Page 4 of Don’t Go Breaking My Heart (Houston Baddies #3)

poppy

. . .

“ I want to die.”

“Calm down—it couldn’t have been that bad.” She’s got a green juice in one hand and not a single ounce of guilt on her expression. Must be nice.

I stare into my cell phone screen at Nova’s na?ve face. “It could have been and it was.” I lean forward so I can quietly hiss, “My tits were out.”

She blinks. "You were wearing a bra—you said so yourself."

"Barely! It was lace. You could see my heartbeat."

Nova takes a slow sip of her drink. "And this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to you?"

"Yes!"

She arches a brow.

I flop dramatically onto my bed. "This is hell. I live in hell."

"You live in a very nice house with central air and a wine fridge," Nova reminds me. "And two hot roommates."

"Correction: one hot roommate. The other is now emotionally traumatized and will never make eye contact with me again."

My best friend has the audacity to laugh at my pain. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

“Would you shut up?”

“I can’t.” She continues giggling. “Skaggs is no more traumatized by the sight of your tatas than you were by the sight of him shirtless on the internet.”

Nova knows I did a full FBI-style background check on both guys before agreeing to be their third roommate. Social media scans. Team roster bios. Reverse Google image searches.

I know Turner, aka Skaggs, was drafted as a junior in college and that Cash likes to snowboard in a T-shirt and jeans. Sponsored by Red Bull and Nivea. Bit of a douche, but whatever.

And yes, I may have stumbled across a shirtless gym video or five.

But none of that prepared me for meeting Turner in real life. Six feet plus of silent brooding, post-red-eye exhaustion, and jawline so sharp it could cut drywall.

"I’m never coming out of this room again," I say.

"Yes, you will. You’ve got to eat sometime."

"I’ll DoorDash and eat under the bed." I sigh loudly. “What am I supposed to say when I go out there?”

I heard noise coming from the kitchen a little while ago. Meaning: he’s awake and in motion.

“Say hi?”

I make a strangled noise in my throat. " Hi ? That's your big plan?"

"It’s a solid opener. Better than 'sorry you saw my nipples and my ass cheeks.’”

I roll my eyes. What planet is she living on?

"You’ll be fine. He probably doesn’t even care.” Nova turns her head several seconds and shouts, “Babe—would you come in here for a second, I have to ask you something!”

I groan.

“Nova, could we please leave Luca out of this?”

Too late. Footsteps shuffle. A door creaks. And then Luca’s face appears in the background of the video call, slightly disheveled and holding a banana.

“What’s up?” he asks, already chewing.

Nova points at me. “Poppy needs male perspective.”

Chew, chew. Swallow. “I’m listening.”

Nova grins. “Okay, hypothetical situation. You walk into the kitchen, and there’s a girl standing there in nothing but a thong and a lace bra, flipping eggs. What goes through your mind?”

Luca shrugs his giant shoulders. “Honestly? I’d assume I died in my sleep and went to heaven.” He pauses. “Why? Did something happen?”

“No,” I say at the same time my best friend says, “Yes.”

“Would someone tell me what’s going on?” Luca laughs. “You two are so weird.”

Nova sighs. “Skaggs saw her naked. I mean—she was wearing a thong, but barely .” She looks at me. “Do I have that right?”

I nod. “Yup.”

Luca whistles low, then shakes his head. “Damn. Poor guy probably short-circuited.”

I groan. “That makes me feel worse, thanks.”

But Luca holds up his hands. “Nah, listen. Turner’s a good dude. Like, good good. Polite. Old-school. Opens doors, says thank you, doesn’t sleep around. He’s only ever had long-term girlfriends. The guy still uses coasters.”

“He does,” Nova concurs. “He’s actually super adorable.”

Luca nods. “So whatever happened, I promise you—he’s not being creepy. He’s probably embarrassed for you. And himself. He’s probably upstairs composing a formal apology.”

Nova grins at me. “See? One less thing to panic about."

"Great. Only four hundred things left."

They both laugh.

“Fine. I trust you.” I take the phone off its place on my dresser and straighten. “Then I’ll go out there and reintroduce myself.”

“Put on a turtleneck,” Nova tells me.

I flip her off.

Then I end the call, toss my phone onto the bed, and pull open my dresser drawer. I bypass the jeans, skip over the yoga pants, and go straight for my softest, least flattering option: a baggy gray romper that hits just above the knee and hides everything—literally.

I tug it on and glance at myself in the mirror.

Nod.

Satisfied I look dowdy, I open my bedroom door, listening for noises so I can head in the right direction.

From the recesses of the house I hear the distinct sound of plastic clicking and follow the sound.

Multiple clicks. Rhythmic. Sharp.

