Me: Hey, I keep missing you at the flat this week, but does 9:00 work to pick you up tonight for the party?
Poppy: Oh yes! I almost forgot. I finish at 8:30, so that’ll be just enough time to run home and freshen up. Do you know what the attire is?
Me: Attire?
Poppy: Casual? Formal? Flirty?
Me: Flirty sounds good.
Poppy: <Side-Eye Emoji> Good for whom exactly?
Me: Depends where you’re aiming it.
Poppy: …
Poppy: …
Poppy: …
Poppy: I think I have Belle’s number in my phone from a few weeks ago. I’ll text her to find out. I’ll see you tonight. Are you sure I can’t just take a cab?
Me: NO.
Poppy: There you go again, keepering me.
Me: Keepering you?
Poppy: I’ll tell you tonight.
Me: Can’t wait.
Poppy: XX
Two kisses. Is that a good sign? What does that mean? Are they two kisses like, “I heard you jerk off with my name on your lips, and I’m completely creeped out by you”? Or are they, “I heard you jerk off with my name on your lips, and I’m completely turned on by you”? Maybe they’re just polite air-kisses that you’d give to European diplomats? If they are diplomat kisses, they are most definitely not a good sign. Not if you’re thinking about your best friend naked…again.
I pull up in front of our flat in Tanner’s big black truck that was relegated to me so he could get something even bigger. The wanker. I take our building steps two at a time until I reach our door. The smell of girlie perfume fills my nostrils as I enter. It always smells good in here. Growing up with brothers, it was common for our rooms to stink from month-old dirty socks stuffed in weird crevices. Living with a girl definitely has its perks.
Poppy strides out from the hallway, and I do a major double take. Triple take. Hell, quadruple take. She looks fucking fit.
Her short blonde hair is styled curlier than usual. It doesn’t have the soft sweeping look it usually does. It has volume. Fluff. Sass. Like her personality. Her long lashes are thick and black, framing her round brilliant green eyes that remind me of the pitch. She swipes a shiny gloss over her lips that are stained a deep ruddy colour, making them look heavy and plump. My mind instantly pictures my dick in her mouth from our first night together.
But the dress. The dress is so characteristically Poppy. It’s a sexy, nighttime version of a really short sundress. A shimmering black fabric with dainty pink and cream flowers printed all over. The straps on her shoulders are thin, holding up the dipping neckline that shows just enough cleavage to make me pant, but not enough to make me beg. She looks elegant. Like a woman.
“You look beautiful,” I loll, hoping my tongue isn’t hanging out of my mouth.
She looks up at me standing in the doorway. Her lower lip drops, parting from her upper as her gaze rakes over me. “You do, too. I erm…don’t think I’ve seen you in anything but team tees since I’ve been back.”
I self-consciously tug at my red and white checked button down that’s untucked over my tight jeans. “My wardrobe is a bit limited.”
She smiles. “I noticed.”
I swallow as the image of her wearing my shirt at Tower Park slices back into my mind. “Are you all set?”
She nods and I gesture for her to walk out first, watching the sway of her hips under the floaty skirt as she exits. My eyes close in pain. What the fuck are you doing, Booker?
Old George is a favourite hangout of Camden and Tanner’s. It’s located in the heart of Bethnal Green, so it’s nice and close to the stadium and pretty much all of our flats in East London. It’s a bit more posh than our other hangout, Welly’s, which is where we go every year to celebrate Vi and our mum’s birthday because they share the same date. Vi has never loved her birthday because of that fact, but getting engaged to Hayden on it last year has surely helped.
“Who all is there?” Poppy asks as I drive the five minutes to the pub.
“It’s pretty much just a Harris do,” I laugh. “Indie’s not the most social butterfly you’ll ever meet.”
“Really? I got on with her quite well at your dad’s. How old is she, though? She looks too young to be a doctor.”
“She turned twenty-six today, so she is young to be as advanced in her career as she is. Cam said she skipped a few years in school.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. She seems brilliant.”
I look over at her. “So, you like her and Belle then?” I watch for her reaction.
She nods eagerly. “Those two are hilarious. Their banter had me laughing more than helping with the wedding plans. But I think they had it all covered to begin with. Indie’s to-do list is meticulous.”
I slide my hand down my jean clad thigh, wiping the sweat off my palm. “I was wondering if you’d want to come to that actually…Tanner and Belle’s wedding.” I can feel her head snap to look at me. “What?” I ask, squirming beneath her skeptical glower.
