Page 12 of Poppy Kisses (Return to Coal Haven #3)

Chapter Five

Jensen

The older kids were spread out so far they were in the pasture beside the shop. Poppy was warming up her legs for our kickoff. She rotated her foot while her toe was stuck in the ground. Then she did slight knee bends before doing circles with her hands on her thighs.

I should get my head in the game and quit ogling her. I hadn’t played a sport since I graduated high school, so I swung my arms a little to make it look like I cared.

I did care, but not about our kickoff. Poppy had gotten quiet during the wedding planning.

Her expression had lit up when she suggested the idea of a Perez house wedding.

First, I had feared she’d feel cornered.

Our little elopement had turned into a full-blown wedding.

The guest list might not be large, but the ceremony might upset the balance of our bargain. When did reality and fantasy mix?

She’d perked up at the thought of having her family attend, of gathering everyone to enjoy a day that was supposed to mark the beginning of everything together instead of acting like we were beginning a countdown. Then she’d gotten quiet when the details started coming together.

Her family had scattered ahead of us. My mom was standing by Magnolia, laughing.

Alder and Weston were chatting together.

Linda and Darren had eaten and left. Mom had loosened up immensely once that happened.

She’d given them a wide, guilty berth. Linda assured us that in a month, when the renters moved out, she’d give us the key.

She had even seemed to look forward to the wedding.

Did I?

I liked seeing Poppy light up and relax into me, but my stomach churned at the idea of walking down the aisle. This time, I knew the bride would be leaving me. Wasn’t that better?

The heartburn left behind after my burger told me differently.

I was getting married again. The plan to elope hadn’t felt fake, but it had registered in my head as transactional. Now I’d be a groom, standing in front of people I loved and respected, speaking my vows loud enough for them to hear. Only, unlike last time, I wouldn’t mean it.

Was that what was bothering me?

Were the same questions plaguing my bride? She hadn’t been married before, but she’d be doing the same—vowing ’til death do us part in front of family and friends.

Poppy started doing lunges and rocking back and forth.

Too many eyes were on us, or I’d talk with her. Instead I took a step back and snuck a peek at her ass. I could argue it was to help believability. I was supposed to be smitten with this woman, and truthfully, I was enamored with her.

Perhaps that was fucking with me. I couldn’t quit picturing her at the wedding, in the fading light, the sky painted with pinks and purples, facing me with those luminous eyes. Would she wear a dress with a skirt that draped over her hips and hinted at those muscular thighs?

She started trunk twists, and I had the perfect view of the way her shirt tightened against her chest. If she continued her warm-up, I’d be doing a kickoff with a kickstand, and I’d boot the ball all of five feet.

“Poppy, are you stalling?” I teased. I was so losing this challenge.

“Why would I be?” She gave me that same smug look she used to shoot me when we were younger. She knew she had this in the bag, and I was goddamn excited to see how badly she wasted me.

“Taking your sweet-ass time with that sweet ass of yours.”

Shock filled her face. “W-what?” She turned as if she was trying to see if I was really talking about her butt.

“Yes, your ass, and I’ll be watching it the whole time you’re kicking.”

Pink dusted across her cheeks, and her eyes shone. “You’re trying to mess with my mind.”

I was being one hundred percent serious. “If I was doing that, I’d also tell you that when you do your torso twists, I can tell whether your bra has lace or not.”

She sputtered and glanced down at her shirt. She hunched her shoulders. “Quit getting in my head.”

If she wanted to think I was lying, I wouldn’t argue. This was the stuff we should be doing in front of her parents. The problem was that I meant it.

“I’m gonna go first,” I said. I tapped her white-and-yellow soccer ball to the cone she’d used for a starting marker. “Keep those sweet cheeks out of sight, or I’ll think you’re a cheater.”

Her scandalized gasp rang out. “You know I never cheat, marble chest.”

The ball was forgotten. “What now?”

Her cheeks flamed. “You said sweet cheeks. I said marble chest.” She rolled her lips in, refusing to admit how ridiculous that was.

I grinned. “You were checking me out?”

“Was not!”

Everyone was watching us, but no one was closer than twenty yards. Still, I leaned in. “Do you flush red, like your name, everywhere?”

Her jaw fell, but she snapped it shut. “You’re the cheater, trying to throw me off.

” Glaring at me, she stomped away several feet.

Then she jumped up and down a few times.

I jerked my gaze off her chest before she narrowed her eyes.

“Better kick the ball before that epic warm-up of yours wears off.”

Oh, I was warm. I was also having fun. Except for her thinking that I was flirting with her to throw her off. No, my question about her flush happened to be one I wanted to very much know the answer to.

* * *

Poppy

Jensen lined up behind the ball, going farther back than I would before a kickoff. I tried to catch my breath.

In that little conversation, he’d referenced my butt and my breasts. He was teasing. The hurt trickling into my consciousness wasn’t necessary. I should be glad he hadn’t followed it up with, but you’ll never have cheeks as sweet as Hassie’s.

