
But this kiss…
Something is about to change between us. Something has already changed between us, and I’m loving it.
I’m hoping she’s loving it, too.
Sexcapades
Poppy
Jaxson Stade kissed me!
Dies. I can officially cross that off my bucket list of quasi-sexual things to do—not that I want to stifle it from ever happening again.
God. I knew once he stepped into that room, suit to die for, long silver tie that dripped down like a leash laden with dirty promises, that he was trouble incarnate—but that face. He shaved for me. Shaved! I’m not sure why the hell he thought it was something I needed, but in a strange way it was exactly what I needed to push me over the sexual edge. I bet he knows that.
Who am I kidding? This is Jaxson Stade. Of course, he knows all of the right sexual buttons to push to land a girl horizontal. And horizontal is exactly where every last cell in my body wanted to be. I knew that I knew that I knew I was weak. That’s precisely why I opted to drive with my parents down to the fancy shindig. If I was looking hot
ter than a firecracker in Sadie’s borrowed red dress, how could Jaxson Stade not look like a million dollars? Scratch that. Jaxson Stade looks his worth at a billion on an average day. Last night was gold.
And if Jax had picked me up, that would mean he would be taking me home, and the way my hormones have been exploding all over Oak Grove as of late, I was too afraid I’d beg for him to take me in the carnal sense. Not that it would be the first time—just the first time outside of my oversexed imagination.
Mack and Sadie are meeting me for lunch, so I head into the Starry Nights Bar and Grill and find a seat in the back. I’m chronically early everywhere I go, which is typically a good thing. Except for in L.A.—in a world where people are chronically late, it’s been a disservice to me. I’m also chronically overdressed, which explains the knee-high boots with three-inch heels, my black Seven jeans, and knee-length black pea coat. Back in L.A., nobody blinks if you wear black twenty-four seven. In fact, it’s the official uniform of the entire design business. But in Oak Grove, you get looks for sporting such a hue-deficient ensemble, and everyone assumes you’re going to a funeral.
Jax comes to mind, and just as quick as that exuberance overtook me, an oppressive sadness weighs me down. A group of girls comes in, laughing, talking a mile a minute as they make their way to a table nearby. They’re all exceptionally beautiful with their perfect curls, faces that scream ode to Ulta, but for the most part they come in all shapes and sizes. When I was in high school, I used to lament the fact that I wasn’t Jaxson Stade’s type.
It had never even occurred to me that this might be the case until Conner casually mentioned it one day. I was having one of my many existential crises—this particular one revolving around the fact I couldn’t get guys to notice me, not even the formidable Jaxson Stade. And that’s when my brother came to the existential rescue and assured me that there wasn’t a lip-gloss on Earth that would make that boy blink my way. By that time, Conner and Jax were pretty tight, so I took his word as gospel.