Page 104 of Don't Go Breaking My Heart
He freezes when he sees me, beer halfway to his mouth.
His sunglasses might hide his eyes, but his lips part and his Adam’s apple bobs, so pronounced it’s almost comical.
I bite back a grin.
Gotcha.
So. I do what I do, sauntering—no, strutting—over to the lounge chair next to his, tossing a towel down and plopping onto it with a forced, blissful sigh, stretching my arms over my head, arching my backjust enoughto make the fabric of my swimsuit ride up, exposing a baby bit of underboob.
I wiggle my toes. “Have you been in the pool yet?”
I know he has;he is still wet.
Before Turner can answer, Cash’s voice booms over the music. “Roomie!Hey.”
I look up to see Cash striding toward Turner and me, some random guy following behind.Oh shit.I know I’m in for it—I can feel it in my bones.
The guy is all broad shoulders, dark hair, and a blindingly white grin that screamsI was the high school quarterback, they were the best days of my life, and I tell everyone about it.
Jeez.
I wish I had somewhere to hide, but I don’t, cringing inwardly when Cash slaps the guy on the back as they approach, his grin wide and excited.Like he’s about to introduce me to my future husbandor perform his good deed of the decade, pride oozing off him before I even know what he’s about.
“Pops. Roomie,” he says again, and beside me, Turner’s body tenses when our roommate shoves the stranger forward like he’s presenting a prize stud at the county fair. “This is Paul. Paul, I was tellin’ you about my new roommate Poppy.”
I cannot for the life of me imagine what’s been said.
Paul smiles down at me, gaze sliding over me in a slow, deliberate sweep that makes me want to take a long, steaming hot shower.
“Hey, Poppy,” he says, dragging out my name like he’s testing how it tastes in his mouth. “How’s it going?”
“Hi—it’s going fine. No complaints.” I force a smile and sit up a little straighter on the lounge chair, wishing my tits weren’t on full display cause Paul notices.
And Paul clearly appreciates it.
Dammit!
Cash nudges his buddy. “Paul was sayin’ how hot it is out here. Maybe you could take him swimming. Cool him off a little.”
I want to gag in my mouth.
“Are you playing matchmaker, Carlson?” Turner asks him, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Naw man, just wanted to introduce two lost souls who are new to town. Playing tour guide, ha ha.” He laughs.
Paul shifts on his heels, his broad shoulders gleaming with water, his eyes glued to my chest. He’s got that frat-boy grin that’s both cocky and clueless, with zero manners and zero fucks given.
Double ew.
“Wasn’t expecting it to be so hot out here,” Paul says affably, running a hand through his dark hair. “You wanna take me for a swim, Poppy?”
Stop.
No.
Turner’s beer bottle hits the little patio table with a thunk as he sits up, leaning with his elbows on his knees and hands braced on his thighs, fingers splayed, tension radiating through every line of his body.
I swallow, fighting the urge to look at Turner. “Oh. Well. My swimsuit can’t get wet—it’s new,” I say, flicking my ponytail over my shoulder.
