BOOKER DRIVES US OVER TO the Mayfair-Soho area where the posh Cuckoo Club resides. It’s an enormous nightclub spread over two floors kitted out in a rock chic motif, fusing a gritty glam with contemporary luxury. It’s definitely a place you spot celebrities, but the over-the-top creative vibe is so fitting for Tanner and Belle’s celebration, I can see why they selected it.
My belly is in knots as Booker waffles his hand with mine and leads me through the club to the upper level where they’ve reserved the VIP room for a private dinner. All eyes are on his tall, broad frame as he weaves through the crowd. It’s an extremely eye-opening sight—a harsh reminder that Booker is not my childhood friend anymore. He’s a professional footballer. A London-famous Harris with dimples and abs who girls throw their knickers at. I’ve never been the jealous or insecure type with other blokes I’ve dated, but this reaction is Booker-specific. I was insecure before he became a famous footballer. Now I have to accept that every girl here wants him to contend with as well. What was I thinking?
I don’t look like the girls in this club who are eye-fucking him right now. These girls look like Sidney—the one he gave his heart to when he broke mine. What if I’m not enough after all? Why didn’t I think this all through before stripping down and baring my soul to him in front of that fucking net an hour ago?
This is like that whole sharing a bathroom with a bloke incident that I didn’t fully think through before I decided to simply hide my tampons in my bedroom. God, I’m a mess.
“Hey,” Booker halts in the middle of a crowd and looks at me with a puzzled brow. “Are you all right?”
I shake my head. “No, Booker. I’m freaking the hell out. What are we?” I blurt out, unceremoniously. I was comforting him before on the pitch, but now it’s my turn to have a mini breakdown.
He frowns at my pinched face. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m about to be thrust in front of the infamously pushy Harris family and you’re here…waffling my hand.” I yank our hands up as proof. He just looks more confused. “We’ve talked through your fears, but not mine. And certainly not the rudimentary things, like labels. So before we go up there, what are we?”
I’m out of breath as he gazes down at me with an infuriatingly sexy smirk on his face that sets me off further.
“This is not the time to have a laugh,” I snap. “My mind is imploding in on itself and you’re looking at me like I’m a cute panda falling off a swing. It’s a valid concern, Booker! I know we just talked through a lot of stuff, but I need more. Are we exclusive? Or are we seeing other people?” My lip curls as I take a moment to look around at the big-chested women moving in on us. Mumbling to myself but loud enough he can hear me, I add, “I’m sure there are a lot of girls here that would be more than happy to waffle hands with you.”
“No,” Booker growls, snapping me out of my insecure lady gazing. His face is stony serious as he presses up against me, cradling my cheeks in his large hands. His eyes are hard on mine as he says, “No, Poppy. We’re not seeing other people. You belong to me. The rest, we’ll figure out.” He shrugs his shoulders like this current situation is no big deal and he didn’t just say the most delicious thing ever.
I huff out an awkward laugh and try to calm the butterflies in my belly. “Well, that’s good because, I’ll have you know, there’s quite a queue of blokes after my affections.”
“Is that right?” he grins, his eyes dancing on my lips as he wraps his arms around me.
“Quite right. Once you get past the gay one from earlier, there are some legitimate prospects, so it’s good you got here when you did.”
His chest vibrates with laughter as he presses his lips to mine, sending a flurry of reassuring goosebumps up and down my spine. He pulls back and murmurs, “I’ll always be first in line.”
I can’t hide my satisfied smirk as we enter the floor-to-ceiling, glassed-off room where the Harris family is congregating with champagne flutes in hand. The ceiling is bulb after bulb of purple shining down on the entire room, including the wall of purple, tufted velvet booths. On the other side of the booth tables are deep, plum armchairs. There are red roses and purple lilacs centred on each table and you can smell the beautiful fragrance instantly when you walk in the room. The scene is over the top colourful, and the glass barrier still allows the live rock music and nightclub ambience to pour in with the added benefit of privacy.
Vi is the first to see us enter, and her sharp eyes zero in on our hands. Frowning, she detaches herself from Hayden’s arm and strides right for us.
“Incoming,” Booker mumbles. I force a smile while squeezing the shit out of his hand.
