Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 92646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Oh.
Guess I had not known that, but it makes sense. Of course a grown ass woman doesn’t want two male morons for roommates—I’ve already caught her almost naked once. I don’t blame her for wanting to get the fuck outa here so she can have actual privacy.
"Right. Yeah," I say, forcing a grin. "Makes sense."
It feels like someone just sucker-punched me right in the ribs—and now I’m sitting here, grinning like a dumbass while my insides curl up and die.
Because I like having her here.
I really like having her here.
"I mean," Poppy adds quickly, like she can sense the slight shift in my mood, "I’m not in a rush or anything. I haven’t met Cash or the dog yet, so there’s still a chance y’all might drive me completely insane.”
“Who me? Never.”
"Want to know something?” she asks softly. “You’re not what I expected."
"Is that so?" I turn toward her, so we’re facing one another.
"Yes. I thought you’d be cocky," she murmurs. "Arrogant. A bit of a big, dumb jock."
Well shit. Was that a compliment?
"Only a bit of a dumb jock?" I tease, even as my pulse thunders. “Thanks.”
Poppy’s head shakes. “I didn’t mean it like that—I meant. You surprised me, in a good way. Not once have I felt uncomfortable.” She hesitates. “Never mind, that’s a lie. I felt uncomfortable when you saw my tits on night one.”
Don’t look down at her chest, don’t look down at her chest, don’t look down—
I glance down.
Of course I glance down.
Her boobs are like beacons, drawing me in. Two magnets I can’t fucking not look at, addling my brain into wanting to say the dumbest shit. Into wanting to confess the thoughts swirling in my goddamn brain.
Like: I can’t stop thinking about you.
Like: I dreamt about you last night, and when I woke up this morning, my dick was hard.
Like: I think you’re beautiful and funny and would literally lose my mind if you ever looked at me the way I’m trying not to look at you.
I clear my throat, dragging my gaze back up to her face—because that's where it belongs, and because if I stare any longer, I’m either going to spontaneously combust or get slapped.
Poppy’s still watching me, like she can read every filthy, chaotic thought rattling around in my skull.
She shifts, tucking her legs underneath her again. Clears her throat too, which makes me feel marginally better about the fact that I am moments away from absolutely losing it.
“Can I ask you something?” she says, voice a little smaller now, like she’s not sure if she should.
I nod, settling back against the headboard. “Go for it.”
I am an open book.
Mostly.
She hesitates. Bites her bottom lip. Looks at me from under those long lashes that have been my slow, inevitable downfall since day one.
“Why are you still single?” she finally blurts. “You’re—you know. You.”
I blink, surprised. Laugh a little under my breath. “You mean a big, dumb jock with a star tattoo for his sister, who’s a homebody that would rather not go to the bars?”
“Stop it, Turner. I did not call you a big dumb jock,” she says, frustrated. “I mean—you’re great. And funny. And… not hard to look at.”
I pretend to preen, fluttering my lashes. “Flatter me some more.”
I study her for a second, feeling the truth rise up in my throat so easily it’s almost scary.
“Guess it’s because…” I say quietly, “I’m not really into half-ass things. If I’m in, I’m all in. No games. No staying on the damn apps, waiting for something better to come along. And I’ve noticed that’s not how dating is these days. Everyone is always looking for the next best thing.”
I’m not willing to settle.
“What about you?” I ask, nudging her foot. “Why are you still single?”
“For a lot of the same reasons,” she says finally, voice low. “I don’t... date just to date. And it has been hard because as I’ve established my career, I’ve moved quite a few times. I don’t really want to waste time when I’m just passing through, you know?”
I get it.
At any given time, I could be traded to another team and have to move. No guarantees.
No permanence.
We’re both living on borrowed time.
“Sure, makes sense,” I say, softer now. “You protect yourself.”
Her mouth twists, like she’s trying to smile but can’t quite get there. “Yeah. Kind of have to.”
I shift on the mattress, turning onto my side to face her more fully. Poppy mirrors the movement, propping her head up with one hand, elbow denting the pillow between us.
Her fingers are so close I could touch them if I wanted. So close it’s stupid.
The TV hums in the background. Some dumb late-night infomercial playing to an audience of two idiots trying not to fall harder.
“Poppy,” I murmur, searching her face.
She smiles, small and shy and heart stopping. “Hmm?”