Page 62 of Keeper
She pulls back and looks into my eyes. “Why not? I thought this would be a footballer’s wet dream. Shag me on the pitch and get all tangled up in the net. Score a goal…All that jazz.”
I press my forehead to hers and sigh. “I want to, believe me…And someday we are coming back here to do just that. But right now, I want you in my bed so I can hold you when we’re done. No more separate beds.”
She inhales, her tongue darting out to lick her pink lips. “You are so cheesy I could puke.”
My face splits into a broad smile. “Well, get ready because I think there might be more where that came from, Pop.” I drop a soft kiss on her agitated lips.
She begrudgingly slides down off of me. We silently get dressed, smirking at each other like horny teenagers the whole time.
When we’re all put back together, I hold my hand out for her to take. “Let’s go have dinner with my family.”
She cringes. “Should I be scared? It seems kind of odd that we skipped out on the limo. I’m terrified Vi is going to come after me, guns blazing.”
I laugh and drop a kiss on each of her palms. “Don’t worry, you’re in safe hands.”
BOOKER DRIVES US OVER TOthe Mayfair-Soho area where the posh Cuckoo Club resides. It’s an enormous nightclub spread over two floors kitted out in a rock chic motif, fusing a gritty glam with contemporary luxury. It’s definitely a place you spot celebrities, but the over-the-top creative vibe is so fitting for Tanner and Belle’s celebration, I can see why they selected it.
My belly is in knots as Booker waffles his hand with mine and leads me through the club to the upper level where they’ve reserved the VIP room for a private dinner. All eyes are on his tall, broad frame as he weaves through the crowd. It’s an extremely eye-opening sight—a harsh reminder that Booker is not my childhood friend anymore. He’s a professional footballer. A London-famous Harris with dimples and abs who girls throw their knickers at. I’ve never been the jealous or insecure type with other blokes I’ve dated, but this reaction is Booker-specific. I was insecure before he became a famous footballer. Now I have to accept that every girl here wants him to contend with as well.What was I thinking?
I don’t look like the girls in this club who are eye-fucking him right now. These girls look like Sidney—the one he gave his heart to when he broke mine. What if I’m not enough after all? Why didn’t I think this all through before stripping down and baring my soul to him in front of that fucking net an hour ago?
This is like that whole sharing a bathroom with a bloke incident that I didn’t fully think through before I decided to simply hide my tampons in my bedroom.God, I’m a mess.
“Hey,” Booker halts in the middle of a crowd and looks at me with a puzzled brow. “Are you all right?”
I shake my head. “No, Booker. I’m freaking the hell out. What are we?” I blurt out, unceremoniously. I was comforting him before on the pitch, but now it’s my turn to have a mini breakdown.
He frowns at my pinched face. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m about to be thrust in front of the infamously pushy Harris family and you’re here…waffling my hand.” I yank our hands up as proof. He just looks more confused. “We’ve talked through your fears, but not mine. And certainly not the rudimentary things, like labels. So before we go up there, what are we?”
I’m out of breath as he gazes down at me with an infuriatingly sexy smirk on his face that sets me off further.
“This is not the time to have a laugh,” I snap. “My mind is imploding in on itself and you’re looking at me like I’m a cute panda falling off a swing. It’s a valid concern, Booker! I know we just talked through a lot of stuff, but I need more. Are we exclusive? Or are we seeing other people?” My lip curls as I take a moment to look around at the big-chested women moving in on us. Mumbling to myself but loud enough he can hear me, I add, “I’m sure there are a lot of girls here that would be more than happy to waffle hands with you.”
“No,” Booker growls, snapping me out of my insecure lady gazing. His face is stony serious as he presses up against me, cradling my cheeks in his large hands. His eyes are hard on mine as he says, “No, Poppy. We’re not seeing other people. You belong to me. The rest, we’ll figure out.” He shrugs his shoulders like this current situation is no big deal and he didn’t just say the most delicious thing ever.
I huff out an awkward laugh and try to calm the butterflies in my belly. “Well, that’s good because, I’ll have you know, there’s quite a queue of blokes after my affections.”
“Is that right?” he grins, his eyes dancing on my lips as he wraps his arms around me.
“Quite right. Once you get past the gay one from earlier, there are some legitimate prospects, so it’s good you got here when you did.”
His chest vibrates with laughter as he presses his lips to mine, sending a flurry of reassuring goosebumps up and down my spine. He pulls back and murmurs, “I’ll always be first in line.”
I can’t hide my satisfied smirk as we enter the floor-to-ceiling, glassed-off room where the Harris family is congregating with champagne flutes in hand. The ceiling is bulb after bulb of purple shining down on the entire room, including the wall of purple, tufted velvet booths. On the other side of the booth tables are deep, plum armchairs. There are red roses and purple lilacs centred on each table and you can smell the beautiful fragrance instantly when you walk in the room. The scene is over the top colourful, and the glass barrier still allows the live rock music and nightclub ambience to pour in with the added benefit of privacy.
Vi is the first to see us enter, and her sharp eyes zero in on our hands. Frowning, she detaches herself from Hayden’s arm and strides right for us.
“Incoming,” Booker mumbles. I force a smile while squeezing the shit out of his hand.
“Booker, Poppy! You’re here!” Vi’s smile is a bit more toothy than normal as she grabs herself another champagne flute from the passing tray. Booker hands me one and I take a fortifying drink. “I was worried you two weren’t going to make it. I tried to call you after I got Rocky squared away with the nanny, but you didn’t pick up.” She tears her eyes away from Booker and glances down at our interlocked hands again.
“We had some things to talk out,” Booker states smoothly.
“On the night of your brother’s wedding?” She tilts her head, her eyes scolding.
“Vi,” Booker says softly. “We weren’t gone long and Tanner was fine with it.”
