A buzz comes from my phone. “Miss Woodstock? Are you okay?”
I realize Detective Carter is still talking in my ear, concerned from my screaming reaction to Connor sneaking up on me. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”
Connor’s eyes tick to the phone pressed to my ear. I can see the questions lurking there. So many questions. I’ve got some too, man. But not now. Now, it’s laptop time.
Priorities, Poppy.
For once, I’ve got to play this smart and not act first, ask questions never. The consequences are too high.
“I’m not interested. Have a good day.” I hang up the phone with Detective Carter still talking.
Despite my assumptions, Connor doesn’t ask who it was.
He never asks questions.
Usually, that’s because I volunteer more information than I probably should. My life’s an open book, for the most part. I’ll share it with Connor, the teller at the bank, and even my readers when I use it as inspiration. Of course, it’s usually boring as fuck. But now, it’s not.
“You ready?” I ask instead. “Let me finish putting my shoes on.”
I slip the other tennis shoe on, bending down to tie it quickly. When I stand, Connor is watching me closely. And something hits me. I’m late. He could’ve left me, gone to the pawn shop without me, or even moved on, leaving me behind to handle it on my own.
But he didn’t. He’s here. He came for me. He kept his promise, and for a man like Connor, that says something. It means a lot. Especially after that kiss.
“Thank you,” I tell him solemnly.
“We don’t have the laptop back yet,” he answers, misunderstanding. But I watch his eyes drop slowly to my lips. He wants me, even if he pushed himself away last night.
I lick them in preparation, hopeful for another taste of his strength and heat. Can’t he understand that I’m not scared, that I’ve seen the dark side of him and I’m not going away? I see the way he wars with the decision in his gaze and wonder if he knows that his own lips have parted and turned up at the corners.
Not a smirk, or arrogance, but hunger. For me. The smoldering desire overwhelms everything else, and the whole world fades away. All that matters is Connor.
But he’s not as lost as I am.
He takes a half-step back, swallowing before jerking his head toward the door. “Let’s go.”
The order surprises me. I wanted him to do what we both want and kiss me. Hell, I wanted him to pick me up, throw me on my bed, and tear my clothes off before ravaging my more than willing body. So I’m disappointed, painfully so. Especially at my core, which is so wet I might as well be swimming in the ocean.
The sharp stab of the lost opportunity breaks the surface, reminding me of what today is about. My laptop. My manuscript. If Connor can focus, so can I.
“Yeah, let’s go.” I walk quickly out to the living room, where Nut and Juice are now napping on the sofa. I gave up long ago trying to keep them off the furniture, and now, I don’t dare disturb them. They always wake up grumpy, but especially so when I’m leaving. So I’m as quiet as I can be while grabbing my keys and purse. Connor follows, leading me out to his truck, and we drive to the pawn shop.
It’s sunny today, which makes the place look somehow even grungier than it did yesterday afternoon. Against the bright blue sky, the yellow awning appears even more faded and sad, and the dirty windows are covered in streaks from where the rain ran down.
“I need you to do something for me,” Connor says as we park. “Dead serious, Poppy.”
The way he just called me Poppy has me nodding and half melting. God, to hear him say my name . . . “Anything.”
“Keep your mouth shut and follow my lead.”
And there’s my little dose of ice water to put me back on track. “No way.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize you had a plan.” He side-eyes me, holding a hand out in invitation to share this magical, mystical, and nonexistent plan. Unfortunately, he’s right. I plan out books and stories in slightly messy but organized ways.
Life? About the only thing I’m not diving for that I want is between his legs, and that’s because I don’t think I can get my head in between his steering wheel and his crotch.
“I’m going to ask for it,” I tell him in reply, acting as if I’ve had a legit plan for hours. “If that doesn’t work, then I’ll demand it. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll start smashing shit and throwing anything in arm’s reach until he gives me the laptop just to get me to stop.”
Connor laughs. It still sounds a little rusty, like it did at his parents’ house, but it’s warm and genuine and sends little chills down my spine. Later, I’ll replay it in my mind and enjoy it, maybe in bed where I can really appreciate it like I did last night. Now, it pisses me off.