Page 15 of Pucking Sweet

With a last wave, she disappears inside her unit, and I’m left standing here, staring at her closed door. My phone buzzes in my hand again. This time it’s Sanford, and I know I’m in trouble. Twenty bucks says the guys threaten to take me off the group chat and replace me with Davidson as soon as I sit down.

In this moment, I really don’t care. I just learned four new things about Poppy St. James:

Close to (and still grieving) her dead grandmother.

Former competitive (now occasional) runner.

Likes to bake.

Night owl.

That’s four things I didn’t know before. Four things that make her real. A mirage can’t make homemade granola. A miragedoesn’t fill my senses with the sweet smell of her athletic sweat. A mirage can’t touch my arm, offering me the condoling caress of a friend.

Poppy is real, and she’s here.

I was a chickenshit in DC, too focused on chasing my own career to bother with actually chasingher. But Dad’s dying put so much of my life into sharp perspective. I don’t want to look back on my deathbed and realize I only ever had my career to keep me warm. I want a partner, a friend, a lover. God willing, I’ll have a family too. I want something that lasts when I’m gone. I want somethingreal.

I want Poppy St. James.

This is my second chance. I’ve been chasing the idea of her in my dreams for so long. Now it’s time to man up and chase the real thing.

6

“Novikov?”

My feet go still on my exercise bike. I watch as Doctor Price strolls out of her exam room, tablet in hand. Compton steps out after her, bouncing on his feet like he’s walking on a damn cloud. The fool must really have it bad for her.

Hot Doc glances around the gym again. “Lukas Novikov? You’re up next!”

“Dude, that’s you,” Paulie says from the bike next to me.

“Okay,” I say under my breath. “Go time, Nov.” I’ve got a multi-part prank planned for today, and it all hinges on this moment. I slip off my bike and wave my hand to get her attention. Pulling a Poppy, I call out with a, “Yoo-hoo! Doc, over here!”

Paulie and Woody snort, miming my wave as I saunter over to where Doc Price waits.

“Hey, Novikov.” She tucks her tablet under her arm and offers me her hand. “I’m Rachel Price. Nice to meet you.”

I shake her hand, winking over at Compton just because I can. The asshole glowers at me, so I step in a little closer. “Nice to meet you too, Doc. And you can call me Novy. Everyone does.”

She gestures for me to go into the exam room first. My gaze darts around as I search for my prize. Right there, resting on the counter next to her coffee cup, is a set of keys.

Bingo.

She keeps the door open as she follows me in. “Okay, so this is just a routine hip and knee checkup. We’ll do some range of motion exercises, and I’ll test your flexibility, making note of any pain or worry spots you may have.”

“Righto.”

“Doctor Tyler said you tripped and fell off a treadmill last week. Banged up your knee pretty good, right? Do you mind showing me which knee?”

God, that was fucking embarrassing. Hit both elbows too. And my hip. I manage to huff a laugh and wave her off. “Oh, that was nothing. I feel fine.”

“Mhmm. Hop up on the table for me, Novy.”

I do as she asks, and she sets the tablet down next to me. Without preamble, she places both hands on my left knee and presses in lightly with her thumbs on either side of my kneecap.

“Ow—fuck,” I all but squeal, jerking away from her.

“But you’re fine, right?” she says, clearly unimpressed.