Page 142 of Pucking Sweet

“This is all your fault,” he snaps, shoving past me to wheel the first bag inside.

I step back. “What the hell happened?”

“Youtold Poppy I needed an interior decorator,” he replies, dragging in his other bag. “Now Janice is redoing all my floors because apparently, we want to achieve ‘floor plan flow.’ Whatever the fuck that means.”

I grin. “It just means your floor plan was all chopped up with different floorings.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “What?”

“Like, you had tile in the kitchen, wood in the living room, and carpet down the hall. It was going to be my first recommendation too.”

“Well, that’s just fucking perfect.” He steps past me into my little apartment kitchen. Walking right over to my cabinets, he takes out a second plate. “I have to be out of my house while she demos the kitchen and all the floors, so I’m staying here.”

“You’re redoing the kitchen?”

“Yeah. She didn’t like the outdated layout.”

Honestly, I didn’t either. Something more modern and open would fit the space great. He should upgrade to a double oven and an industrial fridge too. I wonder if he’s considering bookshelf built-ins for that sunny second-floor bedroom…

As I watch, he uses my own damn fork to stab one of my garlic lemon pepper chicken breasts, plopping it onto his plate. Then the asshole dares to take half of my perfectly dressed potato. A lesser man would knife him for it. “You know, I had actually planned to eat all that myself,” I say, crossing my arms.

“Yeah, andIplanned to live in my own damn house. We’ve all got problems.” He picks up the little mixing bowl of green beans and frowns. “This isn’t nearly enough for us to share.”

With a sigh, I toss my kitchen towel onto the counter. “There’s another bag in the fridge.”

“Well, if you think I’m making them, you’re dead wrong.” Stealing the whole bowl of green beans for himself, he takes all his pilfered food and wanders past me into the living room. “Hey, you wanna keep watchingSons of Anarchy?”

Did I just say this was going well?

49

“Poppy, where are we going?” I ask for a third time.

She’s in the driver’s seat, smiling as she bops her head to the music. “Honey, what part of ‘it’s a surprise’ do you not understand?”

“Yeah, come on,” Cole teases from the front seat. “Live a little.”

“Doyouknow where we’re going?” I challenge.

“Nope.”

She laughs, glancing over her shoulder to switch lanes. “I promise you’re both gonna love it.”

She picked us up from the apartment thirty minutes ago, looking like a dream in a yellow sundress and black cat-eye sunglasses. We only just got back in town from our away game this afternoon. We barely had time to set our stuff down before she was knocking on the door.

Now I’m wedged in the backseat of her little sports car. We flipped a coin and Cole won, so he gets to hold her hand like a greedy asshole. God, he’s so needy for affection. Any moment spent not touching Poppy makes him irritable. It’s obnoxious.

Okay, fine. Any moment I’m not touching Poppy makes me irritable too. Resigned, I reach out my hand and set it on her shoulder, my thumb brushing down the insanely soft fabric of her little white cardigan. “What fabric is this?” I say, enthralled by how soft it is.

“Cashmere,” she replies, flashing me a smile in the rearview mirror.

Fuck, I want more of this. I want this on pillows, blankets. I want to wrap her in this. I lean through the seats. “Hey Cole, tell Janice—”

“Already did,” he says, holding up his phone. I can see on the screen an open text thread he has going with my interior decorator.

She’s been hassling me all week, asking me endless questions about fabrics and wood stains and if I’m comfortable with “fashion over function.” I was feeling so overwhelmed, I shoved the phone in Cole’s face, demanding that he talk to her before I set the house on fire. He’s been dealing with her ever since. I don’t care what goes in the house, I just want it done.

And now I want a cashmere blanket to wrap Poppy in.