She cooked and he cleaned and in between he got in a few good kisses.
In her lifetime she’d had three nannies, she’d told him. One taught her how to shut her mouth and not be seen. That bitch he somewhat remembered and hated her on principle for treating Poppy that way. The second nanny taught her etiquette shit, he didn’t care if she blew her nose on the table napkin, as long as she was happy. It was the third nanny who Poppy loved, she taught her how to cook. Texas didn’t want to tell Poppy that the nanny had failed, he just choked down her attempt at butter scones and charred pancakes because he saw the pride she took in doing things for herself.
Poppy had been in touch with her nanny Trey this past week. He’d take her to Florida to see her old nanny sometime in the spring.
He was now that man who walked a goat.
Or to say, his girl walked the goat and he prowled beside her holding her hand.
They got stares, some giggles and Poppy loved Glenn getting attention.
Glenn Coco was her favorite accessory in his winter coats she ordered from Amazon or made him drive to PetSmart and when they got home, the kitten would be rolled up on the couch in one of Texas’ old t-shirts, the thing cried if it didn’t have that shirt.
Yeah, life was sweet.
Some of that sweetness left his tongue when he got home just after 4 that afternoon, bone weary, wanting to lay eyes on his girl, maybe crash in front of the box and maul her some with his hands down her pants making her cry into his mouth.
His Penelope loved his mauling, she told him often enough.
His dick got hard just thinking about what part of her body he’d suck on first.
He had a great relationship going with her little tits.
The girls loved him and he thought they tasted like sweet toffee.
“Poppy.” He yelled through the apartment. She was usually skidding across the floor the moment his key opened the door. His frown hit his forehead when only the goat bleated from his cage. That was unusual because Poppy bitched at him for putting the goat in there at night, she never had the animals caged during the day. “Poppy, where are you?” He repeated and got no reply as he let the animals out.
He knew why a minute later after dumping out the old coffee to start a fresh pot and noticed a brown envelope on the countertop. It looked official with an attorney’s stamp in the corner. Addressed to Poppy. Next to it was a handwritten note and his belly bottomed out the moment his eyes scanned over the few sentences.
Tait,
I’ve had to catch a flight to Harrison. I didn’t want to tell you over the phone and have you come with me; I know you don’t like being at home. We’ll talk about the envelope when I return. Poppy.
No love. No kisses.
What the fuck. She’d left him?
He about tore into the envelope to see what the hell was inside that needed talking about. And when he saw the brief letter, detailing that Grigori Kuznetsov, instructed to have a package delivered to Poppy Astor, c/o his address, he nearly exploded.
Inside were five photographs, black and white, grainy quality that wasn’t Instagram worthy, but they absolutely showed Texas with his arms around a woman. That Russian woman from the warehouse. The one who got railed over Grigori’s desk. The same woman he fed drugs to in front of Texas.
The photos appeared damning to anyone who didn’t know the backstory.
Motherfucker.
The rage that exploded out of Texas could have shook the walls.
It definitely scared the goat who started bleating frantically and butting his leg until Texas crouched down and rode a hand down his back. “Shhh, little buddy. It’s okay. I’m pissed off, it’s okay.”
That dipshit, even from the grave had orchestrated to fuck Texas up the ass.
It was probably his insurance policy, by taking covert pictures that day of Texas helping the woman, in order to get him to heel by getting Mal on side.
Little did Grigori know his death would happen that day.
He could only surmise that shithead had put it into place while Texas stood around waiting for him.
Now Poppy probably thought he was running around on her when he wasn’t in the house.