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Poppy ignored me. “Before, there wasn’t anyone for him to compete with. But now…”
My gaze sharpened on her face. “Is it a competition?”
“No.” She swallowed. “He thought it was just a stranger I spent one night with. Someone he’d never have to see, or get to know. Watch me interact with.”
My heart galloped in my chest.
A sharp awareness split me straight down the middle. Having to see them, get to know him, watch her interact with him was no less than I deserved.
I was nowhere near earning the right to feel any sort of jealousy, but there was no explaining the hot surge of it in my veins.
But with her sitting there looking at me, begging for this platonic relationship for her own sanity, begging with those big eyes and that sweet smile that I could do this thing for her, I ignored the heat. Ignored the surge. Ignored all of it.
“Dr. Dean has nothing to worry about,” I told her. “We’re friends, right?”
Poppy let out a slow breath and smiled. “Right.” She tilted her head. “I’ll see you at my mom’s?”
I nodded, keeping my face impassive while that fucking devil on my shoulder absolutely raged.
Do something.
Anything.
Leave.
Go.
You’re not what she needs.
With a hard swallow as the truck door slammed shut behind her, I took a few deep breaths and waited for her to leave the parking lot in front of me, then yanked the gear shift and put the truck in reverse while I followed her out to the house.
Chapter 18
Jax
I thought maybe we’d get lucky and be the first to arrive.
As usual, luck was not on my side.
“Why is this family so fucking big?” I whispered, following Poppy’s car down the last stretch of the driveway.
There were other cars parked at the house when Poppy and I arrived—I recognized Greer’s and Cameron’s, then noted a sleek black SUV that I didn’t. It was a beautiful night, and everyone was outside.
Harlow sat on the front porch with Sheila, Harlow’s daughter, Sage, running along the side of the house with Greer’s stepdaughter, Olive. Greer sitting on the front porch steps with Ivy while a basketball game was played on the driveway to the left of the house.
Cameron and Ian tussled underneath the basket, a two-handed shove from Ian garnering some boos and claps from the porch. Dribbling the basketball in front of Greer’s husband, Beckett, was a tall, wiry guy with golden-brown hair and a fucking jawline crafted by the gods.
He drove his shoulder into Beckett’s chest and easily dribbled around Ian when he tried to block him, easing the ball up into the net with an outstretched hand.
Cameron gave him a high five, and I had to grit my teethagainst the vicious spike that drove straight through my head. Poppy got out of her car first, and the living Ken doll lit the fuck up at the sight of her.
He said something to Beckett and made the guy laugh, then stepped back and drilled a three-point shot, jogging over to Poppy as he used the hem of his T-shirt to wipe the sweat off his face. He had an eight-pack, for fucking fuck’s sake.
I wanted to punch something.
Her face scrunched up when he teased her with the sweaty shirt, pulling back with a laugh when he ducked in to try to wipe his forehead against her shoulder.
Then with his big puppy saving hands, he cupped the sides of her face and ducked down to place a deep kiss on her lips. In the deepest cavity of my chest, a dark corner of my irrational, unfair brain, something growled dangerously.
