Page 52 of Smooth Talk

Chapter 22

Grayson

I’m about to drive over to Poppy’s to pick her up for our first official date. I don’t know what happened Wednesday. It was like a switch was flipped. She was done being unsure about me and her. She’d taken charge, and it was hot. She’d let me know how she felt and expected me to give her an honest answer as to my feelings. Which I did. We haven’t labeled our relationship, but I did tell her I wanted to date her exclusively.

Poppy’s not a huge fan of PDA, and I’m okay with that; I wasn’t expecting a full-on game of tonsil hockey in front of my parents. But I am expecting some noteworthy private time with my woman. I’m cool with taking things slow. But tonight, will be our third date if you count our picnic and fishing trip. And I’m counting them.

All the little tastes I’ve gotten have built the suspense. I’ve never been in this situation before, and while I don’t mind waiting if she isn’t ready, I’m hoping like hell she is. My need for her is more than physical. But damn, it is also physical. I want that woman’s long legs wrapped around me as I drive into her. I want her on her knees taking me from behind with my hand tangled in her hair. I want her up against the wall. In the shower. On my kitchen counter. Tied to the bed. You name it, I’ve imagined it, and I’m ready to put theory into action.

I had the Rover washed and waxed. I’d taken time showering and grooming. I’m a man. I have hair. I don’t want to look like a baby, but I don’t want to look like a fucking Neanderthal either. In preparation for an epic evening with Miss Monroe, a close trim was in order. I ran my fingers through my hair, sprayed some cologne, put on a white button-up with my light chambray suit. I skipped the tie and the socks to keep it casual and slipped on my Ferragamo loafers. I remember Poppy’s reaction when we first met. The way her eyes drank me in. I was wearing a suit cut similar to this one. It accentuates all my good qualities (broad shoulders, trim waist, toned ass). I can thank Gunner for my enhanced physique. I’d slacked off when I first opened the practice, but he’s been my running partner for the past few years and pushes me harder ensuring we both get a better workout.

He whines from his perch on my bed, almost like he read my mind and heard the magic word, and I look over my shoulder at him. “You’ll have to move before we get back, bud, I’ve got plans for that bed tonight. How do I look?” He tilts his head like he’s thinking hard about answering. I hope she comes home with me. “I’ll take you for a r-u-n.” (I spell it out because I don’t have time for that shit now.) “Probably right after I get on to you for humping Poppy’s leg like you always do.” He grumble huffs, “I know it’s hard buddy, it’s hard for me too sometimes.” I shoot my cuffs and look one last time in the mirror, “think she’ll approve?” He barks his support. I must admit, I do look good. I always feel more confident in a suit. Grabbing my phone, wallet and keys, I head out.

I pull up to her house thirty minutes before our 7:00 reservation at La Taberna. She mentioned it’s her favorite. It also happens to be one of mine. Their scallops in brown butter with squash ravioli in cream sauce is orgasmic. No, really. My eyes roll back in my head with every bite. I’m excited. Almost as excited as I am to have Poppy all to myself for more than a few minutes, which I made sure we’ll have (I rented out their private room). I grab the bouquet from the front seat that I picked up earlier— okay, Bev picked it up for me, but I did order the flowers— and trot up the steps of her front porch. I knock and wait, deep breath. Nothing could have prepared me for when she opens the door.

Red heels. Sky-high red heels that tie with ribbons around her ankles. Miles of smooth creamy skin on display. I lick my lips and swallow hard; fuck, my mouth is dry. A tiny black dress that wraps around and around her soft curves. The sexiest package I’ve ever seen, and I want to unwrap her. Grab the bottom of that bandage and spin. Hell, I’m getting hard. Her dark red hair is in soft curls, draped over one bare shoulder. She’s smiling. Her lips are painted the exact same shade as her shoes. I know because my gaze keeps pinging between the two like a goddamned pin ball machine. I can’t breathe. I want to fuck her in just those heels. I want those red lips wrapped around my cock. I am so close to pushing my way inside, slamming the door and shoving her against it. Who needs dinner when I can just eat her? The memory of how good she tastes is quickly deteriorating my self-control.

Her mouth is moving. Shit, she’s talking. Focus. “Are those for me?” She asks pointing toward the flowers. I unceremoniously shove them into her hands. She brings them to her nose and inhales. “Pink peonies, you remembered.”

“I told you, I remember what’s important.” My voice comes out much gruffer than expected, so I clear my throat and swallow again. She’d mentioned the flowers were her favorite when I took her and Harp fishing. Apparently, that’s what those gigantic bushes are that surround the back porch of the farmhouse.

“I’ll just put these in water, and we can go.” She turns, and I catch a glimpse of her spectacular backside. That dress looks amazing on her. It’s not strapless like I’d assumed. I can see the one strap over her shoulder from behind that was hiding under her hair in the front. It’s sexy as hell. Her skin is glowing; it looks so soft. I wonder if she’s wearing a bra. From the glimpse that I got the other day, I can tell her breasts are amazing. These pants are too thin to hide what I’ve got going on down there. I adjust myself before she turns around and walks toward me.

She puts her hand on my chest and leans up to brush a kiss on my cheek. Lightly wiping away any smudged lipstick with her thumb, she asks, “Thank you for the flowers. Are you ready?”