“Booker, Poppy! You’re here!” Vi’s smile is a bit more toothy than normal as she grabs herself another champagne flute from the passing tray. Booker hands me one and I take a fortifying drink. “I was worried you two weren’t going to make it. I tried to call you after I got Rocky squared away with the nanny, but you didn’t pick up.” She tears her eyes away from Booker and glances down at our interlocked hands again.
“We had some things to talk out,” Booker states smoothly.
“On the night of your brother’s wedding?” She tilts her head, her eyes scolding.
“Vi,” Booker says softly. “We weren’t gone long and Tanner was fine with it.”
She squints speculatively and asks, “So, did you talk everything out then?”
Booker frowns at her and then turns to me, offering that tipped smile of his that I love. “We’re starting to.”
“Broseph!” Tanner’s voice interrupts as he strides over with a blushing Belle tucked under his arm. “You missed an outrageous limo ride. Camden took his shirt off and stuck his head out of the sunroof, so Gareth closed the glass on him and it pinched his skin and drew blood!” He roars with laughter as Gareth walks over to join us with a smile, clearly amused by the scene he’s replaying in his mind. “Best fucking wedding ever.”
“If that was the best part of the night for you, we’re going to have big problems!” Belle exclaims, pinching Tanner’s side.
“Easy, wife! We have to get this fancy suit back to Gareth’s lady in one piece.”
Gareth’s jaw clenches. “She’s not my lady.”
“Well, I venture to guess Sloan is a lot more than just your stylist.” Tanner shoots a playful smirk at Gareth, who does not seem amused.
Everyone’s eyes swerve to Gareth, Vi looking the most shocked. I can tell she wants to say something, but the scolding look he is shooting Tanner silences all of us. Without a word, Gareth turns and walks away, leaving us with a million unanswered questions.
Tanner—not the least bit put off by his brooding older brother—grins down at his new wife and says, “Also, I would have said the best part of my night was shagging you in the changing room before the wedding.” Her jaw drops at his cheekiness, but he hurries his next sentence out, saving himself from a proper walloping. “But that was before you walked down the aisle and agreed to spend the rest of your life with me. Nothing tops that fucking moment.”
He smiles a happy, dopey grin at her, and she reaches up and pulls his mouth to hers. They kiss and I feel Booker’s hand tighten around mine. When Belle releases Tanner’s bearded jaw, she waggles her brows excitedly at me, silently giving me a pat on the back for my position next to Booker.
But when Tanner jerks Booker out of my hand saying they need a manly drink, she goes shouting after them that they need to pace themselves. Now I’m left alone with Vi’s piercing blue eyes watching my every move.
“What happened to your dates?” Vi asks, her tone crisper than I’ve ever heard it.
I smile ruefully. “Andrew and Sidney left together. I texted Andrew but haven’t heard back from him.”
Vi crosses her arms over her chest. “So, you arrived with one man and left with another?”
I frown, gripping my champagne flute tightly, trying to determine if I can take a drink without my shaking hands spilling it all over myself. “Not exactly…It’s really not like that, Vi.”
“Then enlighten me.”
“Andrew is only a friend.”
Her brows arch. “A kissing friend?”
“A gay friend.” I look down, ashamed of the games I’ve been playing with Booker up until this point.
“So you were trying to force my brother into making a move by making him jealous?”
I mirror her crossed arms, attempting to put a protective barrier between the two of us. “No,” I lie.
“That’s what it looks like to me.”
“Well I wasn’t, all right? Mostly. Andrew took it too far. He acted on his own accord because he knows that…He knows how… He understands—”
“Understands what?” Vi prods.
“He knows that I am in love with Booker. He was trying to help I guess.” I exhale heavily at the admission. Something I wish I had the guts to say to Booker instead of his big sister.
I look up to see Vi’s face soften. “You’re in love with Booker?” She looks shocked.
My eyes well for some reason unbeknownst to me. “Yes.”
She doesn’t look happy. She doesn’t look mad. She looks…nervous. “For how long?”
I look down at my shoes. “Probably since the day I met him.”
Her breath inhales sharply. “Poppy.”
“Don’t tell me you hadn’t figured it out by now.”
