Page 61 of Never Have I Ever

Laird

Poppy’s drunk . . .

On cheap wine. On love. On me.

I’ve seen it before with fans and their goo-goo eyes, but I love it this time because I’m drunk on her as well—just not from alcohol. She didn’t have to tell me she loves me for me to know it. She’s shown in every kiss and when she shares her stories, her past, and her fears.

She worries if I’m being fed properly, though she is a chef, and I guess we still need to figure out that contract and financial compensation.

I’m fucking in love with her all over again. But this version is different in ways I can’t explain. She’s not quite as spontaneous but still has a wild side that comes out, like now, how she’s shaking her ass at the jukebox.

She’s still the same incredible woman but has lived a life that’s drawn me even more into her orbit. Experience and pain can reshape people, so I wouldn’t wish it upon the love of my life. But I can see the change in her and hear it in her words. Every scar and the healing that came after has made her more beautiful. Stronger.

Giddy to the point of distraction, she broke out in a fit of laughter twice. Her happiness is too much to contain. That she feels that level of exuberance from me telling her I love her, damn, I can only imagine how she’ll react when she finally remembers our time in Austin.

I finish my beer and watch my personal distraction work her way back over to the table. “I’m starved,” she says, her hands landing on the table as she curves her body into the booth.

Considering we just ordered like ten minutes ago, I’m thinking we have a little wait since the place is packed. “It should be out soon.”

The server returns with another beer for me. She’s extra attentive tonight, flashing her name tag until I say her name—Lori. Although Poppy told her we were together the last time we came to the restaurant, I think she’s suspicious. Ironic since we weren’t then, but we are now. This mess of a drunk is all mine.

Lori asks, “Would you like pretzels for your friend?”

I look at Poppy, who’s cocked her head sideways at the server. I say, “Pretzels will be good.” She turns on her heels, leaving me with Poppy glaring at me. Raising my hands in surrender, I laugh. “You need food.”

“She wants you.”

“Most women do.”

Poppy’s jaw drops, and then she laughs. “Yeah, but you want me.” Leaning forward across the table, she whispers, “Because you love me.”

“I do.” The phrase doesn’t feel as foreign as it should, and it didn’t even anger me to say it.

Holding a finger in the air, she asks, “Did you know—”

“Here you go,” the server says, sliding a metal bowl of pretzels toward Poppy. She makes the mistake of touching my shoulder. I have to admit she’s a little handsy.

That finger Poppy was holding swings her way. “I see your eyes on my guy, but he’s taken, so you need to find another . . .” She waves her arm out, scanning the joint. “One of them.”

Lori crosses her arms over her chest, unamused. “Oh really?”

Poppy is having a good time, though I wonder if it’s too good of a time. I wonder if I should stop her before this gets out of hand. “Yes, really. He may be my boss—”

“Your boss, huh?” Lori gets an injection of hope.

Oh shit. I’d get Poppy out of here, but her jealous streak entertains me.

Poppy says, “A boss I have lots of sex with, like overtime pay sex. It’s that good.”

“You’re a call girl?” Lori’s eyes dart to me. “Um, I’m not into this.”

“Me either,” I say, needing to end this. “This is getting out of hand. She’s not a call girl. She’s a chef. I am her boss, but—”

“We are having sex.” Poppy raises her chin as if she’s checkmated.

Reaching over, I cover her arm with my hand as a hint. “We don’t need to continue this conversation.” Not a hint at all.

Lori is already backing away. “I don’t want to be involved in your kinkery. This is a small town, buster. You can keep your big-city lifestyle in the city of devils.” When she turns her back to us, she mumbles, “I hate out-of-towners.”

---