What the?—

I creep toward the dining room and peek around the corner.

There he is.

Professional athlete. Full-grown man.

Building a LEGO fortress.

A massive one. Like, multiple instruction books thick. There are tiny piles of bricks color-sorted across the table, and he’s hunched over the base, tongue slightly between his teeth, focused like he's defusing a bomb.

He doesn’t look up.

Barely notices I’m there.

This was not what I expected him to be doing when I found him.

My nerves, which were ready for awkward eye contact and forced small talk, are now totally unprepared for the sight of the man who saw my butt this morning carefully constructing a medieval drawbridge.

He finally glances up, startled.

“Oh,” he says. “Hey.”

Pause.

He looks at me, then quickly back at the LEGO instruction booklet.

I clear my throat. “What are you working on?”

“ Lord of the Rings castle,” he says without missing a beat. “Helm’s Deep. Limited edition.”

I hide my smile. “Oh...”

He nods solemnly. “Very rare. Took four months to track down and I paid way too much for it.”

I step closer, curiosity overriding my embarrassment. “Is that a tiny battering ram?”

It’s so cute! I love miniature things.

He nods again. “And a miniature Aragorn. Careful though—his sword falls off if you breathe on him too hard.”

I stare at Turner.

He stares at the LEGOs.

Then he exhales, setting the piece between his fingers down, his shoulders dropping like he’s been holding his breath since I walked into the dining room.

“Um,” he says, blue eyes meeting mine. “I just wanted to, uh—apologize again. For this morning.”

I open my mouth to tell him there is no need, but he seems determined to continue.

“I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. Or—I don’t know. Shock you. I wasn’t trying to be a creep. I just walked in and there you were, and then there was screaming, and I was screaming and it all happened really fast.”

That about sums it up.

And Luca was right; this seems to have been weighing on his mind.

“You don’t have to apologize. If anything, I should be the one apologizing. This is your house and I…” I clear my throat again, shifting on my feet in the doorway. “I was out there flipping eggs like I own the place. In next to nothing. So.”

“Don’t worry.” His ears go red. “I barely noticed.”

I feel my brows rise at his obvious lie.

He winces. “Fine, I noticed. But I didn’t take a mental screenshot or anything.”

“Mental screenshot?” I repeat, trying not to laugh.

He groans. “Forget I said that. I’m sleep-deprived.” Turner yawns to prove his point, patting his mouth. “See?”

I grin, crossing my arms as I lean a little closer to the table. “Well, thank you for trying not to remember me in my least flattering moment. That was very gentlemanly of you.”

“ Don’t know if I’d call it your least flattering moment ,” he mutters, barely above a whisper, and I flush.

I glance at the time on my phone and sigh. I’ve been standing here idly longer than I’d planned. “Alright, I should probably keep unpacking before those boxes in my bedroom become permanent side-tables.”

Turner nods. “Yeah. And I should probably keep… building.”

I smile. “Don’t lose Aragorn.”

He shakes his adorable head. “Nope.”

Slipping out of the dining room, I make my way back down the hall, climb the stairs, shutting my bedroom door softly behind me and press my back to it.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Then I grab my phone and text Nova:

Me: I’m screwed.

Nova: Why????

Me: I AM ATTRACTED TO MY ROOMMATE. That’s why!!!

Nova: Well the good news is, it’s as awkward as it’s ever going to be. It can only get better!

Me: I disagree.

Nova: What got you all worked up?

Me: I just walked in on him putting together a LEGO set and it’s so nerdy and cute and… and… it’s been 24 hours. I HAVE LIVED HERE 24 HOURS. It’s TOO SOON to be fantasizing!!!

Nova: Girl, I’m the wrong one to be giving advice. I was sneaking around with my boyfriend like a teenager…

Me: Not even the same. Not a little.

Nova: I had to hide him in my bedroom once, remember?

Me: Still not the same!!

Nova: It kind of is. It’s messy and inconvenient and thrilling.

Me: It’s horrifying. He saw my ass.

Nova: Please—he liked it.

Nova: In fact, he was probably jerking off to it when he was “taking his nap.”

Me: LOLOL why are you like this?

Nova: Like what? TRUTHFUL?? You’re welcome. No one else is going to be this honest.

This is ridiculous. It’s been one day.

One!

I haven’t even learned where the extra toilet paper is kept yet and already I have the hots for one of my new roommates. Not cool. Not okay. I’m new here. I’m vulnerable. I’m going to get my bearings and find my footing and this little blip of attraction will pass. Like a cold.

Still, I don’t unpack right away. I scroll my phone instead, flip my pillow twice, and wonder if he’s still in the dining room building his castle.

And whether he’s thinking about my bare ass…