“What’s wrong?” Cam asked as he reached for another wing. The guy could pack away more food than anyone Boone knew.
“Nothing,” he retorted, taking a slug of beer.
“You look like someone crapped in your cornflakes this morning.”
“I don’t eat cornflakes.”
“Cocoa Puffs, then.”
Irritation growing, he shot a dark look at Cam, only to find the guy grinning like an idiot. “What?” he barked.
“I’m was just wondering what Link did to make you want to rip his throat out.” He tossed a clean bone into the basket and grabbed a wet nap. “And that made me wonder why you had a beef with Link.”
“I don’t have a beef with the guy. I barely know him.”
Can nodded slowly. “I thought about that too.” He pointed a chicken wing at Boone, and it took everything in him not to snatch it and toss the damn thing. “And thinking about that made me wonder why. It also made me wonder how Poppy works into this equation.”
“There’s no equation,” Boone shot back. “There’s nothing.”
“And that right there—”
If Cam pointed that damn wing at him one more time Boone was going to snap his wrist in two.
“Is the reason for your mood.” Cam sighed and sat back in his chair. “What’s up with you two anyway? When you’re not looking her way, her eyes are on you like a bee to honey. And when she’s looking up at Link like he’s the man she’s taking home tonight, you look like you want to kill him.”
“I don’t—”
“And he’s not, you know,” Cam interrupted.
“What?” Boone’s scowl deepened as Cam’s grin widened.
“She’s not taking him home. Poppy and Link are just friends. I have it on good authority. You know.” The bastard winked. “In case you were wondering.”
Boone turned back to Poppy, and his insides stilled when he found her looking at him, those light green eyes wide and clear and direct. He held her gaze and wondered what was going on inside her head. Was she thinking of what it felt like with him buried deep inside her as cool silky water slid over hot skin? Because that sure as hell was where his mind was at.
Christ, he was getting hard thinking about it.
Her eyes fell away from his, and he took another sip of beer. He’d been nursing the same bottle for well over an hour and had no desire to finish it. He put it down just as a roar went through the crowd. The lights flickered and then dimmed, and Cain Black took the stage.
Boone switched gears and hoped BlackRock would be the kind of distraction he needed. He settled in, ignored Poppy and her Brit as best he could, and let himself enjoy a music icon in his element.
Boone had known Cain growing up, and though the man was a few years older than Boone and his pals, like most small-town boys, they’d enjoyed a love of sports, friends, and bush parties, which was the cement that held most of the townies together.
The Coach House was packed, the doorman no longer allowing entrance, and as Cain grabbed the mike and began to sing, for a time, Boone had something to think about other than Poppy Fairbanks and all the things he wanted to do with her. Do to her. The guys in the band were relaxed and happy, surrounded by their family and friends, ensconced inside the bar where Cain had gotten his start all those years ago, and it showed in their performance. They were loose and confident, happy to play for the joy of it.
And they did that for a full two hours to a packed dance floor and boisterous crowd. Boone sat back and watched from the shadows as Poppy and Regan and a few others danced and sang like they were teens again.
It made him think of another night, when the stars had looked like glitter thrown across the sky. They’d spent the night out at Booker’s and brought along cheap strawberry wine and warm beer, a boom box filled with the old stuff like Skynyrd and AC/DC and The Doors, and a big fluffy blanket.
As the night wore on, the wine and beer flowed and the music got louder. Poppy lost all inhibitions, and she’d danced for him, a night goddess with rich dark hair and soft milky skin. They’d spent the entire night out there with only the stars to witness trembling hands, hot open mouths, and two young bodies straining into each other.
Mouth dry, he gave himself a mental shake and sat a little straighter when the band ended their set and the music switched over to Dan, the DJ.
“I haven’t danced like that in forever!” Flushed, Regan slid onto her stool and giggled when Wyatt grabbed her close and kissed her.
“You can dance for me later,” he said with a grin. “Naked dancing is more fun.”
“God, get a room,” Cam said with a chuckle.
“I think we will,” Wyatt retorted, reaching for his wife. “Let’s get out of here.”
He’d barely gotten the words out when Regan slid off her chair and grabbed her purse. “Do you want a ride home, Poppy? Or are you staying with the guys?”
“Not this guy,” Cam replied, jumping to his feet. “It’s late, and I haven’t been home since breakfast. I need to see my woman before she realizes she can do better and find someone else.” Before he left, Cam leaned down toward Boone. “If you’re smart, you’ll make your move tonight.”
“You sound like you’re seventeen again.”
Cam chuckled and disappeared.
“Poppy?” Reagan asked, sliding her hand into her husband’s.
Poppy shook her head. “I think I’m going to stick around a bit and finish my drink.”
Wyatt and Regan said their goodbyes, leaving Boone staring across the table at Link and Poppy.
The Brit was on his phone, and Poppy played with the label on her beer bottle. Wisps of hair stuck to her neck, and the humidity in the place had added a wave. Her skin glowed in the low lights, and when she suddenly glanced up, he was caught.
“I’m leaving, luv.”
Boone tore his gaze from Poppy. Link had his attention.
“Where are you going?” Poppy fell silent and then raised an eyebrow as some invisible form of communication zipped back and forth between them. “Are you sure?”
“No. But since when do I listen to reason?” Link swept a light kiss across Poppy’s brow, and for the first time all evening, Boone relaxed. There was definitely nothing between these two. They were more like brother and sister.
“You make sure she gets home, yeah?” Link looked his way.
It annoyed Boone that the guy thought he had to remind him to take care of Poppy, but he let it slide. “I will.”
With a curt nod at Boone, Link disappeared.
“I can get home on my own,” Poppy retorted, clearly irritated with both of them.
“I know you can.” Boone hid a grin. “What was that about?” he found himself asking, not because he wanted to know, but because he finally had her to himself and he needed to engage her in any way he could.
“Link? He’s just…” She looked like she was going to say more, but then cleared her throat. “Never mind. Do you want to dance with me or not?” Poppy tugged at a piece of hair that whispered across her forehead. She had elegant, delicate fingers. He’d never noticed that before.
Boone wasn’t a dancer. Hell, he’d barely made it through prom with a date who liked dancing almost as much as she’d liked sex. Which was a lot.