Page 179 of Can't Always Get What You Want

Love being between them.

I clear my throat, adjusting the crotch of my jeans. “Now I’m going to walk into this party with a hard-on.”

She shrugs innocently. “Consider it motivation.”

And just like that, she’s out of the truck and heading toward the saloon doors, leaving me with a choice: follow her like a lovesick idiot, or sit here and fantasize about fucking her later in a woman’s bathroom stall.

The idea has merit, so I climb out after her—jeans adjusted, brain still halfway in a fantasy where Nova’s moaning my name in a stall with “KAYLEE WAS HERE” carved into the metal door with a blunt object.

The scent of barbecue and cheap beer hits me the second we step inside. Country music blares from overhead speakers. I scowl at the mechanical bull in the corner, a long wooden bar on the right, and about a hundred people packed into the space wearing some variation of plaid and boots.

Nova weaves through them effortlessly.

Me? I follow like a golden retriever who is happy to be included.

A second later, a woman appears out of nowhere, screeching as she runs toward Nova with her arms stretched wide.

“Oh my God, finally! Where have you been?” she yells, tackling Nova in a hug that lifts her an actual inch off the ground. “I was starting to think you had the dates wrong.”

This has to be Poppy.

Tall. Curvy. Blonde. Wearing a glittery crop top that says ‘ILOVE COWBOYS WITH BEARDS’in rhinestones. She’s exactly the kind of person who would vibe with Nova. Loud.

Fun.

Flamboyant.

“You must beLuca,” she says, eyes sweeping over me with the kind of evaluation that feels a lot like getting X-rayed at airport security.

“That’s me,” I say, offering a cautious grin. “I’m the new boyfriend.”

Together, they terrify me.

I can tell already.

Poppy steps back, giving me one of those long, unblinking stares that makes you want to confess to all the things you didn’t do but had planned to.

“Huh.” She smiles up at me. “You’re taller than expected.”

“People say that when they meet me in person,” I reply, trying not to fidget. “Also, I can cook—and sort my laundry.”

Nova giggles beside me, running her hand over my back and resting her hand on my waist. “He’s really proud of the laundry thing.”

“I also make a mean omelet,” I offer.

She exhales. “Damn. That’s dangerously close to husband material.”

Nova leans into me, grinning. “I told you he was a catch.”

Poppy sips her drink. “All right, laundry hottie. I’ll give you a provisional thumbs-up.”

“Provisional?” I echo, not loving the way that sounds.

“We haven’t seen you line dance yet.” Then she turns to Nova and stage-whispers, “God, he’s hot. If you ever dump him, I’m taking him in the custody battle.”

“I’m standingright here,” I say.

Poppy winks. “Exactly.”

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