FULL NOVELXO Pucking Sweet: Chapter 5
My phone buzzes on the kitchen island and I know it’s Novy texting me to hurry up. I’m running so late. My mom called for her Sunday chat as I was hauling in groceries, and I couldn’t get her off the phone for almost an hour. Now I’m still wet from my shower, T-shirt tucked into the top of my shorts, letting my body air dry as I hunt around this tiny apartment for my wallet.
“Aha.” I find it sitting beside the bowl of seashells on my coffee table, along with my lip balm. I slip both in my pocket and glance around.
Unlike most of the guys, I’m still living in the team’s temporary housing. This apartment is just an efficiency unit—two small bedrooms, a laundry stack in the kitchen, a little balcony barely large enough for three people to stand on. But hey, I’ve lived in much worse dives over the years.
With all my family drama, I barely made it to town in time for the start of training camp. Most of my stuff is still in suitcases in the bedroom. I’m lucky I even found a clean T-shirt to wear tonight.
But I can’t think about that now. I pass through the kitchen. Grabbing my buzzing phone, I answer the call as I slip on my slides. “Nov, what?”
Loud bar sounds echo around him. “Where are you? We said seven.”
“Yeah, and it’s only just now seven,” I say, juggling the phone to my ear as I snag my keys.
“Well, we’re all here waiting—”
“Jeez, I’m on the way. I’m in the car.”
“No, you’re not, asshole.”
I pause. “How the hell do you know that?”
“Because I synced our contacts with the Find My Phone app.”
I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Why did you…you know what? Fine. Forget it. I haven’t left the house yet. But I’ve got my keys in hand, and I’m leaving right now. Just order me a beer, and I’ll be there in like ten minutes.”
“Well, what kind of beer do you want? They have like thirty on tap.”
I drop the phone to the counter, switching it to speaker so I can shrug into my T-shirt. “Nov, we’ve only been friends for, like, ten fucking years. You know what I like.”
“A double IPA, right? Something pale and extra hoppy? Hey, they have Space Dust—”
“Sounds good. Hanging up now.” I tap the red circle before he can respond.
Double-checking my pockets, I step out onto the fourth-floor apartment landing. I lock the door and spin around, headed for the stairs, but I don’t take two steps before I nearly topple into someone.
There’s a sharp squeal as a pair of small hands grab my forearms. “Ahh, Colton.”
I latch onto Poppy St. James, keeping her from falling over. “Shit, sorry.”
“Heavens, honey, you scared me,” she says with a laugh, dropping her sporty headphones down around her neck. She takes a step back, neck craning as she smiles up at me. I’m six-foot-three and she’s barely five feet tall. “Where are you going in such a hurry?”
I let myself look at her. She’s usually wearing those sexy business outfits. Everything is always covered, always professional. Now she’s standing in nothing but a pair of blue runner’s micro shorts and a hot pink sports bra. I can see every curve of her fit body. Her chest and arms are slicked with sweat, her tanned skin is flushed, blood pumping. Her pretty blue eyes are bright with exercise. She searches my face, still smiling.
Shit, she asked me a question.
“I…out,” I manage to say. “Dinner.”
“Fun,” she chimes. “You meeting some of the guys?”
I’m distracted by the little rivulet of sweat that is inching down her collarbone, threatening to disappear between her breasts.
Speak words, Cole.
“Yeah.”
Perfect.
I groan inwardly. “I’m meeting Novy, Compton, and Sanford,” I add. “Sanny found a dive he wants us to try. Just some bar food and music.”
Her smile flickers as her eyes flash with annoyance. “Be careful with Novikov. Don’t let him throw any parties tonight…or any punches. That man is trouble. You’re in charge, okay?”
“Yeah, we’ll watch him. No parties and no punching. Just a few beers and a good cheat meal.”
She relaxes, propping her hands on her hips. “Well, it’s so good to see you, Colton. I feel like we haven’t gotten any chances to talk since you arrived in town. And here we are, neighbors sharing a wall. Small world, huh?”
