Page 8 of Keeper
My brows raise. “You been working out, Pop?”
Her mouth opens in shock. “Yes! Diligently! I had a trainer and all that jazz. I’m disappointed you didn’t notice!”
“Oh, I noticed,” I murmur. Our eyes meet again and hold for a beat before I quickly refocus back on her hair that’s now halfway free.
After a few seconds of silence, she states, “Lots about me is different now, Booker. You’d be surprised.”
I inhale deeply, remembering the smell of her alone is different. She used to always smell like flowers. Whatever perfume she’s wearing now is decidedly more…sexy. “I believe it.” I free a few more pieces of her hair. “I’ve almost got you all detached.”
I pull the last bit and she shoots out from beneath the bed like a slingshot. “Oh, thank goodness,” she sighs.
When my head pops out from under the bed, I catch her eyeing the bit of my stomach peeking out from where my shirt has ridden up. “It’s quite obvious you’ve been working out, too, Book. You seem…massive now.” She eyes me appreciatively.
I scoff but enjoy the fact that she noticed. “It kind of comes with the whole keeper thing. Most are big. And if you’re not big, you have to appear big. It’s an intimidation tactic more than it is about actual size, really. Plus, you’ve seen my brothers. I’m still playing catch-up.”
She eyes my arms as I wrap them around my legs and lean my back against her bed. “I’d say you’re on your way to passing them. Although, I liked you when you were a string bean like me.”
She beams and I get a glimpse of the young girl that I used to play with in the woods. I hadn’t realised how much I missed her until seeing her like this again. Happy. Smiling. She’s still so bright and cheery, like always. There’s been a void in my life these last few years, and I think it was the absence of her.God I’ve missed her.
“I’d say we’ve both changed.” I smile back at her but then falter when I glance down at her breasts.
A quietness builds between us when our eyes lock and we familiarise ourselves with each other’s faces again. It’s weird to be looking at her so closely. I see her face and can think of all the fun times we had together growing up, yet she’s different now, too. Matured. Beautiful.
She’s first to break the intense trance when she rubs her hands together and moves to stand up. “Well, I’m about done here and I’m starved. What do you say we get into our comfies, order in some takeout, and get pissed?”
Her green eyes are ablaze with excitement, like this is her idea of the perfect evening. I don’t usually drink much during the season, but considering my next match is local and I won’t have to leave early to travel, I’ll make an exception. I’ve always made lots of exceptions for Poppy.
I nod. “No practice tomorrow, so I’m game. Do you start your job tomorrow?”
“Nope,” she chirps. “Not until Wednesday. I’m free to get rat-arsed and have a lie in.”
I chuckle. “All right then. Since we’re both free, let’s have some fun. I’m just going to haul these boxes to the bin and shower. Then I’m all yours.”
Her cheeks blush and I awkwardly tug at my earlobe at how that came out. God, I don’t know why I’m being so unsmooth right now. It’s just Poppy. Maybe a few drinks is exactly what we need to help us get back to being good old Booker and Poppy.
She gives me a playful shove as I stand up. “Prepare yourself, Harris. I’ve been living in Germany and those people know how to drink!”
Showered, shaved, and dressed in a pair of lounge pants and a white T-shirt, I make my way out of the bathroom and find Poppy in the kitchen rummaging through a box on the counter. She’s got music playing from a small portable speaker and is moving to the beat like she’s been living here for months. It’s weird, but she’s been here less than twelve hours and she makes my place feel more like home already. My eyes lower to her short grey running shorts, and I can’t help but doubt her claim on skipping leg days at the gym. She has been putting in some serious time to have that kind of definition.
Hearing my approach, she turns and catches me checking out her calves. She shakes the two bottles in her hands and asks, “What do you say to a little cream soda and tequila?”
“Pass,” I groan, my face crumpling. Just hearing her utter the words makes my stomach heave. “I still haven’t recovered from the last time we drank that shit.”
She giggles and it makes me smile. “Okay. Just tequila?”
I shake my head. “You’ve ruined me from tequila. Anything else, please.”
“Oh my God, I hate tequila, too! It makes me so sad because tequila is the perfect party drink, but I’m always choking down margaritas. It’s such a pity.”
Chuckling, I reply, “Completely devastating. I’m more of a whiskey drinker now.”
“Perfect!” she sings and turns back to her box of what appears to be loads of booze. I step up behind her to peer over her shoulder as she adds, “I have the most amazing whiskey tea drink! You’re going to love it.”
I inhale her scent one more time, feeling the aroma all the way down to my toes. I turn and hoist myself up on the counter beside her. “That’s what you said about tequila and cream soda.”
She rolls her eyes. “We were teenagers then, Booker. You can’t blame me for my teen ideas. I was running on hormones back then.”
My brows lift with interest. In all our years of friendship, we’ve never spoken much about our romantic experiences. Now that I haven’t seen her for a while, I find myself more curious.
