Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 102607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
“Says who?” I think it makes perfect sense. “We’re going to have fun and fly under the radar.”
Poppy rolls her eyes. “Because sneaking around the produce aisle is so much fun.” She snaps her fingers. “Maybe you should bring a recipe, shop the ingredients together, then invite him to your place to cook it.”
Uh, no.
That will not be happening. “I’m still feeling him out, okay?”
Poppy gasps as if I’ve personally insulted her. “You’re not even gonna let him see your kitchen? And by kitchen I mean—vagina.”
I choke on my latte.
“Poppy!”
She grins, completely unapologetic, stirring her drink like she didn’t just casually weaponize my sex life. “What? I’m just saying. Let him see where you keep your spices.”
I glare at her. “That is not a metaphor I’m unpacking before noon.”
“Stop being a prude.”
“Can’t help it.” I sigh. “I am one.”
My best friend studies me. “Remind me again when the last time you got laid was?”
I level her with a stare. Of course she would bring this up.
“Honestly, my vag has cobwebs.” I take a casual sip of my drink, unbothered. “Like, full on haunted house situation. I think there’s a ghost down there, probably named Mavis.”
Poppy loses it.
She laughs so hard she snorts, which only makes us both laugh harder.
“Oh my God,” she gasps. “You need an exorcism. An out of body experience, preferably with a man who’s good with his hands.”
“And mouth.” Another sigh.
“Hence—you let Luca squeeze your fruit. Have him motorboat your cantaloupes.”
“Get out of my damn bedroom.”
Poppy is utterly unrepentant. “Honey, if I lived in your bedroom, you’d have seen a lot more action by now.”
I fling a sugar packet at the screen.
“This is why you love me,” my best friend announces, tapping on her cup. “Okay, but for real—are you ready for this date? And don’t give me some nonchalant answer. I want honesty.”
“Yes. Luca is a delight.”
She stares. “A delight?”
“You’d love him.”
“This isn’t about me loving him—this is about you loving him.” She pauses. “What are the odds he’s going to pin you against the freezer door by the popsicles?”
I blink at her. “You are unwell.”
Poppy shrugs like she’s flattered. “I’m just manifesting options. Freezer door. Popsicles. Casual public dry humping.”
I roll my eyes again, but the truth is—my stomach is already doing that slow, traitorous flip it does at the thought of seeing Luca again. He’s easy to talk to. Funny in that quiet, clever way.
“I hate that you just said all of those words in a row.”
She sips her drink, unbothered. “You love it.”
I do.
She’s the best and the worst.
“He would never though,” I say, a little too quickly. “He’s a gentleman.”
She gives me a look—the kind that says sure, Jan.
I keep picking at my napkin, shredding the edges like they personally wronged me. “He didn’t even kiss me. We left Rainforest Café, walked through this totally empty parking garage and he just—opened my car door. Said he had a great time. Same thing again when we left the steakhouse.”
She crosses her arms again. “And you’re the one that made the rule about not kissing yet. So look, either he’s a monk—or this guy is playing a long game so smooth, I respect it.”
“Long game?” I blink. “How?”
“Think about it.” Poppy taps her straw against the rim of her drink. “He walks you to your car. No kiss. No pressure. Just a good night and a polite goodbye. That’s not just gentleman behavior, Nova. That’s strategic. He wants to drive you crazy with lust. He absolutely wanted to kiss you. No straight man agrees to a jungle-themed zoo dinner without having fantasized about his tongue privileges.”
I blink. “Tongue privileges?”
She grins. “He wanted to see your boobies. And stick his tongue in your mouth—probably both at the same time.”
Before I can reply, Poppy glances around Starbucks, then slaps her hand dramatically on the tabletop. “Welp. Time for me to go pretend to be productive.”
I laugh, grabbing my bag. “Try not to traumatize anyone else today.”
She stands and stretches and all I can see is her waist and crotch as she bends this way and that—like she’s about to run a marathon. “No promises. You go prep for your date. And for the love of God, do not let him mansplain the difference between an apricot and a nectarine once you show him your peaches.”
“Get out of here,” I mutter, smiling.
“Go fall in love in the freezer section!” She blows kisses at the phone. “Smooches! Do everything I would do!”
It’s just a date, I tell myself. A casual, under-the-radar, non-date grocery run with a guy who smells good and opens doors. And walks me to my car.
And hasn’t put the moves on me.
My phone buzzes as I sit in the car, reflecting on our conversation.
Poppy: TITS UP, SOLDIER.
Jeez. Why is she like this?
Me: I’m literally still sitting in the car. I have to go home and get ready still…