Page 62 of Half Baked

“Wait. I don’t even get introduced?” Jamie sulks.

“Jamie, Poppy. Poppy, Jamie.”

“It’s nice to put a face to the name,” he grins. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Andwe’re leaving.” I turn, practically dragging Poppy away from them.

At the door, she stops and smiles up at me. “You’re blushing.”

I can’t wait to get her alone and kiss that smirk right off her face.

Chapter 27

Poppy

My brain has been permanently altered. The sensation of being kissed by Hayden Thompson seared into it. I wish we had taken his tiny sports car back to my house instead of Jamie’s pick-up truck. The whole drive I felt as if he was too far away.

I need more of the touch that still lingers on my skin. More of his heavenly scent that clings like a delectable haze to the hoodie I’m wearing.

“I only have a minute before I need to head back to the station, but I was wondering if…” He turns off the truck and shifts to face me. The glow of my front porch lights makes his features look softer, like just maybe, the man I previously accused of being callous is actually the softest place my heart could ever land.

“Yes?” I urge.

“I have been wanting to ask you something, but I’ve been putting it off because I’m afraid you’ll say no.”

“That sounds… ominous.”

“I was hoping you’d reconsider your RSVP to the clambake this year. Considering…” he pauses to kiss me, his hand comingup to gently cup my face as he murmurs against my lips, “Considering this.”

“You mean my standing RSVP of no?”

“That’s the one.” His thumb traces along my cheek. “I know tomorrow is pretty last-minute notice, but?—”

“I’ll come.”

His blue eyes are swimming with hope as they study me. “Really?”

I can’t help the silly smile that catches on my lips. “Really. Why did you wait so long to ask?”

It’s his turn to smile at me. “Maybe because you were still running away from me on the beach just a few days ago the minute our friends showed up.”

He has a point, of course. I hadn’t thought about what it would mean to put aside the claws when outside of our little bubble. But that hope is still shining in his eyes, and his hand is still warm against my cheek, and I still want to throw myself at him and beg him to come inside for the night.

I might enjoy fighting with him, but I am tired of fighting the way I want him.

“I’ll be there,” I assure him with a kiss. “But I think your minute is up. If you’d prefer to bail on your debrief and come inside instead…” I trail off, motioning over my shoulder at my house.

“You don’t know how much I want to,” he groans. “Especially with you looking like that.”

I scoff as he drops a hand to my waist and tugs me over the center console of the truck. I land in his lap with little to no grace and don’t mind a bit. “The wet dog look really does it for you?”

His attention moves deliberately slowly over my body, as if cataloging the sight of me sitting here with my legs slung across his lap and my hands wrapped around his neck. Then he lifts a hand and tugs on the collar of my borrowed sweatshirt.

“Looking like mine.”

His mouth is back at my lips before his words have a chance to fully sink in. This isn’t simply a goodnight kiss. It’s a kiss that holds a promise of more. His every movement is charged with emotion, from the way he grips my hip with one hand and cradles the back of my head with the other. The way his tongue is urgent for more yet unhurried at the same time.

And I kiss him back with the same desperate need to convey that this is all important to me too.

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