Page 16 of Don’t Go Breaking My Heart (Houston Baddies #3)

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“ N ugget, come.”

He runs in the opposite direction, yellow tennis ball stuffed into his mouth, ears flopping like a cartoon character. Drool slings out the side of his jowls in a majestic arc as he barrels toward the back fence like he’s been possessed by a demon.

“God dammit, would you listen for once?”

He has the worst manners.

Cash’s dog. My problem anytime he’s in town.

The dog has more frequent flier miles than I do. Seriously. Nugget’s been to Aspen, Vancouver, Salt Lake City, and three different states in the Midwest—all because Cash thinks it’s rad to film social media content snowboarding with his dog.

I bend to grab the ball again and give it a toss toward the fence.

Nugget launches after it, back legs kicking up a spray of dirt.

“Go fetch it, you little maniac,” I mutter, wiping my hands on my shorts, watching as he gets the zoomies and tears in circles all over the yard, eyes bugging out wildly.

Awesome.

Get good and tired.

Behind me the patio door slides open.

Bare feet shuffle across the concrete, Cash drops into a deck chair nearby and I can hear his groan, stretching out like an old man with broken bones.

Tank top. Hair in a headband.

A smug expression that says he's been waiting for this conversation…

He squints out toward Nugget. “That dog is cracked out.”

“He’s just excited to be home,” I mutter, still watching the dog manically spiral through the lawn. “How was your trip?”

Cash scratches at his elbow several seconds before responding. “Awesome. Got laid twice on Saturday by two different chicks.”

“Sounds like a blast.”

Cash snickers, totally unfazed by the sarcasm. “Hey, I’m just saying—it was a productive weekend.”

I don’t respond.

Mostly because I’ve already burned through my tolerance for his bragging and it’s not even ten a.m.

He stretches, barefoot on the patio, tank top riding up just enough to flash the obnoxious tattoo he got last year in Vegas. The one that says SEND NüDZ in gothic font, on top of a steaming bowl of Ramen noodles.

Real classy stuff. Poppy will die when she sees it.

“Place had a hot tub though.” My roommate pauses. “Which brings me to my next point—what’s the deal with Miss Buzzkill in there?”

“Poppy?”

He jerks his chin toward the house. “Yes, Poppy. Little Miss, ‘ I’ll pass on the bar invite, thanks, I have to build my home office. ’” Cash snorts. “Has she been that uptight all fucking week?”

No.

No, she hasn’t been.

But I don’t say that.

Because if I open my mouth right now, I’m not sure what’ll come out. Probably something that makes this conversation even more awkward—or ends with Cash picking grass out of his teeth.

So instead, I throw the tennis ball again.

Nugget bolts like he’s chasing a championship title.

“She’s not uptight,” I finally say, voice low and measured. “She just doesn’t feel like partying with strangers. Imagine that.”

Cash snorts. “Man, I’m hilarious with a beer in my hand. Total stranger barrier breaker.”

“You’re a walking HR violation.”

“Bro—I am not,” he objects weakly, knowing he’s a fun time but not the most well-behaved guy in the house. He holds up his hands, then squints like he’s trying to do long division. “You gotta admit she’s got a tight little as?—”

“You just fucking proved my point.”

Cash has the decency to look sheepish for all of two seconds—before shrugging it off and doubling down like the idiot he is.

“What?!” He doesn’t have the decency to look chagrined. “She’s got a tight little ass. That’s all I’m saying. From behind?” He whistles low. “Ten outta ten.”

I stare him down.

“And from the front?” I challenge.

He makes a face. “Ehh. Six, maybe? Seven on a good day. Little plain for my taste. Not really my type.”

I shouldn’t have asked.

A silence falls between us. Stretches.

My jaw tics once.

Twice .

Then I chuck the tennis ball harder than necessary, launching it halfway across the yard until it bounces off the pool house and nearly goes over the fence.

Nugget goes after it.

“She’s just not, you know…” He waves his hand in the air like he’s swatting a gnat. “Hot-hot. Like, if I passed her at a bar, I wouldn’t want to fuck her.”

I say nothing.

“Not that it matters,” he continues, stretching again and making a show of being tired. Yawns. “She doesn’t seem like the type who even tries. No make-up. Hair in those Swedish braids.”

French braids.

They’re called French braids, you dipshit.

“Like the woman you snowboard with have a full-face of make-up?” I can’t help pointing out.