Her lips purse. “I’d suspected, but you and Booker always kept to yourselves. And he never really said…I just mean…Well—”
“I know his feelings are newer than mine,” I interrupt, terrified of how she was going to finish her sentence. Whatever she’s thinking, I don’t want to hear it. She may know Booker, her brother, but I know Booker, my best friend. And he can do this. We can do this. Together.
Her eyes slant in sympathy. “Are you sure you know what you’re getting in to?”
Her warning tone sends tingles up my spine. “I don’t really have a choice.”
She shakes her head, a look of fear casting over her gaze. “I understand that. I just don’t want to see anyone get hurt.”
Our eyes connect in a woman-to-woman silent exchange. The kind that says, “I’m watching you.” It doesn’t surprise me. Vi has the same protective look in her eyes I’ve seen my own sister give me when I was about to do something monumentally stupid.
“I’m sorry if I’m off the mark here, but I’m getting the impression that you’re scared. If you think I’m going to hurt Booker, I can assure you—”
“It’s not you I’m afraid of, Poppy,” she interrupts.
My heart sinks, but we don’t get a chance to finish because Booker returns, sweeping me into his arms and planting a very public kiss on my lips. It’s silly, but it feels like an important gesture. Like he’s telling me he’s not afraid of what anyone thinks and I should feel the same. Magically, it pushes Vi’s ominous words to the back of my mind and allows me to enjoy the rest of the evening.
The Harris family makes it easy. As pushy and as opinionated and as nosey as they are, they are devoted to each other one hundred percent. The fierce loyalty they have for one another is admirable.
And Belle and Indie seem like the perfect addition to the group. Their teasing tones when they pin me in the corner for dirty details do nothing to temper their sublime happiness for the two of us. However, their smiles fall when I reveal that Booker and I didn’t shag on the pitch after being left there alone for an hour. They make sure to tell me all the best times of day we can go back. Belle even tells me that the grounds manager, Sedgwick, found a lab coat of hers ditched in the stands once. I’ll make sure we avoid that area of Tower Park.
Despite Gareth’s mood earlier, he continually smiles warmly at me, like he’s some kind of romance prophet who has known all along that this would happen. His reaction is much calmer than Tanner and Camden’s, who take turns trying to teach Booker how to score because he apparently doesn’t have a clue since he’s only ever been a goalkeeper, not a goal maker.
Vaughn Harris seems too enraptured by his happy family to even notice that his youngest son is rubbing small circles on my inner thigh beneath the table throughout the entire meal. I’m putting on the performance of a lifetime because Booker has completely soaked my knickers using only the tips of his fingers on my leg. Quite honestly, I’m desperate to leave.
We both pause during dessert when our phones chirp within a minute of each other. It took both Sidney and Andrew nearly two hours to reply. I expected Sidney to scold Booker for ditching her, but he showed me her text that actually apologised profusely for leaving. Andrew’s is similarly apologetic.
We end up having a blast the rest of the night, dancing with the group for several hours. Vaughn excuses himself after dinner and Gareth disappears at some point, too. Hayden and Vi are next, anxious to get back home to Rocky. Eventually, it’s only the twins, their genius doctor partners, and me and my best mate, Booker. The six of us laugh well into the night and dance off all the champagne we drank. It’s fun and carefree, and being wrapped up in Booker’s arms feels so right, I start to imagine that maybe, in time, his feelings can grow like mine. If we take things slowly and enjoy each other like this with no big surprises and no sudden life changes, we can become as happy as Tanner and Belle and Camden and Indie. It can be the six of us taking London by storm. Happy. Relaxed. And in time, madly in love.
When we walk up the steps to our flat, I’m completely wired. The endorphins of the night push an energy through my bloodstream that has me so far inside my head, I don’t hear Poppy when she asks me a question.
“What?” I say, sliding a key into the lock on the door.
“I asked if you feel as nervous as I do.” Poppy’s voice is soft and breathy.
“More,” I reply, opening the door and feeling foolish. We’ve done this before, but for some reason, it feels like the first time.
I pause just inside our apartment and turn to face her, capturing her wrist as she steps inside behind me. I pull her against me, needing the physical touch of her body to serve as reassurance that what we’re doing is going to be okay. That we’re still us. She wraps her arms around me and we hug for a minute before the hug turns to a kiss and the kiss turns to a grope. Next thing I know, I’m walking her backwards toward my bedroom, kissing every bit of skin I can the whole way.