“You don’t have anyone special you want to take instead?”
“Like who?”
She huffs, “Like a date.”
Frowning, I reply, “Truthfully, I’d rather go with my best friend.”
I can feel her eyeing me as I pull into a parking stall right in front of Old George. I cut the engine and turn to look at her. Her gaze sparkles in the darkness as she stares intently at me.
“What, Poppy?” I ask, tugging on my earlobe. “What aren’t you saying?”
She fidgets with her hands on her lap. “Are we best friends again?” Her hoarse voice asking such a thoughtful question pulls me up short.
“Did we ever stop?”
“I guess not.” She looks up at me again, staring at my face like she’s trying to commit every millimetre to memory. A soft smile lightens her brow. “But I will tell you, Belle already beat you to the punch. She invited me to their wedding at your Dad’s house. I think she likes me!”
That thought makes me smile as I exit the car and hold the door open for her. She has an extra bounce in her step as we enter the large bar and restaurant area. Old George is adorned with exposed brick, dim lighting, and quirky vintage décor. It’s a cool place for a fun night out that’s just a bit different that the dingier pubs we’re used to.
We walk through two reception rooms full of diners and head to the back door that opens into the huge beer garden. It’s a lattice and ivy ensconced oasis complete with twinkling Edison bulbs. A live indie rock band plays as we walk along the cobblestone footing toward the back where Camden reserved some rustic picnic tables for the night.
Everyone greets Poppy like she’s one of the family. She’s quick to wish Indie a happy birthday. I even see her slide a card over to her. Indie coos that she didn’t need to, and they do that whole girlie bit where they argue who’s the sweetest. Indie is all smiles, rocking her cheetah-print specs and eyeing Camden through all the chaos.
Tanner vacates his spot on the bench so Poppy can slide in next to the girls. Across from them is Dad, Gareth, Vi, and Hayden. They all fall into easy conversation, so I head over to the outdoor bar with Tanner and Camden to order Poppy a drink.
I can’t help but notice Camden’s fidgeting as he peels the label off his brown bottle of beer.
“Why are you acting so strange, Cam?” I ask and pat him on the back. “Have a bloody drink and try to relax. Indie looks like she’s having a great time.”
Tanner eyes Camden speculatively. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have something up your sleeve. But considering you tell me everything, that can’t possibly be true, right?”
Camden looks at the two of us and throws his hands up in the air. “You guys caught me! The stripper is due to arrive any minute now.”
Tanner chuckles. “Just what the doctor ordered.”
“Nice pun, bro!” Cam high fives Tan.
I roll my eyes and grab Poppy’s drink from the bartender. “You better be joking.”
Camden scoffs, “So serious, baby bro. Don’t worry about me. I think you need to turn your focus on your little flatmate situation. Just look at how easily Poppy seems to be fitting in with our ladies.”
They follow me as I take Poppy’s drink over to her. I can’t help but observe her as she laughs at something Belle whispers in her ear. Poppy has always been charismatic and could talk easily with anyone. But seeing her slip in so effortlessly now that we’re all grown up is…nice. My chest puffs up with pride.
She waves her drink glass at me in thanks, her eyes twinkling that familiar Poppy sparkle. “It’s not tequila and cream soda, is it?”
Everyone at the table groans.
My eyes crinkle with mirth. “You’ll have to taste it to find out.”
The warning tone doesn’t go unnoticed by her. Several layers of questions could be interpreted under that statement if she really wanted to dig. Regardless, she takes a sip of her drink and winks, the tiny gesture sending a jolt of electricity through my body.
She turns her smile to Vi and asks, “What did you do with Rocky for the night?”
Vi beams. “We got a proper sitter for the first time!” She raises her hands up in the air in mock celebration and then takes a drink of her beer.
“I wanted to babysit,” Tanner bellows. “But Camden said I had to be here.”
“We wanted to be here!” Belle defends, eyes wide and angry on Tanner. “It’s my best mate’s birthday. We wouldn’t miss it, you knob.”
“That’s not what I meant! Indie knows I love her like a pig loves not being bacon,” Tanner argues. “But I would have stayed in so you all could have a night out. I don’t like the idea of leaving our Rock Star with some stranger off the street.”
“She’s not off the street!” Vi exclaims. “She was hired from an agency. She’s been vetted. She’s completely professional!”
