Page 10 of Don’t Go Breaking My Heart (Houston Baddies #3)

turner

. . .

C lick.

Snap .

I place the brown block, snapping it into place.

I sigh, stare at the little instruction booklet spread out on the dining room table and try not to think about the fact that last night I was balls-deep in fucking myself with my right hand when Poppy walked in.

I didn’t even hear the door until it was slammed shut.

Click.

Snap.

I shift in my seat and reach for a tiny figurine, my fingers fumbling it twice before I manage to clip his miniscule sword into his palm.

It immediately falls out.

“Same, little dude, same.” I stare at the plastic knight like he’s the only one who understands the wreckage that is my brain.

I slap a flat tile into place harder than necessary.

It’s not like I planned for it to happen.

It’s not like I was purposely pleasuring myself, mid-jerk and at my most vulnerable, so that she’d walk in and find me.

Eyes closed. Mouth open. Still, somewhere underneath the humiliation and the swirling thoughts of she cannot live here anymore , there’s a primal part of me that can’t stop replaying it on a loop.

Her breath catching.

Click.

Snap.

I haven’t felt this way in years. Not since Bella, my last girlfriend.

We met sophomore year of college; she was actually from my hometown, but we’d never spoken when we were in high school. Bumped into her at a frat party and we were inseparable after that. We bonded over our affliction to socializing, and our love of poppy-seed muffins.

Bella was comfortable and steady.

Loyal to a fault but also: jealous.

Click.

Another turret piece snaps into place…

Bella had her moments. We had our moments. But things with her had been predictable—relaxed in the way your favorite hoodie is, even after it gets worn and loses shape. She liked her plans detailed and planned far in advance.

What she didn’t like?

My popularity on campus when it became clear that I would be entering the NHL draft our junior year.

It was all downhill the day I submitted my eligibility.

Suddenly, late practices were suspicious. Group projects meant I was cheating. And god forbid I missed a Friday night movie marathon because I had a team meeting—I must be hooking up with someone in the locker room.

Then came the questions. The accusations. The veiled digs about any female student who so much as said my name in class.

She even went through my phone.

Click. Snap.

“There are you.” A familiar voice clears her throat in the doorway. “Thought I would find you here.”

And just like that, my chest gets tight .

I raise my head slowly, afraid of what I might see on her face: Disgust. Revulsion. Dislike.

But it’s none of those.

“Yup. You found me.”

I shift in my seat, holding a tan square piece between my fingers, ready to place it on the castle. It falls to the table so I can give Poppy my attention, hands clasping in my lap beneath the table.

Her hip rests on the doorway for several moments before she enters the room, pulling out a chair across the table and taking a seat, eyes scanning my project.

Doing LEGOs calms my nerves.

Which is why I’m doing them now, despite the fact that my hands feel too big and my thoughts too loud.

Poppy’s quiet as she slides into the chair, her gaze skimming the castle spread across the table between us. Her eyes pause on the drawbridge I’ve rebuilt three times already, then flick up to me.

“Serious question,” she says, voice soft but teasing. “Does this castle have a guest suite or nah?”

I huff a laugh. “No moat, no guest suite. I’m working with a limited kit here.”

She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“You’re really good at this,” she murmurs, reaching for a few bricks. “I haven’t touched LEGOs since I was a kid.”

“Occupational hazard,” I mutter.

She tilts her head. “Of being a hockey player?”

“No,” I say, clearing my throat. “Of needing something to focus on.” Helps with the anxiety.

Her brows lift. She doesn’t press, which I appreciate.

Instead, she holds up a tiny flag. “Where does this go?”

Poppy toys with a minifig, turning it over in her hand. Her hair falls forward as she studies it, and I have the irrational urge to brush it back behind her ear.

“Do you want to talk about last night?” she asks suddenly.

My heart skips.

I glance up. “Do you?”

She shakes her head quickly. “Nope. Definitely not. Just… wondering if you did.”

I smile. “Then we won’t.”

Her shoulders relax slightly.

We fall into a comfortable silence. Her fingers fidget with the plastic bricks. My eyes keep flicking toward her lips.

“Do you want anything?” she finally asks. “Coffee or a snack? I was thinking about chips and guac.”

My head gives a small shake. “I’m good, but thanks.”

More silence.

She’s tapping a flat brick on the table now, gently, like she’s building up the courage to say something else. Her fingers are quick and capable—nails short and painted a soft pink.

Not that I’m staring.

I clear my throat and glance back down at the LEGO instructions like I suddenly forgot how a drawbridge works. “So, you said you work in IT?”

Her head lifts, eyes meeting mine. “Yeah.”

“You don’t look like someone who works in IT.”

“Thanks?” she says with a laugh, raising a brow. “Not nerdy enough?”

I shake my head. “Nope. Not nearly nerdy enough.”

“Well. You don’t look like someone who does LEGOS.”

“Touche?.” I flash her a grin. “So what does IT mean exactly? Besides you being smarter than me?”

“I do cyber security and systems for a logistics company. It’s… I spend my days outsmarting digital criminals.” Poppy laughs. “I like solving problems.”

“Yeah?” I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. “So, if I forgot the Wi-Fi password, you’d be able to save me?”

