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“Pumpkin.” I smile. “Or did you want to tell them the other option?” I ask Poppy.
Poppy narrows her eyes on me, but her lips are curved up. “You just wait until I come up with a nickname for you, neighbor,” she playfully warns.
I rest my good elbow on the table, “I’m patient. I’ll wait as long as you need,” I state.
“Oh!” Harper gasps, “I knew I liked you, Julian.” She grabs her drink and takes a sip.
I smirk at Harper. Something tells me Harper’s opinion weighs heavy for Poppy.
When I look at Poppy, her face changes; the red flush to her cheeks flees like a rabbit escaping a wolf's jaws. Something about my words didn’t settle well with her. I meant it as a good intention; I am patient. But the way her eyes ghost over tells me someone must have said something similar to her, but for whatever reason, it caused her an immense amount of grief.
“So when are you moving off to Texas?” Kent questions Harper, who casually sips her drink. It’s straight-up whisky, neat, which completely throws me off. In my mind, Harper would have ordered a stereotypical pink, sugary cocktail — the kind that’s more about the presentation than the substance.
Poppy isn't listening; her eyes drift back toward the direction where the man at the bar is standing.
“I’m not moving to Texas; I’m still trying to convince Poppy to move to Maryland with me. I failed, but I never give up.” Harper swings her arm around Poppy’s shoulders, tugging her closer and finally snapping Poppy out of her trance.
My neck stiffens. I grab my beer and swallow a sip, but I taste nothing. Why the heck does the idea of Poppy moving far away irritate me? It would feel like I just stumbled upon a treasure map but didn’t get to go on the adventure.
How can I resist pumpkin spice? When we eavesdropped on that conversation, I was feral. Lust took over, and it's still inside my body, tingling my fingertips. I've thought about tasting and licking every inch of her pumpkin-scented body.
I run my fingers through my hair, but even that movement causes a strain against my mending wounds.
“Maryland?” Kent replies with a lopsided grin, “I go to Maryland for work sometimes.”
“Really?” Harper purrs as she flicks her blonde hair back. “What do you do for work?”
I don’t know why they bother with the small talk. A fool could predict what would happen; a wise man would know neither is the relationship type. Just get down to business and fuck already.
“I’m the CMO for our family business. My family uses my face to sell the goods. It’s a hard and thankless task, but someone has to do it.” Kent fakes exhaustion.
When Kent isn’t at work, he’s a total playboy, making jokes and pulling pranks. But the most surprising fact is when he is working, he’s ruthless and gets the contract signed no matter what. My baby brother has landed billion-dollar contracts that other companies can only dream of. He should be CEO, not me. This facade of being a goofy playboy makes Dad not trust him to run the company.
That’s why Kent does it. None of us want to be CEO because we will never live up to what our dad wants. Ever since my mom died, Dad just turned cold. He loves us with all his broken heart, but he’s never happy, never smiles.
“So you’re just a pretty face?” Harper challenges, “That’s a shame." Her eyes looked around the bar. "I like an intelligent head, along with a pretty face." She responds with a devilish grin.
Jesus, that girl is a dangerous one. Kent might have met his match. Most girls Kent brings home will just nod and smile, Harper is my brother in his dream female’s body, and Kent would like nothing more than to fuck the female version of himself.
"Here we go.” Poppy mumbles.
"Is she always like that?" I whisper to Poppy. I slyly try to edge my stool closer to hers.
Poppy raises a brow. "This is conservative."
"Hey," Kent leans closer to Harper, grasping her chin and bringing his face almost nose to nose with hers, "Keep those wandering eyes focused right here, baby. I've got the prettiest face and the most impressive head."
“Fuck off, Kent,” I grumble. Jesus, he’s a new level of embarrassment. I land a hard kick to his shin under the table that should have him limping for at least a day.
Kent reaches out and smacks my back right on my bandage.
I grind my teeth.
“Oh, crap. Sorry, bro, I keep forgetting about that.”
Kent hasn’t forgotten I’m broken; he’s still upset I put myself in this situation in the first place. Every accidental hit and pat is his way of making me feel the suffering he felt while I was gone.
"What do you do, Julian?" Harper asks, but her blue eyes remain on my brother.
