Page 58 of Smooth Talk

Chapter 25

Grayson

It’s been five weeks of bliss. I had no idea having a girlfriend could be this amazing. All my last girlfriend did was complain, drag me to sorority parties, spend my money and occasionally give me blowjobs (we didn’t date long). Poppy and I go to dinner, the movies, the park, bowling, hiking, riding, shopping; we stay home and lounge together. It doesn’t matter what we do. We have fun. Every time. We’ve yet to get in an argument. I feel like we’ve set a relationship record. Not just for me, but the world. She’s meeting me later to go over swatches and sketches for my house. Her schedule just freed up and I’m excited to see her ideas.

I can’t wait for her to get here. Ava’s watching Harper, and we have all night together. Alone. Which means I get to wake up with her in my arms tomorrow morning. She doesn’t have to leave our bed to get in the guest bed at the crack of dawn before Harp wakes up. She worries sleeping in the same bed will send the wrong message to Harp.

One morning she woke up earlier than expected (I woke Poppy with my dick before the alarm went off), we got a little carried away and Harper almost caught us. No biggie, if we weren’t both naked and the sheets hadn’t vacated the bed. We heard her little voice calling for us and her bare feet slapping down the hall over our moans of pleasure. Poppy practically knocked me off the bed backward in her haste to get away. I’ve never seen her move so fast, post-orgasm. She managed to throw on her dress from the night before and toss the duvet on top of me before Harp walked in. She thought it was no big deal that we’d had a ‘sleep over,’ when she’d found her mom in my room at that ungodly hour, then she’d asked for pancakes. A minute later I heard my tv in the living room turn on, and Poppy gave me a look that told me she was less than pleased. But she’d walked out, gone into the kitchen and made blueberry pancakes for all of us. And they were delicious.

I’d apologized for my behavior and made it up to her while Harper was in the guest shower cleaning up from her syrup bath. And yes, when I say, ‘made it up to her,’ I mean that I ate Poppy’s pussy in my shower before we cleaned ourselves up. Guess those pancakes weren’t quite as filling as I thought. But I digress.

I love sleeping with Poppy. In the past, I would disconnect and allow nature to take its course, but I can’t do that with her. Our connection is unreal. Her face is so expressive, and I love watching every reaction to my hands, my mouth, my cock. I love being the one to make her come apart. But it’s not just the sex; it’s having her beside me. Her small soft body pressed up against mine.

When I reach out for her and touch cool sheets instead of smooth warm skin, it’s hard to go back to sleep. I need to find a way to talk her into having ‘sleep overs’ every night, maybe there’s a way to get Harp to understand without having ‘the talk,’ it’s a bit early for that. I’m thinking my only option may be asking them to move in, and while living together seems like a perfectly fine idea to me, something tells me Poppy’s not ready for that. Yet, it doesn’t exactly surprise me that I am. I’ll just have to smooth talk her. I’m getting all kinds of ideas. My phone dings with an incoming text.

Jake: May have a lead. I’ll know more in the am. Meet at the station?

Me: Thanks, man. Time?

Jake: Before noon. I’m heading out to the cabin after & service is shit out there

Me: See you at 8

We’ve basically gotten nowhere really. A few dead ends that Jake or the FBI have run down. Whoever did this is smart. Which rules out Sanders. And Rusty. Our first course of action was to quietly investigate them both. Rusty was cooperative to an extent. Apparently, the thought of me behind bars was enough to loosen his tongue a bit, but he didn’t divulge anything significant, not even the names of his sources (that’s right, plural ‘sources,’ as in more than one). At least he agreed to keep the story under wraps until he had more evidence. He and Sanders are no longer the prime suspects; neither have a background in computers or a criminal history. We haven’t completely ruled out Sanders Senior, but his involvement is looking less likely by the day. The FBI has tails on all of them, just in case.

Jake did as much as he could with limited resources (our police department employs just under 100 people— including admin). He couldn’t devote all of his time to a case that’s technically out of his jurisdiction, when his office has stacks of cases as it is. I’m wondering if that FBI agent uncovered something. Unfortunately, if this new lead turns up what every other one has; we’ll still have nothing. Which means an unknown someone is watching me, targeting me, framing me—their means and motives unclear.

Buddy (O’s guy. Yeah, he never divulged his name, so that’s how I refer to him) hasn’t been able to successfully trace the original transaction; he got pinged around the globe a few thousand times (whatever that means) and still ended up with nada. He was, however, able to find some connections on the dark web between the Desert Kings and not one, but several crime families. Apparently, they deal with The Russians, The Italians, The Irish and The Mexicans. Their hands are in so many freakin' pies. It’s hard to believe a biker gang from such a small town could be this well connected.

Leads are almost endless and everywhere. It’s frustrating, but Buddy says he’s working on something. He actually used a lot of big words that I didn’t comprehend and don’t remember, but O nodded along with the explanation, so I felt confident it wasn’t all complete horseshit. He’s brilliant, so whoever’s behind this has to be a freaking genius.

The first time I met Buddy; I extended my hand and thanked him for his assistance. He ignored my hand and replied, ‘it was nice meeting you dark Oliver,’ nodded his head— dismissing me, and began typing again. I don’t know his name; he doesn’t care to know mine, and I couldn’t care less if he helps us catch these a-hole(s). My phone pings again.

Poppy: I’m leaving the office now. I got delayed. Sorry in advance for being late

Me: I don’t think it works that way, but I’ll take it. Bev and Can are leaving now. They’ve been instructed to not bother me for any reason

Poppy: So, I’ve got you all to myself?

Me: My full undivided attention

Poppy: Sounds intense

Me: It will be. How do tacos sound?

Poppy: I love tacos! Taco emoji. Heart eyes emoji

Me: What a coincidence, so do I

I wonder if she caught the innuendo. It’s okay, she will soon enough.

Poppy: *giggle* See you in 15

She got it. I don’t know why I doubted her. I smile and whisper to myself, “God I love that woman.” It’s the first time I’ve said it aloud. But I do. I love Poppy. I’ve thought it several times, but now the words have come out, it’s going to be hard to hold them back from her. I love her sense of humor, her kindness, her strength, her enthusiasm for life. The way she talks, laughs, walks, the way she cares for me. I love her. I find new reasons daily, and each day that feeling grows. I know we haven’t been together long, but I can’t help how I feel. Each time I brushed off that tightening in my chest when she was around, or the way my face lit up when she called or texted, or the stupid grin I couldn’t keep off my face when I thought of her, which is basically all the time; so you can imagine what an idiot I look like on the daily. It’s happened so gradually, but at the same time, so quickly. I didn’t have time to stop it, and I don’t want to.

I know she feels something for me too. It might not be love yet, but it’s getting there. I can see it in her eyes, but I also sense her hesitation. She’s had shit for luck with men and a history of running. I don’t want to scare her off; I just need to find the perfect time to tell her how I feel. Think it should be before, during, or after I eat her taco?

Yeah, me either.

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