Page 49 of Don’t Go Breaking My Heart (Houston Baddies #3)

poppy

. . .

T here are about seventy-five things I want to say. Some of them are sharp and biting, born from every ache and confusing day since I left. Some are soft, vulnerable, the kind of words that make your throat hurt when you try to force them out.

None of them come.

Instead, I sit here. Frozen. Hoping he says something first because if I open my mouth now, I might accidentally ask him if he still sleeps in the hoodie I left behind.

Turner tilts his head, eyes never leaving mine. “You look great.”

Do I? Because I’ve felt like complete shit, but we’ll get to that in a second…

“Thanks,” I say, easy breezy— fake . “You look perfect, as usual.”

There’s a pause, not awkward, but charged. Like the moment before lightning strikes, where the air gets thick and you know a storm is on the horizon. I reach for a napkin and begin twisting it in my lap.

“So,” I blurt, louder than necessary. “How have you been?”

Ugh, how generic could I be?

Turner raises a brow, clearly amused. “You want to start with small talk?”

“Sure? I don’t know,” I mutter, flustered. “Do we start with small talk? Or with me groveling?”

This interests him and he seems to perk up. “You want to grovel? Tell me more.” He’s grinning, elbow on the table, chin resting on his fists as he studies me across the table.

“Would you please stop looking at me like that?”

It’s too much.

“All I’m saying is,” Turner says. “If you’re about to grovel, followed by a confession that you’ve been secretly in love with me since the moment you saw me, I’d prefer it be done before Georgia and Nova get back from the bathroom.”

I inhale. “I don’t think they’re coming back.”

He laughs. “No, I doubt it. They probably went out the back door.”

I splay my hands on the table, nibbling my bottom lip nervously. How much do I tell him? How much do I reveal about the past thirty-six hours?

How many pregnancy tests does a person have to take before they’re sure of the results?

“I want to share something with you because I want to begin this new chapter being completely honest.”

He nods.

“You know I haven’t been feeling well.”

Understatement ; I’ve been barfing for days.

I glance down at my fidgeting hands, folding the napkin into a lame origami airplane that I immediately rip in half because I can’t sit still.

Deep breath.

“I took five pregnancy tests.”

His eyes widen at this announcement.

“Okay,” he says with bated breath. “ And ?”

“They were all negative,” I add quickly, before his thoughts spiral.

The tension in his shoulders relaxes, but he’s watching me closely, hands resting on the tabletop now.

“At first, I was relieved,” I admit, trying for casual but my voice wobbles. “Like, full-body sigh of relief. Because—newsflash—parenthood isn’t on my color-coded to-do list right now.”

His mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile.

“But then…” I fiddle with the shredded napkin scraps in my lap. “Once the relief faded, I realized I was oddly disappointed about it.”

His brows lift in surprise.

“I’m not saying I wanted it to be positive,” I hurry to clarify. “It’s just—there was this teensy, weensy part of me that thought…if I was preggo, it maybe wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Since it would’ve been us .”

Us.

The word hangs in the air, lingering. For one horrible moment Turner doesn’t smile; he has no smart-ass remark—not that he’s ever sarcastic, but he gives me nothing but an unreadable, steady gaze that has me squirming in my seat.

My stomach twists.

Oh shit. Did I make this weird by admitting that?

I open my mouth to backpedal; before I can get a word out, Turner exhales sharply and leans back in the booth, shaking his head like he’s trying to process it.

Then,

“ Jesus Christ, Poppy ,” he says finally, voice low but incredulous, “I thought you never wanted to see me again. Now you’re talking babies—” A grin breaks across his face. “—This is great fucking news.”

It is?

I sit up straighter.

“If there’s even a version of reality where you’d consider having a baby with me, I’m calling that a win.”

He is?

“You are?”

He nods. “Fuck yes. We haven’t known each other long so I don’t know what this is, but goddamn, these past few weeks have sucked.”

My chest tightens, but before I can respond, he leans forward, hands sliding across the table until they’re wrapped around mine.

“The place has gone to shit,” he says solemnly.

I let out a short laugh, the knot in my stomach loosening. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“I have to be dramatic. I won’t have a place to live soon.”

That makes my head snap up. “Wait—what?”

“Fucking Luca wants to sell the house so he and Nova can unload her apartment and buy something together. She obviously hates our place or she’d just move in, right?

Either way, Cash and I have to find new spots.

He gave us about six months, but I’m not going to wait.

They’re already talking paint colors and upgrades, and you know what that means… ”

Turner needs a place to stay.

Turner is moving.

“So what’s your plan?”

His mouth curves, that slow grin that gets me every time. “Thought I’d move in with you.”

He’s joking. I know he’s joking.

Still.

My grin tips into something equally dangerous. “Obviously.” I let the pause stretch, just long enough for him to notice. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

His foot hooks mine beneath the table, a casual trap I don’t bother escaping. “By catching up, do you mean banging and oral?”

I do miss the oral…

I lean forward, presenting him with enough to make his eyes drop from my eyes. “Wow. You skipped right over movie nights and cooking dinner together.”

“Those are implied,” he deadpans.

The idea of sharing space with him again makes my chest feel fizzy and warm, like champagne bubbles expanding behind my ribs.

“You’d have to pull your weight,” I warn, trying to keep my voice steady. “Cooking, cleaning, killing spiders.”

“You love having me around.”

I pretend to think about whether or not I actually do, twirling a straw between my fingers. “Hmm. You do keep the coffee pot full.”

“That’s not the only thing I want to fill,” he says, and I choke on air.

My mouth opens.

Closes.

“Are we getting along?”

Before either of us can respond, the clatter of heels on tile interrupts us and Georgia slides back into the booth beside him with all the grace of a college student who’s been dragged through a lecture hall.

Nova rests her hip on the table.

“Wow,” Georgia says, surveying us like a scientist observing two suspicious lab rats. “What’s this? A moment?”

Nova narrows her eyes at me. “Why do you both look guilty? What’d I miss?”

Turner smiles at my best friend. “We were just saying how we’re going to get out of here, go back to her place, and bang one out.”

His sister’s jaw drops. “COULD YOU NOT?” She pauses. “Wait. What about me? I’m not done wallowing!”