I can’t help but think I’ve been ready for this for a long time. Longer than before I even realized it’s what I wanted. That she was what I wanted. I smile, hold out my elbow for her to loop her hand through and guide her out the door.

“I was born ready.” She giggles in response. Then, because I haven’t said it aloud yet, I tell her how beautiful she looks. She blushes, and it only enhances her beauty. I want to kiss her. And not stop. I’m in so much trouble with this woman.

Dinner was delicious, conversation stimulating, the wine impeccable. Holding her in my arms again felt so right. I love the way her body molds to mine, the way her scent envelops me. When I’d led her to the dancefloor, we were alone, but by the time we’d left, there were more than a few couples around us. I couldn’t take it anymore. I wanted to get closer to her than was appropriate in a public setting.

Poppy is perfect. Gorgeous, clever, passionate. It’s easy to see where Harper gets her enthusiasm. She’s an amazing mom and a talented professional, and she’s doing it all on her own, which blows my mind. She doesn’t try too hard to impress me. She has everything in life she needs—successful business, close family and friends, a nice home. She doesn’t need me. And it’s so refreshing to be with someone like that. The more time I spend with her, the clearer it becomes what I’ve been missing my whole life.

I need her. After I took care of the bill and suggested we take this little party back to my place, she didn’t resist. Granted I said it was so she could get a look at the space, but really, I’m not ready to say goodnight. There are a couple specific other things I’d like to do as well, but I’m willing be patient. She’s worth the wait.

She ends her call to Harp (who’s having a wild night at GiGi’s) as I guide her through the door and into my living room. Taking off my coat, Gunner takes the opportunity to attack. Licking, sniffing, nuzzling (okay, humping, he’s humping her leg). I sigh. Sometimes, I want to act just like my damn dog. She giggles, then lightly commands, “Down boy. Sit.” She scratches his ears. He obeys, of course. I don’t know any male that could refuse her.

“Why don’t you have a look around while I take Gunner out? I’ll be back in 20 and we can discuss your ideas.”

“Okay,” she says and walks further into the room. “You’re not worried I’ll snoop while you’re out?”

“I trust you,” I say off-handedly and realize I don’t just trust her not to go through my things. I trust her, and I do not trust easily. I’ve been burned. It only took one time for me to learn my lesson. I’ve moved on since then. Literally moved. Poppy’s the only woman I’ve let inside my home besides my mom and sisters. The Enclave is my sanctuary. I don’t let anyone in; the women I meet are typically happy to go to a hotel or back to their place. Untrustworthy, vindictive, or irrational people knowing where I sleep is a bad idea. But, Poppy’s honest, real. She doesn’t care about money, social status or fame. She doesn’t have a vindictive bone in her body; I don’t need protection from her. She’s already on my approved list of guests and could technically come and go as she pleased, not that I’ve told her yet. I will, there are just other things I want to do first. I take one last look at her wandering through my living area before grabbing Gun’s leash and walk out the door. A funny little twinge settles in my chest at how right she looks in my home. I don’t hide the smile threatening to break my face in half. Poppy makes me happy.

When I get back, She’s no longer in the living room. I call her name, but there’s no answer. Surely, she wouldn’t have left without telling me. I slip off my shoes by the door and crate Gunner for the night, I’d rather not be disturbed. But the more time that passes without any response, the more worried I get. I start sweating and my mind starts racing. Is Harper okay? Did she have an emergency? Did I do something to scare her off? I had plans for that woman tonight, and they didn’t include a solo jerk session in the shower with fantasies of her in those heels running through my mind. Although, that does seem like something I should file-away for later use.

Maybe she hates my house? She always talks about your home being an extension of you. Your choices. Your personality. Your heart. I wonder what mine says about me. Looking critically, the room doesn’t exactly scream Grayson. Pretentious douche, maybe, but that’s not me. I gave my mother’s designer carte blanche when I bought it. It’s stark, colorless, uninviting. He envisioned a bachelor pad, which was okay then. But I have different ideas now. I need Poppy to like my home, enjoy spending time here. A lot of time. With me. And Harper and Gunner too. One little happy family. I look out the window and picture us there. Harper on the tire swing spinning from a branch on the old oak tree, giggling. Gunner running circles around her. Me and Poppy in the pool. Smiling at them. At each other. Touching each other. Skin wet. Fuck, I need to find her.

I start up the stairs calling out a little louder than the first time. I did kind of give her free reign. Maybe she went exploring.

“You’re ice-cold,” I hear her slightly muffled voice call to me.

So, she wants to play games. I haven’t played the warmer/colder game since I was a kid, but I’m more than happy to play it with Poppy now. Especially because I have a feeling the reward for winning will be so. Fucking. Hot. Pun intended.

I walk back through the living room, “Poppy, where are you?” I sing-song. As masculinely as possible.

“You’re getting warmer.” I hear the smirk in her voice as I trail down the hall toward the sound of it. There are two rooms on this end of the house, and I’m sincerely hoping she’s not in my office. Maybe I’m reading the situation wrong and she’d rather talk business than head to pleasure town. Please, God, don’t let that be the case.

“You’re hot,” she says when my feet carry me past the office door.

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