Page 24 of Never Have I Ever

Impossible and utterly intriguing.

No time like the present, I glance over once more. I’m unsure how to broach either topic, but I decide to rip off the proverbial bandage. “What is your name?”

8

Laird

A million thoughts usually tick through my brain when it comes to Poppy. She has managed to leave me speechless regularly. She did before back in Austin, but it’s different now. She’s different. Her words continue to rattle through my brain. I swear to God, I must have heard her wrong. The reality of what that might mean hits deep, and I can’t will myself to ask her to repeat it.

If she doesn’t know my name, what does that mean for all the time I’ve spent thinking about her, wondering if she ever cared or even if she was alive or dead? Did Austin really mean nothing to her? Did I mean nothing?

My gut tells me lies, reassuring me that I did. Not showing up that day still feels out of character for her. Or at least that was how I’d tried to justify it.

I guess it shouldn’t since she’s happily living, breathing, and sitting next to me in the cab of my truck. While driving back to the cabin, I keep my eyes forward. There’s still too much to process for me to respond to her.

If she knows my name, why is she messing with my head?

Coming up here is the worst idea I’ve ever had. Oh wait, it’s my sister’s fault, who conveniently hasn’t called me back. Was this a setup all along? Some fucked-up scheme she and Shane thought was a good idea?

Nikki’s usually not devious. Tulsa brought out a wilder side in her when they were dating, but that was years ago. She seems pretty settled into the band’s upward momentum and her family life. When would she have time to plot?

“Did I cross a line with you?” Poppy’s voice is as steady as her eyes are on me. My chest gets twisted just looking at her, so I don’t, trying to save myself from feeling anything for her. It’s been difficult, so I’m not sure if I’m up for the task.

Though I’m already learning she doesn’t let stuff go, I play her little game. “About ten lines, but who’s counting?”

“You are, apparently,” she says, laughing to herself, “but that’s okay. I can count too. I have you down for four.”

I tweak my neck, turning to face her so fast. “Four?” I shake my head, refusing that shit. “No fucking way.”

“Way. You’ve crossed a line with me four times.” She glances at the road and then back at me, grinning. “That I’ve counted.”

She’s so sure of herself that I need to hear this bullshit. “Name ’em.”

“You scared the crap out of me and made me fall in the kitchen.” Whipping a finger into the air between us, which just happens to be her middle, she says, “That’s one. When you told me to get out of the cabin. That’s two.” Another finger added. “You spied on me when I was leaving, knowing I was upset and still made me go. That’s three.” When her bare ring finger pops up, breathing comes easier, that pressure I had in my chest releasing like a leaky balloon—slowly.

Her pinky joins the party as she continues. “You were so moody when I was doing you a favor back at the restaurant. And then there’s the side of the road when—”

“When what?”

“You were going to let the bears get me.” She sits so smugly on the other side of the bench with her arms crossed over her chest, not even bothering to give me the pleasure of her beautiful eyes. “There’s five for you, sport.”

Sport?

I don’t remember our conversations being so peculiar back in Austin, but I’m starting to believe this is hell, and I’m damned to it.

Reveling in her ingenuity that she thinks she has me all figured out, I just drive. She’s outplayed me on this one, so what more is there to say. She gets mad every time I open my mouth anyway. Considering what she did to ruin me, it’s an interesting take on our relationship.

I round the bend and look for her car, preferring to put my mind on things more tangible. I slow when my headlights cover the vehicle in light. “I didn’t take you for a Honda girl.”

“They’re reliable, and I need dependable transportation.” The defensiveness over a simple observation is a fascinating take. Yep, I can’t say a damn thing without her getting angry.

Trying to calm the mutiny beside me, I accept her words on the basis instead of delivery. “Fair enough.”

“I didn’t take you for someone who knew what a fuel pump was.”

I scratch my side to block the knife she tried to impale me with. Nice try. “I took shop in high school.”

“Private schools have car shops?”

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