We pull apart at the foot of the bed, breathless and lust-filled. She watches me as I walk over to turn the lamp on. The dim light casts the perfect warm glow on her luminous dress. A heated blush crawls over her cheeks as I undo my tie and she begins to fumble with the zipper on her dress.
“I want to do that.” My voice is guttural in the quiet of my room, revealing every bit of my desire.
Her hands drop and she nods woodenly as I toss my tie on the floor and walk to stand behind her. My hands rest on her hips as I lean over her shoulder and whisper in her ear, “I’ve wanted to bite this neck since the second I saw you horizontal on my doorstep with that new haircut.”
She lets out a bark of a laugh, and I have to bite my lip to hold my own laughter back. Something about making her laugh always makes me laugh, too.
“You mean when I fell arse over tit and spilled all my stupid marbles?” she asks.
Smirking, I press my lips to her neck and murmur, “What did you have those marbles for anyway? I always meant to ask.”
“Don’t you remember?” Her voice catches when I touch my tongue to the spot below her ear. The tendons on her neck contract with a heavy swallow as she adds, “I fancy myself a top-notch Mancala aficionado.”
My shoulders shake with a silent chuckle. “How could I forget? You made me play that bloody game during lunch period at school.”
“Because it was the only game I could beat you at!” Her voice rises at the end defensively.
Her breath falters as I inhale deeply, devouring her scent before my tongue swipes out and licks, relishing in the taste of her salty skin. “Then you left me to eat with the girls.”
She tilts her head to the side to give me better access. “I think you were the one to leave me first.”
I ponder this for a second, knowing she’s probably telling the truth. “We were getting older. It became harder to be around you,” I murmur.
“How hard?” She reaches back and strokes me over my trousers. “This hard?”
I slam my eyes shut and attempt to clear my head enough to answer. “At times.”
Her hand squeezes the length of me. “But you never looked at me like you did so many other girls.”
I shake my head and croak out, “That’s because you were just Poppy back then.”
“Just Poppy,” she parrots and her hand stills.
She begins pulling away, so I quickly turn her in my arms and crook my finger under her chin to look into her eyes. The hurt on her face is crushing.
“It’s not like that,” I say, rubbing the backs of my fingers along her cheek. “Saying ‘just Poppy’ was a compliment. You were my best mate. I couldn’t see you any other way because I was young and stupid and I needed you as a friend more than anything else.”
“It makes me sound dispensable.” Her voice is sad.
“Never,” I argue. “Hell, even after you quit eating lunch with me, I used to make sure our tables were near each other. Didn’t you ever notice that?”
Her glassy eyes find mine. “No.” Shock and disbelief are written all over her face.
I step in a little closer and slide my hands around her waist, anchoring them together on the small of her back. “I liked being near you because when you were truly happy, even if it wasn’t directed at me, it made me happy, too.”
“It did?” She tilts her head, an adorable crinkle between her brow that I have to lean in and kiss.
“Yes,” I murmur against her forehead, letting my lips linger there for a minute. “And if you weren’t happy, I’d do anything I could to make you happy.”
I pull back and she smiles, earning herself another kiss.
“That smile.” I smirk. “That’s a beauty a fifteen-year-old boy cannot appreciate properly.”
A softness fills her gaze that pierces me in the chest. All of the sudden, I can see us as children again. There was such simplicity to our lives back then. Such ease and clear boundaries. Those boundaries are gone now and, as terrified as I am, I can’t turn back. I don’t want to turn back.
My hand slides up to lower the zipper on her side. She bites her lip as I do and then shifts to pull her arms out. I squat and push the dress down over her hips, all the way to her bare feet. She must have kicked her heels off during our walk to my bedroom, but I sure as hell didn’t notice.
She steps out of the offensive material as I drag my fingers up the backs of her legs, dropping soft kisses on her hips and stomach during my ascent. My fingers linger over the swells of her arse until I move to the back of her bra.
“I’m not a boy anymore,” I husk, deftly undoing the clasp. The garment drops with a soft thud. I stare at her face for a long pause. It’s a meaningful look. It’s telling her this isn’t just about sex. It’s about her. I want to see and feel Poppy in a way that I never have before. “Now I’m a man.”
