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But there was something about her that caught my eye, and I refused to let go. Then I saw it – the fear in her wide, expressive eyes, triggering every protective instinct in me. Each hair on my body stood on end as if I were a warrior ready to rush into battle to chase away whatever was causing her anxiety.
That moment, when I saw the worry in Poppy’s eyes as Harper confronted those careless movers, something inside me snapped. I couldn’t just stand back. I had to intervene. It was instinctive, a deep-seated need, one I hadn't recognized in myself until I looked into her eyes.
Then she fainted, and I caught her. Despite the searing pain in my shoulder, I knew I'd endure it a thousand times over for her. In my arms, she felt small, light, fragile, and innocent – a stark contrast to everything I'd known and experienced for so long. Pure.
Just one look at Poppy, and it's clear – she's the 'good girl,' the kind you're proud to bring home to your mom. And yet, the last thing I need right now is a relationship. Poppy, of all people, should be the last one I consider; she's my neighbor, for heaven's sake.
You don't shit where you eat. If things go south, then I'd be stuck living across from her.
It's a nightmare.
I need to sort out my life first, and then maybe, just maybe, I'll consider dating again if I want to.
Does sex count as dating? Kent would say no, but my conscience says yes.
But here I am, walking into a bar with her, unable to keep my eyes from drifting toward my new neighbor. Yeah, she is stunning with a petite, curvy body that I want in my bed. Screw it, I want her laid out all over my apartment. I’m getting hard just thinking about it.
Her splash of freckles makes me think of a warm summer’s day you never want to end. Her hazel eyes look like honey poured over her skin, waiting for me to lick it off. It’s those honey-filled eyes and full, pouty lips that captivate me.
How her lips part when they look up at me intrigues me, and that fact keeps my mind off my messed-up shoulder and new job as CEO.
Maybe Kent is right; all this chemistry is just months of pent-up hard-ons. My career just made weekly hookups impossible.
The problem is I don’t know what the heck I’m doing with my life anymore. My career has changed, and so has my restraint. I counted five guys hesitating as Poppy walked by—five guys I wanted to punch for looking at her.
“I’ll get us drinks,” I bark to Kent, breaking from the group without waiting for a reply. What the heck! What is wrong with me? Why do I feel like an animal wanting to mark her so all these jerks stop looking at her?
This was a mistake. I should have stayed home and focused on unpacking and getting ready to wear a suit.
I order drinks but forget I’m down an arm, so a waitress has to help me carry them to our table. By the time I sit down, I want to leave, but I want to have Poppy thrown over my shoulder when I do so.
Maybe I just need a good fuck so I can focus.
I down half my drink on the first sip. Kent gives me a look from the corner of his eyes. I’m not a binge drinker, and he knows it.
Poppy hasn’t said one word; the bar is clearly making her uncomfortable. Harper carries the conversation and continually tries to include Poppy. I can see why they’re friends; they are opposites, where Poppy is weak, Harper is strong, and vice versa. In a way, they remind me of Kent and myself. My relationship with my older brother, Theo, is vastly different. He’s always been secluded and quiet, the opposite of Kent. I’m a mix of both of them.
“Oh shoot!” Harper gasps as her drink spills over.
There are no napkins to clean it up. Kent’s hands dart out and begin to pat down her clothing. His hands roam longer than the liquid that splashed her did, “It’s okay. I’ll get someone to clean it up and get you a new drink,” he offers.
“I’ll come with you.” Harper stands as she wipes some of the spilled drink off her dress.
“So,” Poppy clears her throat, braving to talk again once we’re alone, “Are you originally from Texas?”
I nod and grab my beer. “Born and raised. How about you?”
“North Carolina.” She replies, and her eyes look past my shoulder as if haunted by a ghost standing behind me. I follow her stare to see a guy looking at her at the bar; he’s dressed like he’s going to play golf with a navy blue collared shirt, brown hair, and a sleazy grin. She hugs her arms around herself as she shifts in her seat.
“Do you know him?” I ask as I shift on my stool to block his view from her. Back of fucker!
“No.”
Good, then you won’t care if I kill him for looking at you.
“Are you sure?” I ask when her eyes linger longer than I like.
She finally looks away from the man, “Yeah, he just reminded me of someone.”
