is it?”
“Nine,” he answers without having to look at the time.
I look up at the moon. “How do you know that?” I’m trying to figure out if he can tell time by the sky like the ancient Romans did.
He laughs. “Dinner always ends at 9 p.m. You weren’t lying when you said you can’t handle your alcohol, were you?”
I laugh, a snort slipping out. “No, not at all. That was more than I’ve ever imbibed at once.”
“What? What did you do for your 21st birthday then?”
“I stayed home and hung out with some friends. I don’t drink,” I nearly slur. I thought standing would help sober me up, but it seems the more time that passes, the more drunk I become. He opens the door for me and helps me inside. The interior of the car is dark and warm and soothing. I lean my head back and my lids get heavy.
Eight
Matthew
She falls asleep before I even get out of the driveway. I can’t help but snicker at her head that’s lolled to the side, her lips parted with her deep, heavy breathing. I can’t believe she got so wasted off one glass of wine and a sip of brandy. Okay, maybe it was more than a sip, but it wasn’t what I would consider a glass. My grandmother is 80-something years old and she likes her brandy, but she also has a limit. What she served tonight was her limit. Dinner ends when it does because that’s how long it takes her to get drunk. When 9 p.m. hits, she wants to be buzzed and in bed. If Poppy wasn’t so drunk herself, she might have noticed it.
My phone vibrates in my pocket and I see it’s Foster calling me. I slip my Bluetooth earbuds in and answer his call, “Hey man, what’s up?”
“Dude, where you been? You’ve blown off our last two poker nights and you missed Bret’s bachelor party.”
“Sorry, man, work has been crazy.” I glance over at Poppy and contemplate saying something about her, then decide against it.
“Well, I’m coming over tomorrow night and we’re catching up. I need to fill you in on what went down at Bret’s bachelor party. There was this strip—”
“I’m seeing someone,” I blurt out before he can finish his statement. I don’t know why I blurted it out, but the cat’s out of the bag now.
“What the fuck? Well, spill,” he says.
“Not tonight, man, but we’ll go out soon. I promise.” We say goodbye and I try to figure out what I’m going to tell him about Poppy. Foster knows what it’s like to have certain expectations placed on you from birth. We were both raised by rich tyrant fathers—only his took things a step further and promised him to Bianca Harris before he was even born. According to his dad, it’s a way to merge their empires. Too bad his dad hasn’t even considered what Foster wants in life.
I finish the drive home and Poppy never wakes. When I pull into the garage, she still doesn’t stir. “Poppy, we’re here,” I say rather loudly, but she doesn’t move an inch.
I let out a deep breath as I shift into park and turn off the car. I get out, moving around the back and opening her door. “Poppy?” I try again, but nothing.
Not knowing what else to do, I reach in and pick her up against me. I push the door shut with my hip and walk with her in my arms to the elevator. The ride is smooth and I take the moment to enjoy the weight and heat of her body against mine. As the doors slide open, I walk inside and move toward the couch to lay her down. I plan on moving her to her bedroom eventually, but I need to rest my arms for a moment first.
I go to lay her down and her eyes flicker open. I freeze as our eyes lock—painful arms now forgotten. Her eyes seem darker than usual and they’re drawing me into their depths. Her tongue comes out, wetting her lips and making them glisten with the fire burning in the fireplace. That charge of electricity is back and bouncing between us rapidly, drawing my lips closer to hers.
It happens so fast that I don’t even realize it’s happening until it’s too late. She closes the space between us, pressing her lips to mine. A sudden fire ignites in my lips and scorches them, making its way down my throat