Tanner scowls, scratching his beard. “I still don’t like it.”
“Well, we have to find someone we like before your wedding because I intend to pass off my little princess and party!”
Everyone laughs and then Hayden elbows Tanner with his mobile in his hands. “Two words. Nanny cam.”
Tanner’s eyes fly wide. “Oh, thank fuck for that!”
The two huddle over the phone like it’s the next M. Night Shyamalan flick before Camden’s stern voice interjects. “Are you all quite done?”
We look at him to see his stony expression. Very un-Camden like. Just then, a waitress walks toward us holding a flaming birthday cake with over twenty tall, skinny candles shooting off fiery sparkles. She sets it on the picnic table in front of everyone.
“Specs, can you come here?” Cam asks, his face bathed in golden light. He grips the back of his neck and looks away nervously. Truthfully, he looks how he does before a match. Like an edgy wreck.
Indie doesn’t seem to notice, her eyes bright on the flaming cake as she stands and hurries over. Her hands clasp together with glee as she smiles at Camden. “Oh, Cam, I love it! What a surprise! Thank you!”
She leans forward for a kiss, but he pulls back, his face looking awkward. “This isn’t your only surprise.” He exhales heavily.
We all watch in silence as he digs inside the pocket of his jeans. He pulls out a black velvet box, and there’s a collective gasp as he drops down on one knee. Indie’s hands fly to her face, covering her glasses to hide her complete and total look of shock.
“No fucking way,” she whispers breathily, dropping her hands. Clearly she did not suspect this.
Camden clears his throat. “Tanner and I have shared everything most of our lives, so I suppose it makes sense that we share our engagements, too.”
Vi laughs inelegantly and croaks, “Oh my God! Is this real?”
My smile is a mix of shock and awe as I shake my head at the scene unfolding before me.
Camden smirks up at Tan and then steels himself to look at Indie. When their eyes connect, you can see it…The shift. The complete giving of himself to her. He opens up like a book for her to devour. “Specs, since the moment I was injured last year and thought my life was over, I’ve been proven wrong time and time again and shown that the best is yet to come. And all of those bests have been better because of you.”
He opens the box, revealing a ring of diamonds around a platinum band. It’s nontraditional. It’s very Indie.
He takes a deep breath and exhales. “I am thine, and thou art mine, Specs. Marry me.”
There’s complete silence as he says the final two words. They don’t come out as a demand. They come out as a plea. A raw, vulnerable plea for her to put him out of his misery. Suddenly, Indie starts laughing like a hyena. We all stare at her, completely gobsmacked and awaiting her reply.
Tanner flinches from Belle’s tight grip on his arm as she shrieks, “Say yes!”
Indie looks at Belle with a big smile. “Yes,” she whispers. Then she looks back down at Camden and shouts the three-letter word again. “Yes!” She launches herself into his arms. He stands up, lifting her off the ground and kissing her smile through his own. We all watch their embrace with cheesy grins of our own, happiness rolling off of them like the heat from the burning candles. It’s intense.
Dad’s voice cuts above the boisterous cheers. “Good grief. What other excitement is to come for this family?”
“I vote lots more babies!” Tanner cajoles and Belle elbows him in the ribs. He laughs and kisses her.
“Make a wish, Specs,” Cam says, his arms wrapped tightly around Indie’s waist as he stands behind her kissing her cheek.
She narrows her eyes and places a finger to her chin. “I wish…that Booker is next!” She blows out the candles, and I swear the whole world fades to black.
Love is in the air. Heaping buckets of golden, sweet, melting, delicious love that you can’t help but get drunk on. The Harrises are a family that was surrounded by so much darkness after the loss of their mother and the temporary loss of their father as he mourned. Booker was never one to talk much about his mum, but he spoke of how bad some days were with his dad. My heart aches for the children they were back then as they attempted to navigate adult problems.
Looking at them now, you can see that travesty created unshakeable bonds. And the universe is more than making up for those dark years. The Harris family is overflowing with love and happiness. On top of the stunning engagement ring Cam put on Indie’s finger, Tanner keeps making proclamations about lots of babies, and Hayden and Vi keep smiling at Hayden’s phone as they watch their daughter sleep on the nanny cam.
