Chapter Nine
Zach
The constant look-but-don’t-touch I had with Poppy was fucking torture.
I’d spent each night vowing to think of her as a friend and as a student, and I’d spent each morning hard as a tire iron when I awoke after yet another erotic dream about her.
Last night’s fantasy was particularly vivid—Poppy writhed in my bed while I pleasured her with my mouth, my fingers, my cock. The sound of her moaning my name, the sight of her breathless and panting for me. It had seemed so real. Real enough that I woke with a sense of lingering guilt.
At this rate, I was going to have the strongest arm in all of Connecticut without even having to leave my bed to hit the gym. After I made a mental note to switch to lefty if I was afflicted again later that night, my pocket vibrated. I stopped short, digging my phone out and glancing at the screen.
Another message from Poppy. This one said simply:
I see you.
My pulse kicked up as I glanced around, and past the group of students gathered in the grassy area of the quad. I found Poppy’s familiar brown eyes staring back at me from one of the very tables I'd been planning to grab.
Beaming, she waved at me and motioned for me to join her. I headed over, trying not to notice the way her cotton shirt clung to her sleek, subtle curves. How many times had I imagined those perfect, teacup breasts in my hands over the past seven days?
I cleared the grit of need from my throat as I approached and pasted a friendly smile on my face.
“Hey. Enjoying the last rays of summer?"
She shrugged and rolled her eyes. "More like procrastinating. Van Buren gave me a massive paper on Chekhov. Not really my style."
"Oh no?" I raised my eyebrows.
"Nope. More of a Tolstoy girl myself."
Any woman who looked like Poppy got my blood pumping—but a woman who looked like Poppy and also enjoyed her Russian literature? That got my dick rock hard.
"Then I look forward to seeing that sarcasm in your writing," I said. "Which is behind, by the way."
She groaned and squeezed her eyes closed. "Slave driver."
"Hey, if you don't want me to look out for your best interest, I'll be happy to let you flounder."
"Who says I'd flounder?" she challenged, one manicured brow raised. "Maybe I've got some tricks up my sleeve."
"I have no doubt about that, but unless they're poems, I'm not interested. Now come on, get up. It’s Wednesday. Let's go get some cookies and get to work."
"What does Wednesday have to do with anything?" she asked with a frown, but packed up her books and rose to her feet anyway.
I leaned closer, facing her. “I need you to be completely honest with me,” I said, voice quiet and intimate among the chatter surrounding us.
“I’ve only ever been honest with you,” she responded with such honesty. I slid my hand up her shoulders so my thumbs could rest on her collarbone, tucked modestly beneath her scarf. Her hands were hovering at her sides, unsure of themselves, but her eyes stayed latched on mine—so intimately with no hesitation. Her breath caught in her throat, and her gaze strayed down to my lips for just a second before she seemed to catch herself.
“Have you never experienced Warm Cookie Wednesday?”
The question rocked her visibly. She tilted her head and almost looked disappointed by the turn of conversation.
“I have not,” she responded with a furrowed brow.
“Well, that, among other things you haven’t experienced,” I said with a wink, “is a true tragedy. I’m buying.” I dropped my hands from her warm, soft skin and stepped back. She visibly leaned forward, craving the contact as much as I still was.
“What if I don’t want a cookie?” One of her eyebrows was raised in that combative way that made me want to take her by surprise, dip her back in the crowded café, and steal her breath away with my tongue tangling with hers.
“Do you trust me?” I asked, shoving my hands in my pockets to keep from touching her again. Disarming, professional, distanced. I was back to playing her advisor, not the man with an overwhelming sexual attraction to the devilishly charming woman in line with him.
She nodded, her silky hair falling onto her shoulders as she moved. “I shouldn’t.”
“Let’s go.”
Side by side, we walked toward the café and I motioned to the massive line that snaked around the entire building, full of people all waiting for another fresh batch of cookies.
"Whoa, this is no joke," Poppy said, glancing around as we took our place in line.
"Sure isn't," I agreed. “Warm cookies are dead fucking serious. Best day of the week.”
"Looks that way," she said with a chuckle.
As we inched closer in line, soon we were almost inside, and close enough to breathe in the scent of warm chocolate, brown sugar, and spice. I glanced down at Poppy, tucked away at my side, which I liked the sight of way more than I should. Her cheeks were still rosy from the passionate banter of our last conversation. It was getting easier and easier to read this woman, the more time I spent with her. And fuck, I couldn’t wait to get to the next chapter.
Five minutes later, we found a quiet spot by the fountain to sit, two giant, oozing cookies in our hands.
“Here goes nothing,” she said, the cookie already resting against her perfect lips. I couldn't look away as she took an admirable bite. Then I really couldn't look away as her eyelids fluttered closed and the damn sexiest moan I had ever heard rumbled from the back of her throat. She opened her eyes, pupils dilated and fixated directly on mine. A small drop of chocolate rested just beneath her lower lip. I had to take a bite of my own cookie to keep myself from leaning in and licking it away.
“Holy shit,” she sighed. “Orgasmic.”