He ignores me, grinning. “Dude. You’d be shocked what chicks wear to the slopes these days. Full beat. Lashes. Bikini tops. I’m telling you—the good old U S of A is breeding a different kind of athlete.”

“Cool.” I drag a hand down my face, exhausted with this conversation but he barrels ahead.

He shrugs. “I’ll put it to you this way: yeah, personality is cool or whatever. But if I’m going to stare at someone across the breakfast table, I at least want to be inspired.”

Inspired.

Jesus Christ .

“Anyway,” he goes on, like he hasn’t just steamrolled every last ounce of my patience. “I’m not saying our roomie is busted or anything. Just saying if she smiled more and wore, like, less clothing, maybe someone would’ve locked her down by now.”

I stare.

Nugget sidles up, doing his best to set his ball in the palm hanging at my side, it’s wet, drooly texture causing me to wince.

“Pretty sure Poppy doesn’t give a shit about what you think of her.”

Cash lifts his brows. “No need to get all feminist on me, bro. I’m just saying—she could clean up if she wanted. There’s potential under there.”

Under there.

Like she’s some project to be excavated.

Like she needs fixing . “Pretty sure she’s exactly who she wants to be.”

“Dude—why do you care? Jeez, she’s just a roommate, it’s not like she’s your girlfriend. Chill, man. All I’m saying is—I don’t get the hype.”

Hype?

What hype?

No one asked him to give him unfiltered opinion of her.

If she walked in on this conversation I would be so fucking horrified. Heard him picking her apart like she’s a clearance rack item he doesn’t want but still feels entitled to critique?

My roommate kicks at a rock with his toe, totally oblivious, watching as it bounces off the deck and into the well-manicured lawn. “Seriously, bro. You’ve got to admit—if she just put in a little effort…”

“Oh my god, dude—shut the fuck up!”

I glance over in time to see his brows shoot up. “Whoa.”

I scrub a hand down my face and look away. Nugget barrels past my legs, so close his dark fur brushes against my legs.

“Wait.” Cash laughs awkwardly, but something in his expression shifts. “Are you into her?”

Silence.

“Shit,” he breathes, realization dawning. “You are .”

I don’t answer. Just stoop to pick up the ball, throwing it again—harder this time. Hard enough my shoulder twinges.

Because yeah.

I might be.

And he’s the last fucking person I want knowing it.

Cash whistles low. “Okay. Damn. Didn’t realize you had it bad.”

“I do not have it bad. Stop,” I say flatly. “She’s just?—”

Mine.

Off-limits.

Not yours to dissect.

“Okay, okay.” He holds his hands up, backpedaling so fast he might trip over his own inflated ego. “I was just messing around. You know I run my mouth,” he fumbles. “She’s… she’s cute.”

“Please stop.”

But he doesn’t stop because he’s an idiot who doesn’t listen.

“She has… great bone structure. Like, really symmetrical or whatever. That’s a compliment, right?”

He is so annoying.

Whose idea was it to let him live here?

Nugget can stay, Cash can go.

“I mean it,” he insists. “You know how picky I am. And if I had to rate her now, I’d bump her up to an eight. No—eight-point-five. Especially with that little laugh of hers? Kind of evil, kind of cute. That’s hot.”

“Cash.” Shut up.

“Fine! You win! She’s an actual dime, okay? But I’m not into her, so don’t get all territorial.”

“She’s been here less than a week. I haven’t had time to be into her.”

Lies.

I’ve had plenty of time.

Plenty of time to memorize the way she hums when she’s brushing her teeth since I can hear her through the shared wall.

Plenty of time to notice she eats her toast diagonally.

Plenty of time to want to punch myself in the face every time I catch myself checking to see if she’s in the kitchen. Or the living room. Or to see if she has the door of her room cracked.

I’ve never worked on LEGOs this hard in my entire life.

My castle is nearly complete, that’s how much time I’ve spent in the dining room working on it.

“Is it going to be annoying living with the two of you?” my roommate muses out loud. “Like—do you flirt and shit?”

“No!” I shake my head. “Nothing like that.”

Cash removes his headband. Ruffles his own hair, then slides it back into place to tame his mane. “You are so full of shit. Do not stand here and tell me that two super attractive people living together have zero sexual tension.”

“Nope.”

“You don’t want to bone her?” He squints over at me. “Not even a little?”

