Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Poppy

The scent of pumpkin spice fills the air, painting a grin across my face. I gulp down my last sip of coffee as my eyes scan my list. I roll my shoulders back with confidence—I've triple-checked the list and have everything I need. Heck, half my bag is filled with items I shouldn't need but carry in case of an emergency.

If anyone gets a stain, I have a Tide pen, a.k.a. my magic wand. My sanitizer comes in spray, liquid, and wipes. I don't know which my boss prefers, so I just packed all three types. I've got a travel toothbrush and paste, dental floss, my label maker, a notepad, highlighters, and pens. I even have fabric tape in case someone feels the need to go conservatively Amish for the day.

Harper thinks a nun invented fabric tape; she claims, 'Nip slips are the most freeing thing since sliced bread.'

Basically, the entire kitchen sink is stuffed inside my bag, just in case.

If I go by most stereotypes about CEOs, then I can guess my boss will be picky, bitchy, bossy, stubborn, and needy. If any mistake happens, I'll get the blame; therefore, I over-prepare.

I place my mug in the sink and then grab my keys. Guilt hits my stomach as I eye the can of wasp spray I left on the kitchen island.

"Sorry, Harps, but I can't look certifiable on my first day," I whisper to no one. Maybe in a month from now or even a year, I'll shove the spray into my Mary Poppins bag. Until then, if any creep approaches me, my screams of an STD must keep them at bay.

I glance at my watch as I step out the front door. The bus stop is a ten-minute walk, and it leaves at 7:30. I've planned the time to military precision, ensuring I arrive at the office ten minutes early.

The door behind me opens, making my hands jerk the key in the lock. "Pumpkin," a deep, masculine voice says. The tone is like a loudspeaker calling to my dormant ovaries. The girls are wide awake and singing their hellos.

I pull the keys out and turn to see God's gift to women.

Julian.

Shirtless.

I gulp, and my eyes may or may not breach the edges of my sockets.

"Julian," I reply, making his name ten syllables long.

Look up! Oh my god, Poppy, look up at his eyes and off his abs… is that ten… no, twelve? Are those little side muscles on his ribs and abs, or is he a new species of man yet to be classified?

He's got a twelve-pack. I didn't think that was physically possible. What is he, a mutant ninja turtle?

Why is he shirtless?

Not that I'm complaining.

Fortunately, my eyes manage to move; unfortunately, they move lower. I was hoping this was a dream and he'd be fully naked. Instead, he's got on grey dress pants.

He clears his throat, and that deep, raspy rumble is making my knees want to bow down to him.

I hug my purse tighter to my chest as my eyes flick to his, and he's grinning.

"You caught me halfway through getting dressed for work."

I caught him?

As if he can read my mind, he says, "I mean, I heard you locking up and wanted to catch you before you left."

"Oh." Is that all I could manage to say?

I readjust my bag, hoping if I tug on the strap hard enough, it will turn into a lifeboat and help save me from my lack of speech.

"Is everything alright?" Because you look fine as hell.

"Yeah, it's getting sorted out." He replies.

"I was worried. I was hoping my new neighbor wasn't Batman. You disappeared with those men so fast." I probe.

"You like the villain more?" He jokes as he leans against his door frame.

Sweet heaven and earth, he looks like he's posing for my ovaries to ogle over.

His biceps are sculpted just as much as his twelve-pack; his chest is clean-shaven except for a small trail of dark hair that disappears under his boxers. It's like a neon sign leading my eyes to his cock again.

He's wearing his arm sling, and that's when I notice a rounded, scabbed-over wound. Was he shot?

"No, no." I clear my throat. "I don't want a hero or villain, just normal and nice." I manage to say.

He nods, "The good guy." He repeats what I asked in the bar.

"Yeah," I shift on my feet. What my feet want to do is rush forward towards him.

He grabs the back of his neck with his left hand, "Listen, Pumpkin," I blush at his nickname and remember what Harper said. It's not ‘baby,' which means he wants to use it more than one night.

"There are some parts of my life that I can't discuss. They are classified, and I'm still getting used to the change from being active military to now being a CEO."

I nod and shamelessly glance back at his abs. Whatever that change involves, please, for the sake of all females, don't trade that twelve-pack for a beer belly.

His feet move, and he steps closer. The pumpkin scent coming from my apartment is now replaced with pure man. My nostrils flare.

"I know I shouldn't say this. I told myself I wouldn't," he begins, "But I can't stop thinking about you."

