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Poppy’s mouth fell open. “Seriously?”
My mouth edged up in a wry smile. “More like eight hundred,” I said. I didn’t need to squeeze the fucker’s hand to bring him down to his metaphorical knees.
“Shutup,” Poppy exclaimed.
“You didn’t know where he was going?” Dean asked.
She shook her head, incredulity stamped in her big eyes. “No. We didn’t talk about it.”
Poppy and I exchanged a quick, tense look, and I felt it down to my fucking toes. Wasn’t much talking happening that night at all, really.
“I’d love to hear about it,” Dean said. “If you don’t mind sharing, that is.”
Did I mind sharing, he asked. I didn’t really want to share shit with this guy—the muscles and the big brain and blue fucking eyes and his stupid fucking hand on Poppy’s hip
No, I didn’t want to share at all.
From across the driveway, Cameron caught my eye and grinned. “Jaxlovestelling stories.”
Ivy snorted into her drink. Ian cleared his throat.
Dean just smiled, either too genuine of a person to register the blatant sarcasm in my friend’s voice, or he was just really fucking oblivious. “Do you?”
“Fucking love it,” I answered, only the slightest growl to my voice.
“Great,” he said. “Maybe you could tell me over dinner.”
“I think my mom has you two on opposite ends of the table in case this little intro went badly,” Poppy admitted.
Dean’s face softened as he looked down at her, and hell if it didn’t look genuine. My chest went tight, a thousand pounds of pressure while I registered the slight softening in her eyes too.
“No chance of that, babe,” he said gently. “There’s no reason for Jax and me not to get along.” He moved his gaze back to mine, and for the first time, I saw the slightest challenge there, enough to lift the hairs on the back of my neck. “Clearly, we have something really important in common. That’s enough of a reason, isn’t it?”
Poppy pinched his side, and he laughed.
An angry restlessness skittered under my skin.
Do something.
Anything.
Leave.
Go.
You’re not what she needs.
What was I doing here? What was I playing at? I couldn’t be that guy. Who pretended to be part of the family, when my presence made everyone uncomfortable.
Would it always be like this?
Birthday parties. Christmas. Graduations.
Poppy and Dr. Dean, the picture-perfect partner with agreat jaw and saintlike job and a gold fucking star in emotional intelligence.
“All right, kids, let’s go on inside,” Sheila called from the front porch. “Food’s ready.”
Dean and Poppy turned, his arm anchored around her hip. For a moment, my feet stayed locked tight to the ground, unable to move forward at that casual display of ownership. Poppy glanced backward, giving me an encouraging smile, but I couldn’t force myself to smile back.