A quiver ran through my belly.

Jensen concentrated on the ball for several seconds before taking a few loping strides and kicking. His attempt landed in front of the fence to the pasture.

“Good job, Dad!” Auggie shouted.

It wasn’t a bad shot. We were going for distance, and that hadn’t been my best trait. I could do power and I could curve, but straight yardage? Not as good.

My years of experience had to count for something. Years I hadn’t used in a long time.

Laila kicked the ball, but it only went as far as Dad and Alder. My brother tapped it to Lily and she punted it toward me. It lifted into an arc through the air.

“Oops!” Lily called. “Sorry.”

“No problem.” I stopped the ball with my shin and set it in place with my foot.

Alder whistled and Violet clapped for what was basically a drill I’d done a million times.

The old thrill I used to get when I played reared up, and so did the shame from the last time I coached and tried to act like I knew what I was doing.

I stuffed it all down. I was enjoying myself, and I didn’t want to stop.

Jensen turned toward me, but instead of a gloating look, excitement sparkled in his eyes. “Show me what you can do, Boots.”

I should’ve been prepared, but I made a choking sound. “Boots now?”

He winked as he backed up to give me space. “I have a feeling it’s going to fit.”

“I had a cat named Boots.”

This was officially the weirdest challenge I’d ever taken on, and that included all the ones between me and Jensen as kids. He was almost complimentary. Impressed. And I had barely touched the ball.

I backed up opposite Jensen. I liked a curved path for penalty kicks. I was aiming for the direction Jensen’s kick had landed. Only farther, naturally. Visualizing the action, how it’d feel, and the length it’d fly, I concentrated. He’d done well, and my nerves had noticed.

I looked from the white-and-yellow ball by the cone to beyond the fence. Damn. I mentally laid a soccer field out in front of me. This would be like a Hail Mary kick to get the offense as far away from our goal as possible. A last-second chance to keep them from scoring before the clock buzzed.

I sprinted, speeding up as I went, then I clenched my abs and channeled all the power of my core into the kick. An oomph left me and I straightened to watch.

“Hot damn,” Jensen said. “That’s a good one.”

The ball crested, going straight. Some of my stomach acid settled down. I’d done well too.

After a few seconds, the ball hit the ground several feet beyond the fence. I threw my hands in the air as my family cheered.

Strong arms wrapped around my waist, and I was lifted off the ground. Jensen swung me around. “Helluva kick, Boots.”

Laughter bubbled out of me, but electricity charged across my skin.

“Let’s play kickball!” Cali shouted.

Jensen set me down, but he didn’t let me go. I could’ve spent an eternity smashed against his hard, strong body. “I knew you’d demolish me.”

He said it like he hadn’t doubted it. Touched, I put my hands on his shoulders, willing him not to let go. “You had me scared, not gonna lie.”

He grinned. “We could try throwing a football.”

“I’d have to give up right away. My legs are my weapons. My arms are for show.”

He barked out a laugh, and his Adam’s apple worked up and down. Unadulterated joy filtered through me. What was this?

It was Jensen. And me. We didn’t act like this.

We also weren’t kindergarteners. Or fifth graders. Or eighth graders. This was us as adults. We were getting married. In a real wedding. The reality check pointed out that he was still holding on to me.

Auggie skidded to a stop next to me. “Dad, can I be on your team?”

Jensen put a few inches of space between us. That was the awareness I needed. We had to pretend while also not confusing Auggie too badly.

He smiled at his son. “Should we do boys against girls?”

Shouts of “yeah” rang around us, and Auggie sprinted away.

Jensen considered me. “What happens if we win?”

I lifted a brow. “You want to make a bet?”

“We didn’t for the kickoff. Seems like you missed an opportunity.”

Me? Because he knew I’d win. That soothing warmth spread deeper into me. “I clean your house for a week if you win?”

“Mm, the place is pretty clean. I’m more partial to going out to eat.”

Ah. “You want me to babysit Auggie so you can go out. Wait… We can’t see other people if we’re—”

“No, you and me go out to eat—for the next year.”

Oh. I opened my mouth to speak, but surprise froze my vocal cords. A year? A year of what was basically a date?

“And if your team wins,” he continued, “I’ll give you a year of massages.”

I scoffed. “Are you serious?” He couldn’t be. There was nothing in it for him. I’d be buying him dinners.

Those massages though… “You got me. Two weeks of massages or two weeks of date nights. I’m not made of money.”

“Six months.”

“One month.”

“Two.”

I wouldn’t survive one massage session. His hands on my bare skin? A flush swamped me just thinking about it. I’d have to pretend that I wasn’t turned on, and we’d be doing enough faking until the wedding ceremony that turned into a real ceremony with a very false motivation.

Disappointment slowly sunk in. He knew my team would win. It was why he’d made the bet. What made the most dangerous part of this bargain was that I was tempted to throw the game.