Page 210 of Pucking Sweet

I nod, leaning into his hand. God, why can’t things just be easy? Why do I have this bone-aching need to be seen and respected by my family? I should walk away. If people show a pattern of disrespecting you and your values, if they seek only to manipulate and control, you walk away, right? I would walk away from a job that treated me that way. I would certainly walk away from a romantic partner. Heck, I already did. Anderson was all of those things and more.

So why can’t I walk away from this? Why do I keep crawling back to them time and time again, desperate for their validation? And now I’m asking Colton and Lukas to crawl with me? I’m angry at myself. I’m angry at the stupid heart beating in my chest, telling me to keep trying, telling me this time will be different. Mom will love me for me. She’ll understand. She won’t put conditions on her love. She won’t threaten and manipulate me.

Lukas steps in, brushing a kiss to my forehead. “I’m not mad at you, I’m madforyou,” he assures me, saying what I need to hear.

I nod again, pressing myself to his chest.

“Come on,” he says after a minute. “If we’re any later, the only food left will be the tray garnishes.”

We make our way inside, and he splits off, heading over where all the other Rays are congregated. I put on my best smile and work the crowd a bit, saying “hello” to Tess and Mars, congratulating them onthe event. Colton wanders past, handing me a tray of appetizers with a wink. He piled on all my favorites—shrimp cocktail, cubed cheese, veggies with hummus. There’s even something that looks like little Mac and Cheese cups.

Ten minutes later, I’m stuck in a corner with the ladies from the Jax Beach book club. They call themselves a book club, but they’re really more of a gossip and social club. These are some of the wealthiest women in the city. Their money in the right pockets can effect real change. Sure, I’ll talk up the turtles, but I have my own schmoozing agenda too.

Monica Graham-Ives has me by the arm, telling me all the gossip about her sister’s daughter’s salacious divorce. “Oh—and did I mention my nephew, Cabot?”

“I’m not sure that you did,” I say with a smile. Women like Monica are always trying to play matchmaker. I grew up with Annmarie St. James, so I know the game inside and out.

“Oh, Poppy, honey, you just have to meet him. Cabot is an engineer for Boeing. He recently got out of a long relationship, college sweethearts,” she adds. “But he’s just the kind of guy who would be perfect for you. Let me set you up.”

“Sure,” I say, knowing it’s the only way this will end. “Why don’t I take his number from you?” Classic dodge. I get his number, then promptly lose his number.

Monica reaches excitedly for her phone as an elbow brushes at my back. I hear the muttered, “’scuse me,” and my heart freaking stops. I glance over my shoulder to see Lukas walking away.

God. Of course he heardthatand not Monica recounting her recent mole removal.

She taps her phone with one finger. “Okay, now let me see—”

“Actually, can you excuse me for teensy second?” I say, darting away. I follow after Lukas, weaving through the crowd. “Lukas,” I call out.

He doesn’t stop.

“Hey—” I catch up with him as he walks through the doors into the unused event room. It’s dark, stacks of chairs piled in the corner. “Lukas, come on, you didn’t hear what you—”

As soon as I’m through the door, he’s turning around. In his handsare a bottle of beer for him and a tonic water with lime for me. He drops both to the floor, letting them smash as he grabs me with both hands. I gasp as he reels me in, claiming my lips in a fierce kiss. A groan sits low in his throat as he walks me backward, slamming my shoulders into the wall.

Golden lights pools at our feet next to us, shining in through the glass doors. A sea of people laugh and chatter just beyond.

Lukas nips my neck, his mouth pressing in at my ear. “Who the fuck is Cabot, huh? And why are you taking his goddamn number?”

I smile, turned on by his jealousy as he works a hand up under the layers of tulle in my skirt. “Oh, he’s just a highly eligible bachelor,” I tease. “He’s an engineer for Boeing—”

“He’s dead,” he growls against my lips, working his hand under my panties.

“He’s nothing,” I say, holding his gaze as I ride his fingers. “He’s no one.”

He grins. “You remember the first time we ever fucked? I pressed you up against the goddamn ice machine and made you mine.”

“I remember.”

“We are gonna fight and fuck, scream and screw, until we’re old and gray, do you hear me? God—you’remine, Poppy.”

“Yes,” I moan, kissing him again. I need him. I need this release. All the toxicity building up inside me from that awful phone call has to come out. “Please, god,” I beg.

A shadow of someone passing right in front of the glass doors has us both going still. I’m panting, pressed against the wall, Lukas’s fingers teasing my wet pussy. My lipstick is on his lips, my fingers messing his hair.

He looks around, eyes narrowed. “Come on.”

Grabbing my hand, he leads me to the corner of the empty banquet room, pushing his way into the bathroom. A row of three high windows along the top of the wall let in a stream of silver moonlight. Just outside this building, the sand stretches over the dunes down to the beach.