Page 27 of Keeper
“You don’t have to pick me up,” I say, forcing his dimples to disappear. “I can take a cab.”
“Yes I do, and no you won’t.” His words are firm and his jaw is taut. I stare in wonder because he’s managed to lose the youthful look he always has by simply using those few words. In this moment, he’s all man.
A thick Scottish voice from behind interrupts our peculiar eye contact. “Hello there, Poppet. Nice tae see ye again.” I turn to find Andrew William—a fellow gym buddy who works out the same time as I do. We’ve been running into each other up here almost daily since I moved in, and I have to admit, I marvel at his accent.
“Hello, Andrew,” I say with a smile and feel intense scrutiny from Booker watching beside me. “How are you?”
“Aye, I’m no bad. Getting a late start I’m afraid. I had an awfy late one last night, so I’m gonna be hingin at some point today.” He laughs a little too hard at himself as he tosses a white towel over his muscle-tee’d shoulder. He turns to Booker.
“Sorry, this is Booker,” I stammer. “My flatmate. Booker, this is Andrew. He lives…on the first floor?”
“Aye,” he confirms with a wink right at me as he reaches out and shakes Booker’s hand. He winks a lot. It’s Andrew’s thing.
“And how do you two know each other?” Booker asks as I try to shake off the sense of déjà vu.
“We don’t,” I rush. “I mean, we met up here. Similar workout schedules is all.” I sing the last word and rock on the balls of my feet, feeling horribly nervous for some reason.
“We ken each other a wee bit.” Andrew winks again. “I ken enough tae know that ye cannae bench more than one forty. Last time ye tried, ye nearly choked yerself oot. Ye would have if I hadny been here tae spot ye.”
I laugh self-consciously. “That was a fun day.”
Booker doesn’t look as amused.
An awkward silence descends upon us, and I can’t help but take a moment to compare Booker to Andrew. Standing side-by-side, it’s clear they are both athletes in peak physical condition. But my eyes gravitate toward Booker’s build of tall, stretched out, well-proportioned muscle. Booker looks lithe and fast. Andrew stands a couple inches shorter than him, and you can’t quite tell where his neck ends and his shoulders begin. His muscles are huge and rippling, but overpower his physique to the point where his head appears a bit tiny in comparison. He looks like he could plough through an entire football team, though.
“Well, I’ll let ye get tae it.” Andrew’s eyes stay on me longer than necessary as he turns and makes his way over to the treadmills.
I smile awkwardly at Booker before moving to the nearby bench, ready to work my triceps. I prop my right hand and right knee on the bench to form a ninety-degree angle with my arm and begin lifting.
After several sets, I pause, shoulders rising and falling with heavy breaths. My eyes lift to the mirror where I find Booker unabashedly staring at my arse. He flicks his gaze to mine, the storminess of his eyes causing knots to form in my belly. I assume he’s going to look away. Blush. Something.
But he doesn’t.
He simply returns his view to my arse. Sitting on the bench and drinking me all in. Every inch of me.
The cheeky bastard.
He’s not even trying to hide it anymore. He’s blatantly checking me out. I know that’s what I wanted, but only because I thought it would make him sweat. Make him squirm. Make him regret what he did last night.
What I’m seeing before me is not a man living with regret.
It’s a man who looks hungry.
What surprises me more than anything is that Iwanthim to keep looking.
IDON’T KNOW EXACTLY WHATI’m doing with Poppy, but I know doing nothing isn’t enough anymore. The day after the gym, Poppy tells me she’s going to her parents’ house instead of Dad’s for our regular Sunday dinner, which I completely understand. They’ve missed her, too, and I get to come home to her every night.
Come home to her every night? Christ, Booker. Get a grip.
What I don’t expect is the disappointment I feel when she texts me to say she’s going to spend the night. I’m telling myself it has nothing to do with me, she’s just catching up with her family. But there’s an ominous fear in the back of my mind that she might be trying to avoid me again.
After a typical Sunday night dinner at Dad’s, my space in my flat feels empty. Poppy’s room is dark. The kitchen backsplash light is off. I leave it on for her every night so she doesn’t get creeped out walking to the loo in the dark. Years of disturbingGrimm’s Fairy Talesperpetuating her fear. I can’t help but feel disappointed by howquietit is. It’s crazy how even with all the tension and awkward moments that have come and gone between us, I still want her here, no matter what.
I miss her.
Poppy is easy to miss.
Draped on my back on top of my big bed, my thoughts drift to her at the gym yesterday. I replay everything in my mind, wondering if I pushed too hard or too fast. Eye-fucking her probably wasn’t the best idea, but I couldn’t help it. The sheer cutouts on the sides of her leggings went all the way to her waistband, and I never saw a knicker line.
