Page 76 of Catching Sparks

“I don’t like hearing you say that, Poppy,” Anna murmurs.

“I’m not saying I’m ugly or anything. I just mean, while we have some things in common, I don’t see myself being able to play the doting girlfriend hanging on his arm at all the fancy dinners and events that I’m sure he’s required to attend. I’m not prim and proper—fuck, I’m loud, and my vocabulary has more curse words in it than appropriate ones. If I’m not in a pair of boots and a shirt with a hole in it, I’m half-naked on a pole or in a dress that’s probably too short. That’s not the type of woman a man like him wants outside of our current arrangement, and that’s fine with me,” I explain.

My shoulder lifts in a nonchalant shrug, but every word I’ve spoken sours my stomach until I’m positive I’ll have to run to the bathroom.

I’m hit with the desire to ask him if he believes what I’ve said and whether what we’re doing is even officially a friends-with-benefits thing or if we’re just too horny to avoid fucking every chance we get.

But if the answers hurt me, it would take weeks to recover from the hit. I won’t deny myself that honesty.

“No offense, Poppy, but if he cared all that much about your appearance or what you do for work, he wouldn’t have risked it in the first place,” Anna says, sucking back the rest of her drink before sliding it beside my empty glass.

Bryce is the only one with a half-full drink, and she nurses it too slowly, like she’s doing it on purpose. Her expression shifts into one of contemplation as she continues tapping her nails on the table.

“I agree with Anna. But I’ll add that I think you should find out sooner rather than later whether you’re right or wrong. Just in case he truly is as big of a douchebag as I worry he is. If you’re going to continue sleeping with him while he’s here, then you need to make sure you’re both open about what comes afterward. I love you, and I just worry about you getting hurt at the end of this,” she explains, setting a comforting hand on my arm. It’s the first sign that she’s starting to thaw a bit, and I relax into the touch, soaking it in.

“How do you suggest I get him to tell me all that? It’s not like I’ll be able to ask him around everyone,” I mutter.

Anna’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “Maybe you don’t have to ask him at all.”

My pulse quickens. “You’re going to get me in trouble, aren’t you?”

“You’ve always liked a bit of trouble, Pops,” Bryce adds slyly, confirming that I’m going to end the night with a flaming red ass by the time Garrison is done with me.

27

POPPY

I feel the moment Garrison arrives at Peakside.

The air grows dense, my nipples tightening in anticipation. There’s no need to look toward the door for confirmation. I know he’ll come to me.

The bar top is cool beneath my forearms as I rest forward against it, swirling the tiny black straw through the deep brown liquid in my glass. The same drink he ordered and made me drink the night he walked me home. I’ve only had one sip, just enough to leave my throat burning and the scent of whiskey on my breath. It eased some of the nerves fluttering through me but didn’t erase them completely.

A Brody Steele song drifts through the air, playing on the old speakers above the bar. I proudly recognized it after the opening notes as his second single, a classic in his small but popular repertoire. I’m grateful it’s an upbeat one, not up for a slow love song right now.

I need something fast that won’t have me slipping into my mind and overthinking everything that I’m about to do.

The hairs on my arms rise at the same moment I inhale through my nose and smell Garrison’s cologne, the luxury scent something from one of those designer shops I can’t afford. My mouth goes dry, excitement thrumming in my blood.

“Is there a reason you’re not at the table with everyone else?” The voice is low and throaty in my ear.

I shiver, keeping my eyes trained forward on the shelves of liquor behind the bar. “Are you feeling better?”

“Mmm. Now.”

His body settles beside mine, so much power rippling from him that it’s almost hard to breathe beneath the weight of it. My temperature spikes when he splays a hand across the top of my ass, over the thin material of my purple sundress. The slight hitch in his breathing when the tip of his finger tugs at the band of my panties beneath it has me soaking the gusset.

“I feel underdressed,” he adds gruffly.

“I’m not sure you could ever be underdressed in a thousand-dollar suit.”

“Look at me.” His fingers flex over my back, drifting low enough to feel the cellulite on my ass cheek. He tightens his grip, not put off by it. “And I’ve never owned a suit that cheap.”

Turning my head, I finally do look at him. My eyes grow wide, sweat breaking out on the back of my neck. The sight of the jeans isn’t surprising after seeing him at the ranch, but my knees grow weak at the sight of him in cowboy boots. A man in a pair of muddied-up boots has always turned me on, but I should have known my reaction to Garrison wearing them would put all previous ones to shame. He wore these on purpose. It’s not a coincidence after I told him how much I like them.

It’s a miracle I’m able to keep myself from shoving him onto the bar and?—

“We can leave,” he rasps, reading my expression or goddamn mind, I don’t know or care. “Right now.”

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