It’s immense. It’s breathtaking. Cake is eaten, drinks are shared, memories are told, laughs are had. The entire time, I think to myself, This family couldn’t be luckier. They have their own network of love, friendship, and support, and I’m thrilled to be near it, even as just a friend.
Booker’s eyes find mine all night long, starting with the moment Indie made her birthday wish. My knees nearly buckled when he looked straight at me with those eyes from the other night. Those eyes I wanted to see for so many years. His mouth may have been tipped into a half-smile as everyone erupted into laughter, but his eyes…His eyes didn’t hold an ounce of humour in them. They watched me with purpose. His dark hair swept back showcased every emotion in his gaze, revealing the mysterious parts of his mind that I want to know. That I’m desperate to understand.
The rest of the evening, I feel the constant pull of energy wafting off of him. All directed at me. It’s overwhelming. I’m not drunk on alcohol. I’m drunk on Booker Harris. On the possibility of what could be going through my best friend’s mind.
After a million hugs goodbye, we make our way to the front of Old George. Booker opens the truck door for me and grips me around the waist, hoisting me up into the seat. His hands freeze for a moment, his gaze downcast, watching the hold he has on me as his thumbs stroke my sides. It feels like the way a boy touches a girl when he has feelings for her. Not the way a mate touches his friend.
He finally releases me and closes the door, allowing me to exhale heavy breaths and slow my heart rate as he walks around to his door and slides in.
We’re completely silent the entire way home. It’s a five minute drive, but it feels like hours. Hours of my mind racing over what’s happening between us. What’s happening to me. I’ve told myself that I’m not looking at Booker like that anymore. But right now, all I want is him. All I feel is him. I’m back to being that eighteen-year-old girl who was falling for Booker. But now I’m trapped in the body of a twenty-five-year-old woman who will demand satisfaction if I let myself continue to be so turned on.
Tension builds up inside of me like a rubber band ready to snap. Booker’s chin turns, watching me out of the corner of his eye as I mindlessly rub my legs.
My. Aching. Bare. Legs.
I inhale a shaky breath and press my head against the headrest, trying to put a stop to this sexually charged torture. How is a silent car ride this fucking erotic? What universe have I fallen in to? I’m weak here. I have no power.
Finally, we reach our building. We climb the two floors to our flat, his footsteps close behind me when we reach the door. “Excuse me, Poppy.” His voice is gruff and vibrates through every part of me as he slips past me with the key.
My eyes are downcast and my cheeks burn from the memory of my name on his lips as he reached his climax the other night. He pushes the door open and steps back for me to pass. I steal a glance at him and our eyes meet.—a million emotions roaring in his dark eyes.
I brush my arm along his firm chest and shiver at his sharp intake of air. He’s feeling something, too. I’m not alone.
My heels clack down the hall to my room. Once inside, I look over my shoulder and watch him pause at the threshold of his own room. His forearms flex as he grips the doorframe, stopping himself from entering. He turns his neck and looks at me with narrowed eyes. It’s then that I finally see it. I see everything clearly. Above all the other mixed emotions and confusions and unknowns, the one thing that shines over everything…
…is want.
He wants me. And I want him. So badly I can taste it. So badly I can remember the feeling of his hard dick in my mouth. I don’t care that we shouldn’t. I don’t care how wrong it is because what I’m feeling inside my body can’t be ignored any longer.
Booker drops his head back and looks at the ceiling, his Adam’s apple sliding down his thick neck as he leans his back against the doorframe. His chin drops and he faces me full on.
It’s a standoff. A dare. A game of chicken. Who’s going to speak first? Who’s going to break the silent tension that is wafting down the dim hallway?
Reaching up, his hands begin slowly unbuttoning his dress shirt. One tiny slip of a button at a time. A sliver of olive flesh showing on his chest with his descent.
My hands, too, develop a mind of their own. More like a sexual organ of their own.
I reach back and pull down the zipper of my dress, holding the bodice to my chest while the straps fall off my shoulders. My eyes remain downcast, basking in the heat of his gaze on me.
Watching. Waiting. Wondering.
Savouring the delicious build of him simply observing me.
Finally, I look up. And I want him. I want him more than I ever knew possible. I want his hands on me, his body pressed against mine. I want the weight of him on top of me as he morphs from my best friend to my lover.
My lover.
The heat in his eyes is a sexual promise and a command rolled into one. So I do what my body demands of me.
I drop my hands.
The dress slithers down to my hips, revealing my completely bare breasts and exposing so much more than my skin.
