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)
Okay. So maybe we aren’t thinking of the same things.
Ha!
I follow her, taking off the cowboy hat and placing it back on the rack, trailing along as she runs her hands along the display case. M&Ms of every color. Gumballs. Rock candy.
“I used to love rock candy when I was a kid,” she tells me, taking a pink piece out of the case and resting it on her tongue. “I tried making it once with my friend Cara.”
Her lips wrap around the pink crystal like she’s got no idea what it’s doing to me, and my brain is short-circuiting. Poppy sucks on it, completely oblivious to the fact that my cock just twitched a little inside my pants.
I swallow hard, dragging my eyes from her lips to her eyes, forcing myself to focus on the words coming out of her mouth and not the way her tongue just slid over that stupid piece of candy.
“And?”
“And,” Poppy laughs, tossing the candy back into the bin, “her dumb little brother had eaten all the sugar crystals off the strings and puked rainbow vomit all over the kitchen floor.”
Rainbow vomit.
Right.
I stare at her mouth.
She sucks on the tip of the stick.
Licks it.
When she pops the candy out of her mouth, our eyes meet as she drags her tongue along the edge of it before holding it toward me, offering me some. “You want?”
Yes.
Yes, I really fucking want.
I lean in, close enough to smell the candy on her breath. “Poppy, are you flirting with me?”
Her gaze drops to my mouth. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether or not you’re flirting back.”
I’m not.
But not because I don’t want to.
It’s just—I’m bad at it.
Flirting, I mean. Everything else…
Amazing.
Before I can say a word, she spins away, hair swinging, hips swaying, and I’m left standing there like a sucker, my brain somewhere between wanting to pin her against this candy counter and wondering if we’ve even looked for the damn piñata yet.
poppy
. . .
Itug Turner down the aisle, dodging inflatable aliens and oversized, floating balloons while the music overhead switches to a ukulele version of “Moana”.
We cannot for the life of us find the piñata we came for.
“It should be here,” he mutters, scanning the shelves stacked with piñatas. “Their website said they had one in stock.”
I squint at the wall of colorful paper animals. There’s a unicorn. A giant teacup. A dinosaur with googly eyes, which—in my opinion—everyone should have at their party.
“Yikes,” I say, plucking up a tiny mermaid stuffed doll with disturbingly realistic eyes off a nearby shelf. “If this thing came to life, it would murder us in our sleep.”
“Hell no.” Turner grabs it from my hand and stares into its plush face, frowning. “Why does she look like she wants to steal my soul?”
“Because she does.”
He shoves it back onto the shelf and steps back, frustrated. “Crap.”
“Maybe the lizard is somewhere else?” I suggest hopefully, grabbing his arm again and dragging him to the next one. But all we find are more random decorations and balloons, some of which are shaped like poop emojis, video game logos—and a dragon that looks like it’s seen better days.
Deflated.
“Bet we could get a discount on this walking balloon. It only has one arm.”
“A dragon cannot be a lizard,” Turner mutters, the muscles flexing beneath his shirt.
Yum.
I watch the way his fingers slide over his skin, the way his forearms tense, the veins there prominent and distracting. Focus, Poppy.
We’re here for a child’s birthday party. This is not sexy time. This is go time.
“Okay,” I say, pulling in a breath. “So, if we can’t find the lizard, what’s your backup plan?”
Turner rubs at his jaw, glancing around like he’s about to spot the mythical Smash Lizard hiding behind a display of plastic tiaras. “I don’t know. My nephew specifically asked for that one.”
“Okay, well…” Then I don’t know what to tell you. “If you put a rush on it—you could order one.”
He turns to look down at me. “You think so?”
“For sure.”
“Or,” he says, leaning in a little closer. “We just go to another store.”
“Oh, you want to keep hanging out with me?” I tease, bumping his hip with mine.
Turner’s eyes flick to my mouth. “Yeah,” he says, his voice low. “I do.”
I clear my throat, flashing him a grin. “Okay then. Let’s go find your monster lizard.”
Get it? Monster lizard?
Dick?!
Real mature, Poppy…
We head back to the truck, and when we’re settled inside, he cranks the AC up to full blast. The cool air whips my hair around, sending a few strands into my lip gloss. I swipe them away, glancing sideways at him.
“Where to now, cowboy?” I ask, buckling my seatbelt.
“Uh… there’s that giant party warehouse down by the freeway,” he says, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting casually on his thigh. “We can try there.”