I feel giddy, but at the same time, he seems so hesitant, and that reminds me that I should be, too. He's not Andrew. I don't get any of the same vibes from Julian as I did with Andrew, but what if my vibe meter is broken? What if Julian is a monster in disguise?

What if he's not? What if I'm just using that excuse to close myself off from the world?

When you've been hurt, you obviously lose trust in people, but worse, you lose confidence in your judgment.

What's good or bad when you've been stuck in the grey for so long?

Being in an abusive relationship can make you colorblind; things are tainted, and now I'm trying to judge if what I'm seeing is truly the color I think it is. Is Julian good?

"I guess what I'm trying to say is I hope I didn't fuck it up or scare you because I'd like to see you again," Julian admits, although there is a tightness in his jaw that almost makes me think he's worried about his statement.

"And I wanted to catch you before you left for your first day at work." His grey eyes soften.

"You remembered?" I gape.

"A good neighbor always does." He winks as he pushes off the door and stands toe to toe with me.

I think I just died.

My thighs clench as my body heats to a rumbling boil. I feel all fluttery. I've never felt like this before, so I'm going to keep feeling and exploring and praying that I don't get hurt.

What's the point in living if I don't try to feel again?

His eyes inch down and land on my lips. Dear lord, those lips are going to touch me! It's like I won the lottery.

"I'm going to kiss you, Pumpkin, so if you changed your mind and just want me to be a proper neighbor, you better tell me now." He says.

My mouth parts. No words escape, but my heart almost does because it's thumping so fast. I swear it's sprouted wings and is trying to fly to him.

He reaches out and gently cups my cheek. His palm is smooth, but his fingers feel hard and rough.

"Tell me."

He's asking, waiting. Andrew never did that. Never.

All my fears and pain rush away like morning mist evaporating under the warm embrace of the rising sun.

"You… can be a naughty neighbor, Julian, as long as you're still the good guy," I whisper. He's so close I see all the different shades of silver in his eyes and some tiny sky-blue flecks.

"Be careful, Pumpkin," His voice is filled with desire. "You just gave permission, and you have no idea how naughty I can be." Then his lips press hungrily against mine.

Some first kisses are timid; most are terrible.

Not Julian's.

He owns me. Sign, seal, and deliver.

His lips glide and claim, pushing against mine, coaxing them to part as he slips his tongue gently inside. When it brushes against mine, I moan. I can feel his lips grinning over mine in a warm embrace; I don't even have time to stress-think over how I'm kissing him back because this feels so…right.

His tongue dances with mine like a wolf weaving through the forest. I drop my bag, and it hits the floor with a deep thud, sounding more like it's filled with bricks than necessities.

My hands grip his shoulders, feeling the firmness beneath my fingers. I push up on the very tips of my toes—seriously, even a ballerina would be impressed—seeking closer proximity. The effort sends a thrilling jolt through me. My mind didn't halt, and it didn't send a flood of memories rushing through me like it did the last time I was with a man.

As I run my fingertips through his short, silky hair, its softness contrasts with the tense muscles of his shoulders. Each stroke sends a cascade of emotions through me, a blend of longing and tenderness.

Who the hell am I?

Who is Julian, and what planet is he from, to make my mind forget and my body bend to his will?

His left-hand snakes out, grabbing my ass as he steers my hips into his.

"Tell me to stop, Pumpkin." He mutters in a deep voice filled with craving.

I feel his arousal pushing against my core. "Is this a dream?" I blurt out as I gasp for a breath. The loss of his lips feels like a sin, so I push up on my toes again and continue to kiss him.

"If it were a dream, I wouldn't advise you to stop me." He pulls away and presses his forehead against mine. Our labored breaths sync.

"I didn't tell you to stop." I joke.

He exhales a satisfying sound, "I didn't want to, but I'm the good guy who doesn't want you to be late on your first day."

He steps back as my eyes widen. I glance at my watch. Shit, I've got to go! I can't miss that bus. The last thing I want to do is get an Uber; with my luck, I'll have the same driver who thinks I have crabs!

That's the problem with chemistry as strong as fireworks; it's captivating. It stops time, then speeds it back up.

My fingers curl in. I want to reach forward and grab him. I don't want to go, screw the job, I'll just screw him!

My face must reveal everything because he shakes his head naughtily. His tongue slowly glides over his bottom lip.

"Don't worry, Pumpkin. Nice guys don't always finish last. I'm patient, and you're more than worth the wait."