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Poppy stops, looking over at me seriously. “Really?”
“No,” I tell her, raising a brow that she actually might’ve believed that. “But I’m not sharing you with anyone.”
“Good,” she says, “because I’m a greedy bitch too.”
Chapter 16
Connor
“Does it sound stupid that I don’t want you to leave?”
I hold Poppy in my arms, her forehead nestled under my chin and her arms wrapped around my waist to twine her fingers into my belt loops. “No. But you’ve got work to do.”
She makes a growly sound of displeasure that’s fucking adorable and feels sexy as hell against my chest. “I’ve been working all night with you here.”
That’s true. She’s been typing away for hours. Some of it, I slept through, but then she’d wake me up to read a passage aloud and ask my opinion. It’s fascinating how her mind jumps from one thing to another, and then she fills in the details to get the characters where they need to be. I wish someone had done that for me and my life a long time ago, because I’m obviously shit at it, ending up in a place I never imagined.
“I know, but you need to focus, and I’ll be a distraction. I’m gonna shower, run some errands, and I’ll be back later.”
I’m lying to her already. My ‘errand’ is a meeting with JP, but I don’t want to worry her when she needs to meet her deadline. She’s already behind because of my actions, and I don’t want to delay her any further.
“Okay,” she agrees, lifting to her toes to give me a quick kiss. “I’ll see you this afternoon.” There’s a slight edge to her voice, warning me that I’d better get back here and take her with me to Diana Nichols’s place on time.
I turn to leave, pausing outside to watch Poppy do a little shimmy back to her sofa to get to work. With Nut on one side and Juice on the other, she immediately begins typing away with a pencil in her mouth.
I don’t know why she has a pencil considering she has no paper, but I’m not going to ask about her process. I’m just going to appreciate it for what it is.
I do actually shower, washing and getting fully shaved. After a quick breakfast of black coffee and a protein bar, I hop in my truck to head out. A glance through the window reveals that Poppy’s still hard at work, and I give her a little wave as I shift into drive. She’s so into her writing she doesn’t wave back, but that’s what I want.
JP’s waiting for me at a coffee shop, not the one where I meet Hunter but a different place. This one is mob affiliated, which makes me wonder again about exactly who Mr. Big is.
“Heard about what you did for my boy,” JP says flatly by way of greeting. For a moment, I’m worried. Is JP mad? Glad? Is he the friendly distraction while someone else cracks one of these heavy ceramic mugs over my skull, drags me out back, and makes me disappear into the back of a truck?
But I don’t show any of that concern. All I do is sip my own coffee, setting it down on the counter without letting go. In my mind, I play out options—of using my own mug in defense, of escaping out the front door to go right or left on the street outside, of the number of patrons versus mob guys in here. “Yeah.”
JP takes a sip of his coffee, one of those tiny-cupped strong things that’s as thick as motor oil and seems to be popular here.
“Thanks, man. Manuel says Derrick got fired that night. Boss said they didn’t need him stealing from employees and bringing in violence,” JP says with a mirthless smile. “Plus, I guess he wasn’t much for prep that night. Heard he had some sort of accident, busted his nose and a finger.”
“He should count himself lucky,” I point out. “It was his left hand, not his right.”
“True. At least he can still wipe his ass properly.” JP’s lips twitch at the idea of Derrick potentially needing someone to clean up his shit, and I think he might’ve preferred that I go for the dominant hand.
“I promised Manuel a replacement laptop,” I point out. “I intend on making good on that.”
JP waves me off, sipping again. “No need. I can buy him one. I had been planning on it when you dropped that one in my lap. I figured there was no sense in wasting money if I got one for free. So it’s nothing. You paid for it by sticking up for my boy.”
It’s a relief, and we sip our drinks in companionable silence. “He’s a good kid. How much does he know?” I ask carefully.
