“Yeah, well, having the exact opposite has taken its toll on me, so allow me to live vicariously through you for a minute, will you?”
Passing headlights cast a moving shadow on her face, giving me a better glimpse of the dreamy look in her eyes. I could tell her that my life is a lot closer to hers than she thinks, but after everything she’s said, it would be a lie.
I watch her profile—the soft curve of her jaw, the way the apples of her cheeks fall …
Why is her face falling?
“Hey, I just realized how insensitive that was,” she says. “Your whole life, you worked hard to become a famous athlete, and you earned it. I’m sorry I’m minimizing that by focusing on your friends. They don’t make you cooler or more important.”
It hadn’t even crossed my mind to think that way. But the fact that she did says something about Poppy.
She’s not merely a people pleaser.
She’s a people investor. She puts herself into others’ shoes and tries to imagine what life must be like for them.
No wonder she stopped being able to listen to a true crime podcast that focuses so much on the fallout. The pain of victims and their families must tear her to shreds.
“Poppy—” I start, but I stop myself just as quickly.
What am I going to say,I’m sorry for the way I treated you when we first met?I already apologized for that.I’m sorry I keep misjudging you?She doesn’t know I’m doing that at all, so an apology would relieve my guilt to hurt her feelings.
Crap.
When did I start overthinking everything? What has this woman done to me in only a single day?
“Yes?” She angles her face toward mine, keeping her eyes on the dark and snowy night. A strand of hair escapes from behind her ear, and I have an urge to tuck it back in place.
Man, she’s pretty.
“Uh, we’re getting low on gas and there’s a station up ahead. We should stop,” I say.
She nods, and a few minutes later, we’re pulling off the road. “I’ll fuel up,” I tell her.
“Okay,” she says before rushing out into the cold toward the convenience store.
As I pump the gas, I watch her through the store window. She’s talking to the cashier, probably asking about his day. The guy smiles and leans on his elbows to talk to her. The jerk. What’s he doing flirting with a woman he’ll never see again?
Exhaust fills my lungs, but I breathe easier without Poppy so close.
This trip can’t end soon enough.
CHAPTER EIGHT
POPPY
Snacks are 80% of the point of a road trip.
Okay, the math there might be off, what with the destination being the actual point and all. But the snacks make it more fun, and I’m stocking up. I would have done it hours ago, but Ollie so clearly didn’t want stops of any kind. Honestly, I’m surprised he’s okay with even stopping for gas, especially when the tank wasn’t that low.
I walk the aisles, grabbing everything that catches my fancy.
Extra Hot Habanero jerky, check.
Flaming Hot Cheetos, check.
Hot Tamales, check.
Wintergreen gum, check.
