Page 45 of Poppy Kisses
“I might’ve said some stupid shit when we were kids, but I never doubted you. Ever.” He stood up and pulled me to my feet. “Can I give Auggie’s teacher your number?”
Oh. No. Not soccer. I liked kicking the ball around, but coaching again? Being in charge? “I’m homeless, and I work out of a spare room. I shouldn’t be in charge of a team of kids.”
“Yes, you should. I don’t know anyone better.”
I rolled my eyes. “Now you’re overcorrecting.”
He tugged me closer, wrapped an arm around my waist, and feathered the backs of his knuckles down my cheek. I turned my face into his touch.
What was happening? Why was I letting it happen?
Because it felt good. I liked it. And I didn’t want him to stop.
“You’re scared,” he murmured. “Don’t mistake that for a lack of ability. Part of our deal is that I’ll help you get the house ready for you and for tutoring. That means helping you with Poppy’s Peep Into Your Mind.”
“Oh my god, that’s awful.”
His gaze lingered on my lips. “I really want to kiss you right now.”
Yes, please. No. Boundaries. Those were important. I couldn’t remember why. “You shouldn’t.”
“You keep saying that, yet nothing changes. I still want to kiss you.”
I wanted him to, but then what? We had to navigate even more complicated boundaries. Because once he kissed me, I didn’t think I’d want him to stop. “We have to look at your website and get to your estimate.”
“Yeah.” He didn’t move. “I shouldn’t go there with an erection.”
“You do not have—” I dropped my attention down. Oh. The bulge in his jeans was impressive. And it was for me. “That would be bad for business.”
“So far, you’ve only been good for business.” He released me and adjusted himself. “But I’d better not test it. It’ll be bad enough watching you wander around in those tight fucking jeans.”
* * *
The house he’d been asked to do an estimate for was several miles out of town but wasn’t far from his place. Jensen was amazing with clients. His issue wasn’t his typos—there weren’t many at all. I checked on our way over. Nor was it the few times he might mispronounce something. His issue had been one woman being catty.
If I had a dollar for all the stories I’d heard from my students about getting teased for mispronouncing words and names, for asking how to spell words others found simple, or for missing punctuation or some other grammar rule that made people feel superior knowing, I wouldn’t have to marry to afford office space.
His main obstacle was population. The community was small. He’d have to travel to get more clients, and it was hard when he had a son to care for. He’d said his mom had started going south in the winter, and that left him with even fewer hands to help.
We wrapped up at the house. He’d practiced saying Jeremy and Kate all the way there and I didn’t hear one “Germy.”
“Want me to drop you off before going to Mom’s?” he asked.
“Only if it’s better I’m not there.”
“It’s never better,” he said easily.
I wanted to roll my eyes again, but the warm spark ignited in my chest every time he said something like that.
Could I trust his intentions? He claimed he wasn’t placating me, but how did I know? He was a single guy and he said he didn’t date. I was a single woman who he was supposed to marry. I was convenient, and I’d been convenient before.
He opened the door for me and gave me a wink when he closed me in. My cheeks grew hot. Was I blushing?
Never in my life would I have thought Jensen Hollis would make me flush with more than anger that he beat me at something or that he had goaded me into another competition.
He got behind the wheel and drove to his mom’s place. We flew by familiar pastures. I used to sit on the bus with my head on the glass and watch it all pass by. Then I’d watch a scrawny Jensen make his way down his drive, massive backpack on his shoulders. “Remember our bus driver?”
“Bonita Franks? She’s in the same retirement community Mom stays in down in Arizona. She doesn’t tell me to sit down anymore.”
