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“You know we just confirmed their beliefs,” I whisper when we’re far enough away, “that I’m a total degenerate, and anyone who spends time with me must be just as bad.”
Poppy shrugs it off like what just happened is no big deal. “No matter how much you grow, some people don’t see it. Their mind is made up, and they’re unwilling to see that circumstances might be different now.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to put up with it,” I murmur. “And that especially doesn’t mean you should have to put up with it.”
“Who, the geezer who called you Con-Air?” Poppy asks. “Are you going to see that guy again? He’s like a bajillion years old and looks like he made a deal with the Grim Reaper just to see today’s sunrise. So who the fuck cares what he thinks? Do you care what a shriveled old prune with zero filter says about you? I sure don’t. And hell, maybe a little dick in her ass will make Edna’s day. You never know.”
I shake my head, partly in trying to make sense of the way her mind works but at the same time trying to shake the image out of my head. “You are amazing.”
“I know.”
We’re about halfway across the room, and I stop, taking her hand and pulling her in close. “Fuck it. Let’s dance.”
Poppy looks at me in surprised delight. “You dance?”
I lift an eyebrow as if that’s a silly question. “The rules are pretty simple. Move your feet, sway, and rub your junk together . . . what’s hard about that?”
Poppy laughs. “You’re such a romantic. And I’m certain there will be something hard by the end.”
“Now who’s the romantic?” I tease as I pull her close, moving to the happy, celebratory music. And to be nice, I don’t rub my cock on her . . . much. But I enjoy holding her in my arms, our bodies in tune with one another as the polite inches between us disappear.
“Mmm, you do know how to move,” Poppy says as her chest touches mine.
“Only when I have a good partner,” I reply.
The tempo slows, becoming softly romantic, and I pull her in even closer until Poppy puts her head on my chest, listening to my heartbeat. I close my eyes for a long moment, lost in Poppy, oblivious to everyone and everything around us as we barely sway. That’s not a safe thing for me to do, but she makes me feel like I’m a normal man falling for a very unique woman. She makes me feel like there might be a future for me, for us.
And even if that’s not true, I want to pretend for a moment.
A throat clears next to us, and I crack one eye to see Ian standing there, obviously sent by Audrey. He flashes a cocky grin. “May I cut in?”
Manners require me to say yes. Etiquette requires Poppy to spend a song moving around the floor with him. It’s the kind of artificially polite structure my family has thrived on for generations, and Ian fucking knows it.
But he, and apparently Aunt Audrey who is sitting at a table along the edge of the dance floor with a wry smirk as she watches, have completely forgotten a key element to civility.
It only works if everyone plays by the same rulebook. And Poppy and I operate by a totally different set of rules than Ian and Audrey and the rest of the hypocritical members of my family.
“No.”
Ian’s smile falters, and he glances over his shoulder to his mother, who waves a hand telling him to get on with it while next to me, Poppy looks amused, not moving from my side. Ian’s eyes cut back to me. “Excuse me?” he says snottily, likely having never been told no in his entire life. “I’d like to dance.”
But Ian and Audrey seem to have also forgotten one more thing. The notion of asking a man to dance with his woman is ridiculously antiquated. And Poppy is not one to take that sitting down . . . or standing up . . . or any other way.
“I see,” Poppy says, crossing her arms and giving Ian a withering look of her own. “Don’t you think you should ask me to dance? Unless you want to dance with Connor. No judgment if that’s the case. Other than the whole cousin thing. That’s kinda a sticky wicket.”
I snicker while Ian finally gives Poppy his attention. Because this isn’t really about her at all. It’s about me. It’s about taking what’s mine. It’s about taking the opportunity to show me in a bad light.
His fake smile blooms again as he thinks he’s found another way to win against me. “Yes, of course, how gauche of me. Please excuse my errant question, and I shall ask you. Would you care to dance?”
