Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 45332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Lifting her head, she swipes a hand at her tears and sniffles, shifting her butt until she’s sitting straighter on Tristan’s lap. “I will break every bone in his face, Poppy.” Tristan fumes, and she giggles, hiccupping.
“He doesn’t deserve the wasted energy.” She strokes her palm down his face. “But thank you.” She looks at me and smiles. “Can we go home now?” Tristan visibly relaxes at her words, and I nod, rapping my knuckles on the privacy divider to signal the driver.
We begin moving, joining the traffic, and the farther away we get from her ex, the more easily she seems to be able to breathe.
By the time we reach our apartment, Poppy has reeled off a play-by-play of her entire interaction with Josh. It’s part of what I find so endearing about her–she’s an open book, no bullshit, just truth. I want to break the little runt’s neck for what he said to her, but she’s gone from anger and sadness to feeling amused by him.
“I pity him, really.” She tilts a shoulder up.
“Are you not worried about him telling your parents about us?” She ponders my question as we enter the lobby of our apartment building, Tristan picking up a shit-ton of deliveries, shoving a box into my arms before taking the elevator up to our floor.
“I hope he does.” She finally answers when the elevator doors open. She sashays past me as Tristan slides our key in the door, juggling the bags as he does. “My mother could use the shock of learning that men like you exist in real life too.”
“Men like us?” I shift the box I’m carrying, the question dying on my tongue when she steps inside the apartment and gasps. Tristan grins over his shoulder at me as we enter behind her.
Lights. Christmas twinkling lights everywhere. The whole apartment is lit up like the night sky. My chest aches as I move farther inside, slipping the box onto the table before turning to Tristan. He’s never once had any form of decoration in all the years I’ve known him. It’s always been a hard no for him. Looking at his face now… It’s stunning. The joy he’s feeling at witnessing her happiness radiates from him. She’s healing parts of him that no one else has been able to touch. With emotion clogging in my throat, I clench my jaw and turn to watch Poppy.
“Oh my god.” She gazes around in wonder, twirling to take it all in. “It’s beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful,” he tells her, dumping the bags so he can rip open the box I deposited. He pulls out reels of tinsel garlands then throws them up in the air like confetti.
“Oh my god! Tinsel?” she screeches, holding a piece up then wrapping it around her throat like a scarf.
Nudging his shoulder I take in his delight, “When the hell did you have time to plan this?” He’s standing with the biggest smile on his face, arms folded, fingers grazing lazily across his jaw.
“I’m rich,” he shrugs, and I bite my fist because he is. And there’s no doubt he paid a fortune to have someone come out to do this on short notice. “Look at her face,” he motions to Poppy. “Worth every fucking penny.”
He’s not wrong. Poppy is in wonderland, tears springing to her eyes again–but this time they’re happy tears.
“Thank you.” She shakes her head, sending caramel curls bouncing around her face. She unties the binding on her dress then slips it off her body, instantly changing the atmosphere. She’s bare underneath, her panties still safely tucked in Tristan’s pocket. He spent the entire hour she was up with Josh sniffing them.
She’s a fucking sight in nothing but her heels and a tinsel necklace, the lights dancing over her flawless skin. She’s precious, the best thing to happen to us.
“Come fuck me under the stars.” She raises her arm and crooks a finger, beckoning us.
And this one time, I let her give the commands.
SIXTEEN
Tristan
I’ve never wanted to celebrate Christmas. Even before my childhood house went up in flames on Christmas Eve, I’d never enjoyed it. That house wasn’t a happy place for me. There were never any presents under the tree or candy to enjoy. Christmas dinner would consist of my dad being too drunk to even cut the bird, and that was only if my mom hadn’t managed to burn it or undercook it. There was no church or praying—how could there be when both of them belonged to the fucking devil? I’d never believed in any religious shit anyway. It’s hard to think someone up there would allow all the horrible shit to happen down here.
But now, looking at Poppy under the twinkling lights, with her cross on her thigh… I want to believe she was sent to us, a reward for enduring, a gift, to heal the broken pieces inside.