Fire explodes in his eyes. With strong, fierce strides, he eats up the floor in a second and I’m in his firm grasp in two. His lips collide with mine as one arm wraps tightly around my waist, grappling for my arse. The other slides along on my chest, stroking, rubbing, holding me in place while he drags his tongue down my neck, suckling a spot on my collarbone.
He twirls us, strong and fast into the nearby wall, pressing into me, his erection finding purchase between my thighs as I slide one leg up around his hip. My shriek is loud when he bends to suck my nipple ring into his mouth. He laps and laves the jewelry with his tongue, clanking the cold metal on his teeth. The bud is like a pressure line straight between my legs, my knickers dampening with need.
When my moans become cries, he moves his lips up to my neck, his hand skating up my bare thigh in a tight, claiming grip. When he pulls back to look into my eyes, his are blazing with lust. Then he steals my breath by fusing our mouths together again. It’s a kiss that demands entry this time, not only connection. His tongue parts my lips as he imprints his against mine, massaging the flesh together in delicious erotic indecency.
A surge of warmth blooms between my thighs when his fingers snake inside my knickers. I pull away from his mouth and look down at his arm smashed between us. Like a crazed animal, I mewl as he sinks a long finger inside of me and then another. His exposed chest muscles contract and retract with each pump of his fingers. Over and over. Long, languid motions increasing in speed with each one of my laboured cries.
“Booker! I need…” I pause and gasp for breath as my hips gyrate into his touch. “I’m going to come.”
“Good,” he growls, his voice an aphrodisiac. “Come like I did the other night.”
My hooded eyes can barely focus on him. “What?”
“Did you hear me, Poppy? Did you hear me call your name as I jerked myself off thinking of you?”
I swallow and can’t bring myself to admit it out loud because I’m so embarrassed. But sickly, the mortification only turns me on even more. My head nods.
He half smiles, a naughty glint in his eyes I never knew existed inside of him. “Did you like it?”
“Yes,” I pant, holding nothing back.
“Did you touch yourself?”
“No.”
He frowns, disappointed. “Why not? Didn’t you want to?”
My climax is building.
“Answer me, Poppy. Didn’t you want to touch yourself?”
“No!” I exclaim.
His eyes narrow with determination. “Why not?”
“Because I wanted you to do it!” I snap.
And my orgasm tips.
Booker bites his lower lip as I spasm around his fingers. Roughly, he yanks out of my folds and pinches my clit so hard, all air is wrenched from my body. I go completely silent. The pressure with the orgasm and the pressure on my clit rendering me unable to release even a gasp as pinpoints of light blast off behind my closed lids. Was that a double orgasm?
After shuddering for what feels like hours, he releases his grip on me and my legs buckle. He deftly sweeps me up into his arms and murmurs into my hair, “Fuck, Poppy. I’m so fucking hard right now.” His chest vibrates with a chuckle as my head lolls onto his shoulder.
The aftershocks of the climax are still sweeping through me as he walks me down the hall and lays me on his bed. My eyelids flutter open and I see him lean down to flick the lamp on. The yellow light casts warm shadows on his flexing pecs as he removes his shirt. His triceps bunching as he unbuckles his belt. His abs stacking on top of each other as he removes his jeans and boxers all in one shot.
My body squirms at the sight of him fully hard. So hard, I see pre-come seeping out the tip already. I thought I was spent. I thought that double orgasm or whatever it was might kill me on the spot. But seeing him there, naked, confident, and seeking entry inside of me… I’ve been awakened.
I want his cock to stretch the inside of me until I’m sore.
He taps my hips for me to lift them so he can shimmy my dress down the rest of the way. Now I’m laid before him wearing nothing but my sheer black knickers. Bending at the waist, he presses his face between my thighs, dragging his nose along my pubic bone as he inhales deeply.
“Oh my God,” I moan as he hooks his fingers on the band of my knickers and pulls them down my legs. “Did you just smell me?”
“You smell so fucking good here.” He kisses my belly and crawls up my body, holding himself off of me with his muscled arms. “And here.” He kisses the divot between my breasts. “Here.” He kisses the space below my ear. “Here.” He kisses my lips. “Everywhere. And I’m going to fucking taste you again because you are making me lose my bloody mind, Poppy.”