I shake my head. “Nope.”

He laughs. “You’re such a fucking liar, dude.”

I glare. “Go inside, Cash.”

“Can’t. Too busy mentally planning your wedding slideshow. We can have it on the top of a ski hill—Nuggs can be your ring bearer.”

“He eats socks,” I deadpan. “You want him carrying a diamond?”

“He can be professional when the occasion calls for it.”

I cock an eyebrow. “He ate my AirPods last time you left him home with me.”

“And who’s the one who wasn’t watching him?”

“You’re so exhausting.”

Cash yawns theatrically. “I try.”

There’s a pause, filled only by Nugget’s nails skittering across the concrete and the faint, tortured squeak of the tennis ball in his jaws as he sprawls out on the ground to chew it.

“I’m just saying,” Cash adds, not even bothering to look at me. “If you don’t kiss her soon, I might do it. You know—for science. To see cause and reaction.”

I turn slowly. “You kiss her, and I’ll bury your body in the backyard.”

Cash put his hands up slowly. “Whoa. Okay, Mister Jealousy —didn’t know our roomie was off-limits.”

“She’s not off-limits,” I grind out, raking a hand through my hair. “She’s just not yours to fuck around with because you’re home and you’re bored.”

He raises both hands. “Noted. No kissing the new roommate. Man, this is just like freshman year. My roommate wouldn’t let me fuck with his sister because he didn’t trust me or whatever, except this time, you’re the one with feelings.”

Poppy is not like our sister.

And I am not in charge of her.

“I don’t have feelings.”

Cash whistles, low. “When I left at the beginning of the week, there was nothing in the dining room. Now the entire Doom village the size of Rhode Island is spread out in the dining room. We both know you build that shit when you’re stressed out and this isn’t stress—it’s a slow descent into madness. ”

I have no response to that because he’s right.

My roommate grins. “All I’m saying is, maybe she’s waiting for you to make a move.”

“She’s not.”

“She was totally eyeing you up this morning. I saw her. She looked like a girl on the verge of lifting your shirt and licking pancake syrup off your stomach.”

I gawk at him.

Where does he come up with this bullshit?

“She didn’t want to lick anything,” I say. “She was eating bacon.”

“Exactly. And eye fucking you like the next best breakfast option.”

I groan and pivot toward the yard again, eyes on Nugget, who is now lying on his back, feet in the air, tongue flopped out, enjoying the sunshine the same way I should be.

“Listen, man. I’m not saying go full caveman and drag her off to your room by her braids?—”

“Fucking A, Cash!”

“—I’m just saying, you might want to start thinking about what happens if she meets a guy and she wants to bring him home and you have to hear them fucking in the room next to yours.

” He stands from the deck chair and stretches.

“Just sayin’. You should start thinking about shit like that.

Don’t be a prude—ain’t nothing wrong with fucking your roommate. ”

I rub my temples because he’s giving me a headache. “Do you have an off switch?”

Cash grins like I’ve complimented him. “Nope. But I make a lot of sense.” He shrugs, heading toward the door. “I’m just giving you the hard facts before you find yourself folding laundry while some finance bro in boat shoes plows our roommate through the drywall.”

“That’s not her type.” I’m confident of that. And furthermore, are there finance bros in Texas?

“His name will be Chad,” Cash throws over his shoulder. “He’ll ask if we recycle and if we want to invest in his Crypto.”

I flip him off as he steps back inside, but I know he’s not wrong.

Not about Chad. Not about boat shoes. Not about the fucking Crypto.

Because the second he said it— some guy fucking Poppy —I felt my entire rib cage contract. Like a trash compactor squeezing my insides into pulp.

And yeah, maybe that’s not healthy. Maybe that’s a red flag with tassels and a parade float. But I don’t care.

Because now all I can think about is some smug asshole knocking on our door with a six-pack and a fake tan, flashing dimples at Poppy while I sit on the couch building a LEGO drawbridge like a total virgin.

Nugget whines and nudges the ball against my foot.

I stare at the door where Cash retreats, trying to shake the image out of my head. Trying not to picture Poppy’s soft laugh. The curve of her hip in those tiny pajama shorts. The way her bare tits looked in that see-through bra….

The dog barks.

I bend over, take the ball. Toss it.

Nugget chases it like his little life depends on it.

I wish I could throw my feelings that far .