She moved closer, and for a second, I just reveled in her nearness. The scent of her skin, the slope of her delicate nose, those lips. “I know.” I smirked with a mouthful of perfect, hot pastry.
“How has this not been a part of my life until now?” She looked devastated. The emotions that displayed themselves on this woman’s face so purely were absolutely fascinating.
“Maybe it’s a message from the universe that you should be trying new things,” I offered with a grin. Her eye roll told me that suggestion was a little too on-the-nose. She was still grinning though, so it couldn't have been too much.
“Maybe,” she laughed. She held the cookie before her, lifting it up to the light in mock examination and fascination.
“What a pretty sight this is,” said a familiar voice. I whipped my head around to see my mother, standing nearby with her usual coffee order in a to-go cup. She smiled broadly at us, eyes twinkling with laughter.
I stood to kiss my mother on the cheek. Poppy stared at us, her smile unsure.
"Not a great time," I said under my breath, trying desperately to get rid of the crazy I knew my mom was about to unleash.
But my mother brushed me off with and easy grin. "Always a good time, darling." She winked.
“This is my mom,” I offered to Poppy, returning to sit beside her.
"Now who do we have here?" She looked Poppy up and down, but Poppy didn't have enough good sense to know she was in the lion's den. Not yet, anyway. Instead, she smiled.
"I'm Poppy. It’s nice to meet you, Mrs.…"
“Velma, please,” my mother interrupted, as she often did. “So lovely to meet you, Poppy. I take it you’re the beautiful woman who has my son masturbating through the night?”
Oh, Jesus. I shoved down the urge to throw something and ask her to fetch it far, far away from us.
“Excuse me?” Poppy squeaked.
I could feel the heat rolling off Poppy’s cheeks from here. I turned to her. "Just ignore her. She was raised by feral wolves."
Poppy flustered was really damn cute. But she didn’t stay flustered for long. She blinked at my mother, her mouth curving into a curious smile.
“You know,” my mother continued with the casualness of talking about the weather, “the beautiful girl who has Zach’s boxers all tented. Or have you finally transitioned to briefs?” She turned on me. Poppy probably thought the woman was trying to embarrass me. What she didn't know was that the best wing-woman known to man was only giving me a loaded barrel to fire with.
“Don’t ruin the surprise, Mom,” I responded with a full smile. I could feel the heat of Poppy’s cheeks from a foot away.
“Ah, yes, that’s for you to know and you,” she winked at Poppy, “to discover.”
Poppy laughed softly, surprisingly charmed by my mother’s antics. “I see where your son gets his confidence. I’m envious,” she said without a hint of judgment.
That was what I liked about Poppy. She took everything in perfect stride, even my unconventionally honest mother.
“Don’t be envious.” My mother grasped her arm warmly. “Be open. You’ll be much happier.”
“Okay, thank you, Mother, as always, for the unsolicited advice. But don't you have something you ought to be doing besides giving me more fodder for my next therapist appointment?" I asked dryly.
She barked out a laugh. "Right. I can take a hint. Just play safely, children."
She clicked away on her sensibly low heels and I turned to Poppy again with a grimace. “I honest to God don't know what to say about that except that I am so, so sorry. All I can say is that she is a really good person and the rest makes up for…that.”
She shook her head, the flush finally starting to recede, leaving behind a glow and a half-smile. "It's really okay. It was actually pretty informative."
I raised my eyebrows. "How so? Aside from informing you that my mother is a nutcase with no boundaries?”
"Well, now I see where you get it from. You know, your..." She glanced around to make sure we weren't being overheard and added, "Your sexual openness."
Now it was my turn to laugh. "If that's what you want to call it. I'd like to think I have a little more tact than my mother, though."
"I'm sure you would like to think that," Poppy teased.
But there was no question that, for the next few minutes as we finished our food, the sexual tension between us had only amped higher. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her eyeing me speculatively, wondering if it was true. Maybe even imagining me stroking my cock while thinking of her. And damned if the distance between us didn’t slowly diminish, until her arm was brushing mine and our knees touched beneath the table.
Zach, one.
Psycho cockblock mom, zero.
"What's on your mind? You have a weird look on your face," she said.
I shook my head. "Just thinking."
"About what?"
"What kind of girl we need to find you," I said with a grin.
“Oh, that’s right. Because I’ve given up on guys and you think the—what did you call it? The Gold Standard of Snatch can be found here on this campus?"
I eyed her, half tempted to tell her that the gold standard had already been set and she was it, but thought better of it and closed my mouth. "Can't hurt to look, right? I just need to know what to keep my eyes peeled for. Given it any more thought?"
She rolled her eyes. "You really aren't going to let this go, huh?"
"My quest to find you everlasting happiness with the woman of your dreams?” I shook my head curtly. “Nope. So let’s hear it.”
"Your mom seems like a good option." She waggled her eyebrows and I let out a groan and raised my milk glass to her.
“Touché. That was one hell of a burn."
"Oh, no, I'm serious. She might be the one,” she teased.