I nod because, quite honestly, when he says my name with those sex eyes, I can’t think straight either. He spreads my legs and wastes no time swiping his tongue along my slit, groaning as he flicks over my swollen bundle of nerves. “I want to fuck you, Poppy. It’s all I’ve thought of every night since you came back.”
I moan and squirm, squeezing my thighs around his head and combing my fingers through his hair. “Me, too.”
He chuckles against me and swipes a few more times before kissing his way up my belly, stopping at my breast to drop a soft, open-mouthed kiss around my nipple ring.
He positions his dick at my entrance and then pauses, looking down at me with a heady look in his eyes. “Should I…I mean, do you want me to get a condom?”
I shake my head because I don’t want any type of barrier between us. I feel like we’ve been living with one for years and, for once, I want to feel him. All of him. I want to be as close to him as possible. And I trust Booker. I know he’s a footballer and has been with other girls, but I know he’d never risk anything with me.
“Make lo—” I pause, my face flaming red as I nearly repeat the same words I said our first night together. The same words that scared him away from me like I was a hot torch. “I want you to fuck me, Booker,” I croak. The words feel crass and cheap, but I need this to happen so badly, I feel like I could split in two.
“Poppy, you have no idea.” He moulds his lips with mine as he positions his bare head at my entrance. Forehead-to-forehead, he looks down as he thrusts into me. My shoulders rise up off the bed as he fills me completely. His hand grips my arse, fingers biting into me as he shifts in deeper. He drags his lips along mine and murmurs, “God, you feel so good.”
My hands grip his back muscles, my legs squeezing around his hips. “Fuck me, Booker,” I husk because I can’t say anything else. I just need to disappear into an orgasm as quickly as possible.
He kicks it up a notch once I’ve adjusted to his size and fucks me like the professional athlete he is, tipping me to orgasm within the first five minutes. Lithely, he rolls us over so I’m on top. He plays with my clit as I grind my hips on him and a second orgasm slices through me.
“God, you’re fucking beautiful.” His words speak straight to my heart. I feel it expand in my chest like a warm memory.
In the distance, I’m pretty sure I hear a neighbour yelling at us to quiet down. But we don’t stop. We don’t even hesitate. We continue on this wild ride because neither of us have a fucking clue where it will end up. Probably nowhere good. So I’m at least enjoying it while it lasts.
I just fucked my best friend.
After coming inside of Poppy, I realise without a shadow of a doubt that I have fucked up monumentally. And this time, it’s so much worse because I didn’t stop it when I knew we were going too far. I let it happen. Hoped it would happen. Did everything I could to make it happen. This is all my bloody fault.
I wasn’t lying when I said Poppy makes me lose my senses. Why can’t I get control of myself? All night around my family, I couldn’t stop feeling her in my mind. Christ, that sounds stupid, but it’s fitting. She encroached my headspace, and I couldn’t get past the yearning I had for her. I wanted inside of her. Badly.
But I need to find that control. I’m not some fucking horny teenager who can do as he pleases. I’m an adult, and I need to find power over this feeling or I could lose her again. Maybe forever this time.
I need to fix this.
My head jerks when I hear the creak of the floorboards as Poppy scampers from the loo to her bedroom. Knowing I can’t let her go to bed like this, I stand and pull on a pair of shorts. Her dress has a laugh at me from a heap on my floor, taunting me like the moron I am. Gathering it up, I slip out to see Poppy in her room, bent over and stepping into a pair of shorts. She quickly grabs a shirt up off the floor and yanks it over her head. Her short blonde hair is sticking up all over the place as she looks down and tugs the shirt into place.
She turns when she hears my approach.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my gaze drifting down her body to see she’s in the Bethnal shirt she borrowed for the match. It’s huge on her, but my chest feels funny at the sight of her swimming in something of mine.
She eyes my bare stomach and self-consciously swipes her hands through her hair to try to tame the fly-aways. “I was looking for some pyjamas.”
I run my own hand through my hair, closing my eyes as I recall the feel of her fingers slicing through it as I tasted her. Fuuuck, that is not what I should be thinking about right now. Tugging on my earlobe, I ask, “Were you…erm…planning to come back into my room?”
Frowning like my question shocks her, she asks, “Did you want me to?”
I exhale heavily knowing that sleeping apart would be for the best, but sleeping together sounds like the more gentlemanly thing to do. But…it’s Poppy. I can’t do this with her. I can’t be with her intimately. It’s too much. We slept together as kids, but not like this. Not since I’ve seen her naked. “Well I don’t expect you to sleep in here. I mean, not unless you want to.”
