“It doesn’t sound stupid,” she whispers. “I thought you were just trying to mess with me.”
“Nah, that was just a perk,” I say.
Her laugh slips from her throat. “I’m glad you realized your body wasn’t only made for baseball.”
“No, it wasn’t,” I say, but my laugh is too breathy and sounds loaded with innuendo.
Which it is NOT.
“I didn’t mean it like that?—”
“Got it,” she says quickly.
I’m burning up. I throw the comforter off me, not because I’m in bed with an adorable elf of a woman, but because …
Ugh.
Who even knows at this point?
“Sorry—it’s hot in here,” I lie.
The bed frame gives a soft creak as Poppy kicks off the sheet, too. “Tell me about it.”
Huh.
“Good night, Ollie Fletcher.”
“Just call me Ollie or Fletch. This two-name thing isn’t working.”
“Which do you prefer?”
“I don’t care.”
“But they’re both just … off.”
“Off?”
“Neither quite suits you. Is your full name Oliver?”
“Yes.”
“Can I call you Oliver?”
“No.”
“Perfect.”
I rub my eyes. A quiet moment passes. Then I hear myself say, “Can I tell you something?”
“Of course.”
I stare at the ceiling, my pulse too fast for the moment. What evenisthe moment? “That guy on the plane. The one sitting next to you.”
She breathes slowly. “Yeah?”
“He took off his wedding ring. Right before he started talking to you. I watched him slip it into his pocket.”
She goes still. I can almost feel her processing in the dark. “Seriously?”