"So, you're looking for someone who will offer you a lifetime of telling people when and where you've had sex with them?"
"She wouldn't do that to her partner, right?" Poppy asked, her eyes widening again.
"Think again. She's ruined many a Christmas with stories of her exploits."
"Dear Lord."
"You're not kidding,” I chuckled.
"Fine, so, not your mom,” she conceded. “But, you know, someone funny like her."
"Funny is good. Smart is better," I agreed.
"Smart." She nodded. "Always good to be with someone smart."
"Big boobs?" I countered.
"Definitely not. Intimidating." Poppy winced.
"I'm not much of a boob man, either." I admitted with a nod, using every drop of my self-discipline not to even glance at the outline of her pert breasts beneath her shirt again.
"Ah." Poppy’s gaze latched onto mine. “So, we're trolling for a girl for you as well?"
"Hey, I'm always open for business." I said the words, but I didn’t mean them. There was only one woman I was interested in. No one else mattered.
From Poppy’s loose ponytail, several strands of hair had escaped, and I wished I could reach out and tuck them behind her ear.
“Yeah, so your mom mentioned." Poppy pushed the hair from her face, messing with it twice before finally getting it fixed.
Our words might have been casual, playful, but the tension between us had never felt higher.
"You think you're so funny, don't you?" I asked.
"I know I'm funny," she shot back. "But what else is going on the dating profile. She's smart and funny with reasonable breasts. If that was all, you'd be married with five kids by now."
"Okay, well, I'd need to be with someone who loved writing and books the way I do."
"You don't want to be talking Chaucer while she's watching TMZ?" Poppy raised her eyebrows. "Now you're just being picky."
"She can watch whatever she wants, she just also needs to know how to read, too,” I amended.
"Literate. That's a tough one to come by." She laughed, and I took a bite of my cookie.
When I finished chewing, I added, "I thought you wanted to help me?"
"Technically, you wanted to help me. I'm just along for the ride at this point.”
"Fine, then, nothing else."
"Oh, come on. Tell me,” she urged.
"There really isn't." I shrugged. "I mean, it would be nice to find someone who challenges me. And I'd like to find someone who is sexually adventurous, but those are bonus items."
"Sexually adventurous?" she repeated, her voice sounding slightly huskier than it had only moments before. Husky in a way that had my blood pumping south again.
“Maybe adventurous isn’t the word. But I can’t deal with a prude. I want someone who isn't just going to lay there and make the occasional noise, you know?" I shrugged. "I'm not interested in a lukewarm sex life. It’s way too important.”
Poppy blinked and the pretty blush that had coated her cheeks before returned. "Well, I can certainly understand that. But no whips and chains?"
I grinned, momentarily surprised and charmed by her candor. "I mean, I'm open to whips and chains. To be honest, I'm open to most things. I never say never. Pleasure is all too fleeting in this world.”
"I'll be sure to add all that to your Okay Cupid profile," Poppy said, pressing a palm to one of her rosy cheeks. "Anyway, I should probably be getting to this damned paper."
"Right." I nodded, ignoring the twinge of disappointment. This conversation was just heating up.
She got up to leave, then turned on her heel and walked back toward me. "Oh, shoot, before I go."
"What's up?"
She zipped open her backpack and pulled out an all-too-familiar looking sheet of paper, now soft and worn at the edges from her fingers. My stomach kicked up into my throat, and sweat dotted my palms.
"I have some homework for you, too," she said.
"That's not how this arrangement works," I countered. “I give the homework. I don’t get the homework.” It wasn’t entirely accurate, I only mentored her work, but it got my point across.
She rolled her eyes but handed the paper to me all the same. I looked at it, momentarily studying my own words, my own handwriting, wondering if she knew. If now was the moment she was going to call me out, to put a stop to this.
"What's this?" I asked casually, though my blood thundered in my ears.
“A poem,” she responded. “Handwritten. I found it in my backpack the other day. I think I have a secret admirer.” She looked at me with the innocence of a fucking baby deer. “Do you have any idea who it could be? He writes so beautifully.”
“There’s any number of talented poets in the program. How do you know it’s a man?”
“The language is male.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that, but luckily Poppy continued.
“When you're going over assignments, do you think you could keep your eyes peeled for that handwriting? I don't want to lead anyone on but it’s…I don’t know. I just want to know who it is.”
"Right." I nodded. "Of course, I can do that."
I took a look down at the words I’d written and stuffed into her bag during our sushi date. I wondered when she had found this one. I also wondered how she could possibly be so clueless about the fact it was from me.
"Thanks, Zach." She beamed again. "Talk to you soon."
And just like that, she swiveled back around and headed out across campus.
Still, as she walked away?
As I thought about all the things I'd listed about the kind of woman I wanted to fall in love with?
I was coming to realize, there was a lot more between us than the possibility of swapping bodily fluids, and that made this game incredibly dangerous and twice as stupid.
Poppy, sweet Poppy. Dangerous Poppy. She was pure fire. And I could not have been any more willing to throw myself into the flames.