Page 48 of Don't Go Breaking My Heart
She hesitates. Bites her bottom lip. Looks at me from under those long lashes that have been my slow, inevitable downfall since day one.
“Why are you still single?” she finally blurts. “You’re—you know. You.”
I blink, surprised. Laugh a little under my breath. “You mean a big, dumb jock with a star tattoo for his sister, who’s a homebody that would rather not go to the bars?”
“Stop it, Turner. I did not call you a big dumb jock,” she says, frustrated. “I mean—you’re great. And funny. And… not hard to look at.”
I pretend to preen, fluttering my lashes. “Flatter me some more.”
I study her for a second, feeling the truth rise up in my throat so easily it’s almost scary.
“Guess it’s because…” I say quietly, “I’m not really into half-ass things. If I’m in, I’m all in. No games. No staying on the damn apps, waiting for something better to come along. And I’ve noticed that’s not how dating is these days. Everyone is always looking for the next best thing.”
I’m not willing to settle.
“What about you?” I ask, nudging her foot. “Why are you still single?”
“For a lot of the same reasons,” she says finally, voice low. “I don’t... date just to date. And it has been hard because as I’ve established my career, I’ve moved quite a few times. I don’t really want to waste time when I’m just passing through, you know?”
I get it.
At any given time, I could be traded to another team and have to move. No guarantees.
No permanence.
We’re both living on borrowed time.
“Sure, makes sense,” I say, softer now. “You protect yourself.”
Her mouth twists, like she’s trying to smile but can’t quite get there. “Yeah. Kind of have to.”
I shift on the mattress, turning onto my side to face her more fully. Poppy mirrors the movement, propping her head up with one hand, elbow denting the pillow between us.
Her fingers are so close I could touch them if I wanted.So close it’s stupid.
The TV hums in the background. Some dumb late-night infomercial playing to an audience of two idiots trying not to fall harder.
“Poppy,” I murmur, searching her face.
She smiles, small and shy and heart stopping. “Hmm?”
“What’s the worst heartbreak you’ve ever had?”
Her lashes flutter, surprised. Not the question she expected and not the one I had planned to ask.
“I think...” she says quietly, staring at our hands. “The worst heartbreak wasn’t from a person. It was from realizing someone I trusted wasn’t who I thought they were.” She glances up at me. “People always think heartbreak comes from romance. But sometimes it’s bigger than that. Family. Friends. The worst kind of heartache is when a friend doesn’t want to be your friend anymore.”
I stay quiet, letting her take her time.
“What friend?” I ask eventually, my voice low.
She lets out a breath. “A girl Nova and I met in college. Freshman year, dorm room two doors down from mine. We all clicked so fast it was like we were sisters or something. Late-night study sessions, road trips, birthdays, everything.”
Poppy’s mouth twists, and she picks at a loose thread on the pillow between us. “And then... I don’t know. Things started changing. She got busier. Started making plans to hang out with Nova, but not with me. Her excuses were insulting. Always had some reason she couldn’t come or needed to reschedule.”
“I had the worst complex from it,” she goes on, humorlessly. “At first, I thought it was me—like maybe I was too boring.Maybe I wasn’t cool enough. Then I realized she was just done. No big blow-up. No explanation. Just... done. And I’ve been left to wonder what the hell I did to piss her off, and I’ll never know because Nova stopped speaking to her.”
“As a united front?”
