Page 131 of Roulette Rodeo
"I've always wanted to learn kickboxing! My partner at the journalism department actually teaches and stuff, but he's such a softie."
She groans, rolling her eyes dramatically.
"I'll have to deal with him later. But he actually has a training gym facility further in town that's opening up. You should all come by when you're settled!"
"That sounds amazing!" Red's enthusiasm is genuine, her eyes lighting up at the prospect of a real gym, proper training.
"If you need girl time, I'm just a text away," Poppy says, then pauses. "Even though the phone service is shit here. Seriously, it's like the town exists in some weird dead zone where technology goes to die."
"I'd love that," Red admits, and there's something vulnerable in her voice. "I don't really have many omega friends. Actually, I don't have a phone either."
Poppy gasps like Red just admitted to murder.
Her perfectly lined eyes turn to each of us in turn, judgment radiating from every pore.
"We'll have one for her by tomorrow," Corwin says quickly, recognizing a Poppy Tirade when he sees one coming.
"I never approved that," Rafe says, because he can't help himself.
I chuckle, enjoying his perpetual need to be contrary.
"You did now."
We share a look—him glaring, me grinning—and he can't say anything without looking like an asshole.
Well, more of an asshole.
Poppy sighs dramatically, hand over her heart again.
"Thank goodness you have some sane alphas using their brains and not their dicks. Except for Rafe. He doesn't use either. Just his emotions and anger management issues."
"Fuck off," Rafe growls, but there's less heat in it than usual. Poppy has this effect on him—she's so absolutely unafraid of his grumpy alpha bullshit that he doesn't know what to do with her.
"I'm not done with my pie or giving Red my number, so no," she says primly, taking another delicate bite.
We settle into eating—or in Red's case, inhaling—our desserts. The lemon pie really is Duke's masterpiece. Tart enough to make your jaw ache, sweet enough to satisfy, with meringue so light it practically floats.
"I better go soon," Poppy announces after a few minutes. "Or else my lovely journalism partner in crime is going to start stalking this place like the stalker he is."
"That can't be healthy," Red jokes, scraping the last bit of lemon curd from her plate with surgical precision.
Poppy laughs, bright and sharp.
"Nope! But I'd rather have an alpha stalking me safely than be stuck between a love war."
The comment is clearly aimed at Rafe, and I see him frown, processing the jab. But the rest of us play naive, pretending we don't know she's referring to the Sophia situation. To the war between Rafe and Luca that cost us everything.
Poppy rises with the grace of a vintage movie star, pulling a pen from somewhere—seriously, where do women hide these things?—and writes her number on a napkin with flourishing loops.
"Call me anytime!" She slides it to Red with a wink. "I love sweets, coffee, and books! If you just need to be out of the house for a bit, don't hesitate to ask. Also, still mean it about the kickboxing hangout!"
She waves goodbye, blowing kisses at each of us—Rafe dodges his like it's a bullet—and sashays out of the diner with her heels clicking a rhythm that probably spells trouble in Morse code.
Red watches her go with a soft smile.
"I think I can get used to it here if everyone is as friendly and open."
"Honestly, most everyone is on the good side," I assure her, already imagining the chaos she and Poppy will cause together.
