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Harper: How did the fight go? Were clothes shredded? Did cocks fly? Please tell me you got pics?
I roll my eyes and smile as I shake my head.
Poppy: Kent wants your number.
I text back.
Harper: Don’t they all? You didn’t give it to him, did you?
Poppy:Do you want me to?
She doesn’t reply immediately, making me question if she feels the same magnetic pull towards a certain Sterling brother.
Harper: Give him this number.
She text back a strange number I’ve never seen before.
Poppy: Is this a new burner phone?
Harper doesn’t give out her number, but she does keep burner phones, which she changes monthly. If a guy is lucky enough to gain her digits, he gets a fake number.
Harper: Call it.
She replies, followed by a devil emoji.
I call the number during my lunch break because I can’t resist. An automated voice comes on and says, “Hello, you have reached the customer service line for StamiStrong, the world’s number one erectile dysfunction drug. If this is a medical emergency, hang up and call 911.”
I bust out laughing, my abs clenching so tight I can skip my ab workout for the week. I hang up and text Harper back,
Poppy:You’re evil, lol.
Harper: I know, but it’s so much fun.
Chapter 31
Poppy
It’s officially Freak Out Friday.
I made it through my first workweek with Julian, each day building up to tonight: our first date.
I’ve paced a new hole in the carpet of my closet, and don't ask me to confess how many outfits I have tried on.
I throw my hands up. “This is ridiculous. He’s seen you in an old stained shirt and yoga pants from high school,” I mutter.
That’s what I love about us. He's seen me not at my highest, not with a filter of makeup on. We have a slew of embarrassing moments behind us.
“I don’t need to worry,” I state as I grab a pair of jeans. I want to look hot but still be myself, and with Julian, I feel like I can be authentic, not just a posed picture on a dating website. It's rare and precious these days. There's so much pressure to be perfect and none to be real, which is what the foundation of a good relationship should be built on. Fake sinks; real floats and weathers the storms.
I glance at my watch and feel the onset symptoms of a heart attack sinking in. I’ve got fifteen minutes before I'm supposed to meet him at his apartment. He’s cooking dinner, a task no man other than my brothers has ever done for me.
I close my eyes. “You’d like him, Peter,” I whisper to a ghost.
Then, I inhale a fresh breath of air and push away my pain. I commit to a pair of skinny jeans and a black v-neck silk blouse. I've showered, and yes, I used my pumpkin spice body wash – I like it. I've freshly blown out my hair, which took twice as long because I obsessed over every lump and bump. I opted for a fresh, clean face with just shimmery gold eyeshadow, mascara, and nude gloss.
Contrary to what Harper thinks, my entire cabinet isn’t pumpkin spice. I grab my favorite perfume, Orange Blossom by Nest, and dab it on my neck and wrists.
I grip the bottle of wine I'm bringing harder than I should. It's a wine bottle, not a stress ball; loosen your grip, or else your fingers will sever the top off like a sabrage.