Cupping the weight of her bare breasts in my hands, I slowly roll her nipples between my fingers. “I like this,” I say, dragging my finger over her piercing reverently.
“Oh my God.” Her eyes close and she whimpers. A thrill shoots through me when I realise she could likely come from nipple play alone if I teased it long enough.
“Do you like it when I touch it?” I pull on the bar softly.
She nods and rubs her thighs together, need evident all over her flushed, naked body. “God, yes.”
“But only me,” I state with an authoritative tone.
Her eyes open and lock on mine. “Only you.”
A soft smile spreads across my face. “I like having this part of you all to myself.”
She swallows and nods. “It’s yours.”
I bend over and suck the piercing, pulling the metal into my mouth. Her hands slice through my hair and her hips thrust toward me as she cries out uncontrollably. Christ, she’s sensitive here tonight. Was she this sensitive before? Or is everything that much more intensified now that we can admit our feelings?
Desperate for more, she reaches out and rubs my erection again while tugging on my shirt with her other hand. Needing to see more of her, I turn and lay her on my bed, sliding her knickers off as I do.
My eyes revel in the sight of her, naked and spread out on my bed with her short blonde locks framing her stunning face. I can tell she’s growing impatient, so I strip every bit of fabric off of my body for her hooded eyes to devour.
When I crawl onto the bed beside her, she pulls my hand to lay it flat over her stomach. “I like these.”
I smile as her fingers slip between mine. “My hands?”
She nods. “They are always warm. I like how they feel on me.”
This makes me smile. “They’re yours.” I repeat her words back to her.
“I also like this,” she says, reaching down and gripping me in her hand, her shoulder rising off the bed as she pumps me.
I groan and my hips pulse into her. “You do?”
She bites her lip. “I like it inside of me. Bare. You’re the only man I’ve ever done that with.”
“You’re the only woman I’ve ever done that with,” I state, my tone serious as I gaze into her eyes. I’ve never even considered going without a condom with anyone else. But with Poppy, it was instinct. I think my body knew I wanted something different with her all along.
She stares at my mouth, an intensity in her eyes as she kisses my lips and whispers, “Fuck me, Booker.”
Her desperate words send a jolt of need through me. Thick, hot need. But with it comes a strange sense of disappointment, like her words are not enough. They lack the meaning and depth I’m feeling right now. Before I can expand on that thought, she spreads her legs and pulls me to her. I position myself between her legs, holding my weight up with my forearms as the tip of my cock grazes along her inner thigh. She squirms and situates me along her slit, biting her lip and nodding for me to enter her. I press in just a little bit and it feels so good, so perfect, I ignore the voice in the back of my head that’s confused about why her words disappointed me.
I flex my hips and thrust all the way into her. She throws her head back on the pillow, and the raspy cry she lets out has me nearly coming apart at the seams. She cups my face in her hands, quietly moaning “yes” over and over and over as I rock inside of her inch by incredible inch, taking in every part of her expressive face as she grips me.
“God, you feel good,” I groan into her chest as I watch myself disappear inside of her over and over again.
Feeling her like this and letting myself embrace it is intense. When we fucked before, it was frenzied and rushed and fuelled by lust. This is more. So much more. It’s slow and exploratory. There’s an awareness about everything that wasn’t there before. Allowing myself to give in to this feels extraordinary. Poppy is my best friend, and she knows me better than anyone. She meets my every thrust with perfect precision, like she was made for me.
Her body begins to grow tighter against mine. Her cries get louder. The words she utters push me into a passion I’ve never experienced. When her muscles begin to clamp down around me, I freeze, my face contorting with ecstasy. Her fingers dig into my sides. Her heels burrow into my thighs. Her voice croons out a sexy pitch as her orgasm detonates, squeezing me and pulling everything out of me and into her.
A possessiveness shudders over me as I fall down and hug her to my chest. I can’t get her close enough. I’ve hugged Poppy a million times before, but never like this. Never with this sense of complete abandon. I want to feel her in my bones. Wrap around her like a blanket.
Swallowing the last of her sexy noises, I kiss her mouth and her neck and every part of her beautiful sweat-slickened body, relishing in the fact that it’s utterly mental that being inside my best friend feels bloody perfect.
Maybe I’m the one who has lost my marbles.