Her face cringes with a look I can’t quite distinguish. Annoyance maybe? She narrows her green eyes, her lashes covering nearly all the colour as she crosses her arms over her chest. “It sounds like you want me to sleep in here.”
My face drops. “I never said that.” But like a big fucking prat, I am thinking it!
“I know you, Booker,” she snaps. “I can read you like a book. Otherwise, why else would you be standing in my doorway and saying awkward things?”
“Because I don’t know what the fuck just happened, Poppy.” I let out a harsh breath. “I mean, I know what happened, but I don’t know what it means. Forgive me for not being up on the proper procedures for what happens after you fuck your best friend.”
Her hands drop and ball into fists at her sides. “Well, maybe we can just go back to ignoring each other like the last time.” Her voice rises a whole octave at the end.
“No! Fuck that,” I growl and jam a hand through my hair. This is not going well. I’m feeling panicky on the inside, knowing I’m not getting this right. “That’s not what I want. I just…guess…I want to know what this is. Was. What it means…to you.”
This doesn’t seem to calm her down. In fact, it seems to make things much worse. Maybe I shouldn’t have said the last part, but I worry more about Poppy’s feelings than my own. She’s much less experienced than I am…At least I think she is. I don’t know if sex means a lot to her or if she sees this as the mistake it was.
“Look, Booker. I don’t want to go back to ignoring you either. I’ve been thinking about this, and I think for the sake of our friendship, I should move out and stay with my parents until my flat is ready like I originally planned.”
My heart drops. Then leaps. Then drops again. Then runs around in circles like a distressed fucking dog. “What?” I croak, completely shocked by her suggestion and feeling a horrid ache erupt inside of me. The same ache I got the first time she left.
She looks determined. “I think if we want a chance at saving what remains of our friendship, it’s best for us both to have some space.”
“I disagree,” I bark, my distress quickly switching to anger.
She huffs out an offended, bitter sort of laugh. “Why?”
Shoulders high, I walk toward her and close the distance between us. I reach out and put my hands on her arms, trying to project an air of confidence. I want her to feel assured in what I’m saying. I want her to believe in me. In us. I need her to stay. “I think if we want a chance at saving our friendship at all, you absolutely have to stay. It’s the only way to work past it.” My jaw clenches.
Her head snaps back and forth between my two hands as she shakes loose from my hold. “Don’t you keeper me right now, Booker!” she sputters.
I pull back. “What’s keeper me?”
She huffs indignantly. “Get all big and hot and overbearing”—she uses wild gesticulations as she demonstrates—“and try to bulldoze your way through this conversation.”
Did she say hot?
I shake away the thought and purse my lips together, my eyes narrowing with frustration. “I’m not trying to keeper you. I’m trying to show you that we can get through this.”
“Work past it!” She regurgitates my words in a mocking, sing-songy voice.
Arguing with Poppy is like arguing with a beagle. Just when they try to look tough and ominous, the opposite effect occurs. I try not to smirk as I step back and cross my arms, propping myself against the doorframe. “Yes, we can work past it, Poppy. Unless of course…” I eye her nervously, wondering for the first time if in fact this could mean more to her than I’ve considered. “Unless of course this does mean something.”
“God, no,” she shakes her head, hugging herself, my shirt wrinkling around her as she does. “It means nothing.”
The words coming from her mouth don’t bring me the comfort I’d hoped for. But nothing is better than something. Nothing is safe. Nothing is drama free. Nothing keeps Poppy here. A tightness forms in my throat as I parrot, “It means nothing.”
“We simply…slipped,” she states, pursing her lips with a nod, determination etched in her jaw. “Yes, that’s what we’ll call it. A slip.”
“A slip,” I repeat through clenched teeth.
“Yeah, you’re right. I shouldn’t overthink it. Moving out would be wildly dramatic. It was just a slip. We’re not friends with benefits. We’re not fuck buddies. We…slipped. Won’t happen again.” She seems relieved now that she’s found a label for it.
I huff out a small laugh. “Whatever you want to call it.”
“Yep.” She nods, doe eyes wide and reassured.
“And you don’t want to come back to bed with me?” I ask just to be sure we really are on the same page.
Her eyes turn to slits. “No, Booker. I think I’ve slipped enough for one night, thanks.”