Page 64 of Keeper
“Don’t tell me you hadn’t figured it out by now.”
Her lips purse. “I’d suspected, but you and Booker always kept to yourselves. And he never really said…I just mean…Well—”
“I know his feelings are newer than mine,” I interrupt, terrified of how she was going to finish her sentence. Whatever she’s thinking, I don’t want to hear it. She may know Booker, her brother, but I know Booker, my best friend. And he can do this. We can do this. Together.
Her eyes slant in sympathy. “Are you sure you know what you’re getting in to?”
Her warning tone sends tingles up my spine. “I don’t really have a choice.”
She shakes her head, a look of fear casting over her gaze. “I understand that. I just don’t want to see anyone get hurt.”
Our eyes connect in a woman-to-woman silent exchange. The kind that says, “I’m watching you.” It doesn’t surprise me. Vi has the same protective look in her eyes I’ve seen my own sister give me when I was about to do something monumentally stupid.
“I’m sorry if I’m off the mark here, but I’m getting the impression that you’re scared. If you think I’m going to hurt Booker, I can assure you—”
“It’s not you I’m afraid of, Poppy,” she interrupts.
My heart sinks, but we don’t get a chance to finish because Booker returns, sweeping me into his arms and planting a very public kiss on my lips. It’s silly, but it feels like an important gesture. Like he’s telling me he’s not afraid of what anyone thinks and I should feel the same. Magically, it pushes Vi’s ominous words to the back of my mind and allows me to enjoy the rest of the evening.
The Harris family makes it easy. As pushy and as opinionated and as nosey as they are, they are devoted to each other one hundred percent. The fierce loyalty they have for one another is admirable.
And Belle and Indie seem like the perfect addition to the group. Their teasing tones when they pin me in the corner for dirty details do nothing to temper their sublime happiness for the two of us. However, their smiles fall when I reveal that Booker and I didn’t shag on the pitch after being left there alone for an hour. They make sure to tell me all the best times of day we can go back. Belle even tells me that the grounds manager, Sedgwick, found a lab coat of hers ditched in the stands once.I’ll make sure we avoid that area of Tower Park.
Despite Gareth’s mood earlier, he continually smiles warmly at me, like he’s some kind of romance prophet who has known all along that this would happen. His reaction is much calmer than Tanner and Camden’s, who take turns trying to teach Booker how to score because he apparently doesn’t have a clue since he’s only ever been a goalkeeper, not a goal maker.
Vaughn Harris seems too enraptured by his happy family to even notice that his youngest son is rubbing small circles on my inner thigh beneath the table throughout the entire meal. I’m putting on the performance of a lifetime because Booker has completely soaked my knickers using only the tips of his fingers on my leg. Quite honestly, I’m desperate to leave.
We both pause during dessert when our phones chirp within a minute of each other. It took both Sidney and Andrew nearly two hours to reply. I expected Sidney to scold Booker for ditching her, but he showed me her text that actually apologised profusely for leaving. Andrew’s is similarly apologetic.
We end up having a blast the rest of the night, dancing with the group for several hours. Vaughn excuses himself after dinner and Gareth disappears at some point, too. Hayden and Vi are next, anxious to get back home to Rocky. Eventually, it’s only the twins, their genius doctor partners, and me and my best mate, Booker. The six of us laugh well into the night and dance off all the champagne we drank. It’s fun and carefree, and being wrapped up in Booker’s arms feels so right, I start to imagine that maybe, in time, his feelings can grow like mine. If we take things slowly and enjoy each other like this with no big surprises and no sudden life changes, we can become as happy as Tanner and Belle and Camden and Indie. It can be the six of us taking London by storm. Happy. Relaxed. And in time, madly in love.
When we walk up the steps to our flat, I’m completely wired. The endorphins of the night push an energy through my bloodstream that has me so far inside my head, I don’t hear Poppy when she asks me a question.
“What?” I say, sliding a key into the lock on the door.
“I asked if you feel as nervous as I do.” Poppy’s voice is soft and breathy.
“More,” I reply, opening the door and feeling foolish. We’ve done this before, but for some reason, it feels like the first time.
I pause just inside our apartment and turn to face her, capturing her wrist as she steps inside behind me. I pull her against me, needing the physical touch of her body to serve as reassurance that what we’re doing is going to be okay. That we’re still us. She wraps her arms around me and we hug for a minute before the hug turns to a kiss and the kiss turns to a grope. Next thing I know, I’m walking her backwards toward my bedroom, kissing every bit of skin I can the whole way.
We pull apart at the foot of the bed, breathless and lust-filled. She watches me as I walk over to turn the lamp on. The dim light casts the perfect warm glow on her luminous dress. A heated blush crawls over her cheeks as I undo my tie and she begins to fumble with the zipper on her dress.
“I want to do that.” My voice is guttural in the quiet of my room, revealing every bit of my desire.
Her hands drop and she nods woodenly as I toss my tie on the floor and walk to stand behind her. My hands rest on her hips as I lean over her shoulder and whisper in her ear, “I’ve wanted to bite this neck since the second I saw you horizontal on my doorstep with that new haircut.”
She lets out a bark of a laugh, and I have to bite my lip to hold my own laughter back. Something about making her laugh always makes me laugh, too.
“You mean when I fell arse over tit and spilled all my stupid marbles?” she asks.
Smirking, I press my lips to her neck and murmur, “What did you have those marbles for anyway? I always meant to ask.”
“Don’t you remember?” Her voice catches when I touch my tongue to the spot below her ear. The tendons on her neck contract with a heavy swallow as she adds, “I fancy myself a top-notch Mancala aficionado.”
My shoulders shake with a silent chuckle. “How could I forget? You made me play that bloody game during lunch period at school.”
“Because it was the only game I could beat you at!” Her voice rises at the end defensively.