“First of all,” she says, dry as toast. “Your Wi-Fi password—MassiveBalls69—is taped to the fridge. Second, yes. I could hack your mainframe.”

Hack my mainframe?

I laugh. “Wow. Sexy.”

She grins. “What can I say? I’m the whole package.”

I pick up another piece and try to focus. “I should hire you to fix my email filters. I’m getting spam from Nigerian princesses.”

She laughs again, leaning back in the dining room chair, the tension between us easing. “Only if you promise not to walk in on me while I’m doing it.”

Why is she so fucking clever ?

I would blush, but don’t want to stoop to that level.

Instead, I click a tiny green shrub onto the baseplate, glancing up at her, forcing my voice to stay neutral. “Did you leave someone behind in Florida?”

Her brow lifts. “Like—a boyfriend?”

I shrug, feigning nonchalance even though I feel anything but. “Yeah.”

She lets out a soft snort and shakes her head. “Nope. No one worth mentioning.”

No one worth mentioning.

I don’t know why those four words fill me with relief. Like a balloon inflating in my chest.

“Oh,” I say. “That’s surprising.”

“Why?” She narrows her eyes playfully. “Because I seem so emotionally available?”

“No.” I chuckle. “Because you’re smart. Gorgeous. Successful. And I assume you’re relatively normal.”

“Define normal,” she shoots back, lifting her glass of water but not drinking from it. “Because I’ve cried in the Trader Joe’s parking lot more than once when they didn’t have my favorite orange chicken.”

God, I like her.

Really, really fucking like her.

Poppy fiddles with a bag of white LEGOs, picking at the plastic. “I would never have moved had I been in a relationship, unless he was moving with me. So this is a clean slate. New city, new job. House full of hot hockey players…”

Ha! “There’s only one hot hockey player in this house.”

She grins over her glass. “You’re right. Luca is amazing.”

“Jeez,” I groan. “Direct hit.”

“I’m teasing, you’re all adorable.” She laughs, full-on this time. Something about the sound sets fire to my bloodstream.

“I knew it,” I mutter. “You came here to destroy me.”

Her eyes sparkle as she leans forward, resting her elbows on the table, fingers still buried in my bag of LEGOs like she’s mining for treasure. “I didn’t come here to destroy you. That part is a happy accident.”

Nova never said anything about her best friend being a clever beast; all she told was she didn’t cause drama, kept to herself, and worked a ton.

“Anyway,” she says after a pause, “I’m not usually this social with new roommates. I think I’m still riding the high of not knowing anyone in town. Or maybe it’s the high of witnessing my roommate’s…” She trails off, eyes widening slightly. “LEGO skills. Obviously.”

She said witnessing.

My body goes still.

Oh no.

Is she referencing last night ?

She’s smirking, but I can’t tell if it’s because she knows what she’s doing or because she has no idea.

I let out a breath. “They’re robust skills.”

“Clearly.”

And now I’m just sitting here, half-hard in gym shorts, sweating through my T-shirt, trying not to read too much into every breath she takes.

“Do you want to keep me company while I finish the roof?” I ask.

She looks up from the pile, biting her lip. “Sure. As long as you don’t mind me touching your bricks.”

“Oh, I, uh—yeah. Touch away.”

Good god listen to me.

She hums and picks through the LEGO sorted pieces, completely unaware that every graze of her fingertips to my bricks sends shockwaves through my nervous system.

Or maybe she is aware.

I focus on the roof—on aligning the tiny gray shingles just right—but she’s twirling a corner piece between her fingers and watching me with this mischievous expression on her face.

“This part of the castle is definitely missing a turret,” she says, holding up a curved piece. “Or a lookout tower.” She hums again. “Somewhere our queen can roll her eyes at the things a man says.”

I tap the middle of the build. “Right here. Perhaps placed between the library and the armory. You know, got to have priorities.”

She grins and nudges my knee under the table. “Ahh. A well-read warlord. Sexy.”

The heat from that single nudge travels straight to my bloodstream. My heart is practicing a drumline routine in my chest. I focus on attaching the next wall, and when she leans closer to inspect it, I can smell her shampoo.

“I needed this,” she admits. “Stupid and fun.”

“Well,” I say, nudging a green brick toward her. “It might be stupid and fun now, but wait till we start decorating the banquet hall. That’s when things get serious. Tiny goblets of rock.”

Poppy studies my face, eyes sparkling. “You’ve got something on your cheek.”

I blink. “Do I?”

“Mmm hmm . Here.” She reaches out before I can finish the sentence, fingertip brushing across my cheekbone. Soft. Warm. Lingering too long.

I huff a laugh that sounds steadier than I feel. “Careful. That’s a hot button to press.”

Our eyes meet and the air between us shifts—buzzing, electric.

I’m aware of every inch of space she’s not occupying.

We work in a soft, charged quiet, both silently agreeing to pretend the moment wasn’t intimate while also very much not forgetting it was.

She leans in to add a banner over the drawbridge. “I really did need this. It’s relaxing.”

“Good, I’m glad,” I say, clearing my throat because it comes out rough. “We do another round tomorrow? Banquet hall.”

Her eyes lift to mine. “Sure. Maybe.”

Cool.