Page 21 of I'll Keep Her Safe

“She’s my daughter’s friend.”

“Ah, that’s right. So, I’ve got nothing to worry about then,” he adds, with a pompous chuckle that riles me. I’m tempted to say something to contradict that statement, but I don’t. It would be both inappropriate and immature.

Not to mention plain incorrect.

Besides, he’d probably just laugh. As if Poppy would go for a guy my age when she can have a young man like this. When she can have any guy she damn well wants.

I reach for the jar and hold it out impatiently. “Well, thanks for stopping by. You can—”

“She’s a good girl,” the guy says, suddenly wistful. There’s an unusual statement if I’ve ever heard one. “But she does make some silly mistakes.”

“Don’t we all?” Protectiveness surges through me again. There’s something about him I really don’t like, but I know better than to trust my judgment right now.

“Not me,” he says, with a supercilious air that makes me want to clock him in the face. “I’m about to make partner at my firm.”

“Good for you,” I mutter. Why the fuck is telling me that?

He runs his gaze across me again, finally handing over the flowers, but he makes no move to leave, and anger rises inside me. All I want is to sit down with a beer and my lunch. Why does he even have my address, anyway? Poppy has barely been here for a week; how inconsiderate to give my address out to her boyfriend and not even warn me that he might show up unannounced. The sooner I can get her out of here, the better. Hell, why doesn’t she move in with this guy?

I set the flowers aside and lift my hands to my hips. He seems to get the message because he reluctantly peels himself from where he’s leaning against the counter. On the way past, he extends his hand.

“I’m Kurt. Kurt Snell.”

I shake it with great hesitation. “Wyatt,” I bite out.

“Tell Poppy I stopped by.” He flashes me another smile, and there’s something almost predatory about it, something that makes my stomach squirm.

But whatever. He’s notmyboyfriend.

There’s a sound at the door, catching both of our attention, and when Poppy enters the kitchen, she stops dead in her tracks, her gaze riveted to Kurt.

I heave a sigh of exasperation. So much for peace and quiet.

“Tell her yourself,” I mutter, snatching up my lunch and turning for the stairs. I’ll have to sit on my bed and watch TV, which isnotwhat I had in mind, but there’s no way I’m staying to witness these two together.

Poppy goes to speak to me as I pass, but I continue up the stairs, not in the mood. I can’t tell if I’m irritated that she’s come home when she should be at work, that she’s given out my address to her slimy boyfriend, or that she never told me she had a boyfriend in the first place. But why should she? It’s not like I have a right to know these things. She’s my daughter’s friend, not some prospective love interest. She can do whatever—and whoever—she likes.

I’m doing a piss-poor job of convincing myself, though, because the moment the door to my room is closed, I pull my phone from my pocket and dial Bailey. At the very least, I can tell her that Poppy is happy and fine because her boyfriend is here. She’d want to know that.

“Hey, Dad.” It’s not until my daughter answers her phone that I realize she’s probably starting her workday.

“Hey,” I say gruffly, sinking down onto the bed. “Sorry, kiddo, are you at work?”

“I am, but I can talk.” I hear the clacking of keys in the background. “What’s up?”

“I just met Poppy’s boyfriend. Thought… you’d want to know she’s fine.”

There’s a pause. “What?”

“Her boyfriend stopped by. Bought her a huge bunch of lilies.”

“Her…” The clacking stops. “What was his name?”

I unwrap my burger. “Kurt something.”

“Shit—” There’s a rustling sound, and when Bailey speaks again, her voice is much closer to the phone. “You metKurt?”

“Yep.” I ignore the bitter feeling swirling through my chest as I lift my burger for a bite. “He showed up with flowers.”

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