I like the way she’s calling me by my full first name. Not Cole, not Coley, and definitely not Morrow. And she pronounces the “T” too. I fucking love that. Each time, it parts her lips and I see a little flash of her teeth, like my name alone is enough to make her smile.
“Yeah,” I say for the third time. “Small world.”
Hockey is a small world. The smallest of worlds. There are only thirty-three teams in the League, so the chances were high I would know at least a few of the people who got transferred to the Rays. Poppy and I were both at the Washington Capitals when the new team was announced. Mark Talbot worked quickly to snap her up, naming her head of public relations even before he’d announced a single player.
The timing felt perfect for me too. I got to negotiate a new contract with excellent terms, giving myself some job security. But there’s no denying the added incentive I felt to accept the trade. I came because I knew she’d be here. Hell, let’s face it: I followed her like a lovesick fool. Poppy St. James—Queen of NHL Public Relations… and my poor, busted heart.
I’m not crazy; I know this is just a crush. She’s beautiful and smart. But I don’t know a real thing about her. She’s always been a dream, a mirage I could hold at a distance and pretend to chase while I focused on my career.
But the universe clearly understands the concept of give and take. It took something precious from me, and now it’s giving me this chance. I share an apartment wall with Poppy St. James. I get to learn new things about her. I get to see her outside of work. The door is open to more if I’m bold enough to step through it.
I search her face, ignoring my buzzing phone. “Hey, would you ever want to—”
“Oh, my goodness,” she says on a breath. “Oh, Colton—here I am making small talk about sharing walls, and I haven’t even offered you my condolences yet.” She steps in, her hand brushing down my arm. Her sun-kissed skin still looks pale against my forearm. “Honey, I’m so sorry. That should’ve been the first thing out of my mouth.”
I go still. I haven’t been able to escape this reality for months. My dad died. It happens. People get sick, then they get sicker, and then they die. I was ready for it, and so was he. We said our goodbyes. We buried him in the ground the day after I signed my new contract.
The Rays have been great, offering me extensions and delaying my move so I could be there for my family. That’s the reason all the other guys have flashy beach houses and bachelor pads and I’m stuck here in temporary housing. I couldn’t be bothered to plan for the future when I was so focused on the present, on being there for my mom and sisters.
Poppy’s head tilts, her smile softer now. I hate it. “How are you doing, honey?”
“I’m fine.”
Sensing my stiffness, she drops her hand away. “I lost my Nana two years ago. She was as close to me as a parent could be. I understand how hard it is. If you ever need anything, I’m just a wall away.”
“Thanks.” In my hand, my phone buzzes. It’s Compton calling this time. They must really be getting restless.
She glances down at my phone, then back up at me. “Well, I don’t wanna keep you from your dinner. And if I stay here any longer, I’ll start to smell like a stinky possum,” she adds with a laugh. She gives me a little wave, then she’s turning away, our moment over.
I feel frozen. So long as she’s out here sharing air with me, I don’t want to move. I take in the profile of her lithe body as she inserts her key into her front door lock. I watch as she turns it. I hear the click. Moments. That’s all I get with Poppy St. James. These little moments that are nothing. But to me, they’re everything.
Her door squeaks open. “Hey, do you like granola?”
I blink, pulling my eyes away from the narrow curve of her hip. “Hmm? Granola?”
“Yeah, I just made a big batch before my run. It’s cooling in here on the stove,” she adds, pointing inside her unit. “If you want, I’ll give you some. You know, as a ‘welcome to the neighborhood’ gift.”
“Uhh…”
“It’s delicious,” she goes on. “It’s my Nana’s recipe. She made it for me all the time during my competitive running days. It really packs a protein punch. It’s got some maple syrup, slivered almonds, pistachios, pepitas, dried cherries, cranberries…”
My stomach grumbles loud enough for us to both hear it and we laugh.
“Yeah, it sounds fucking amazing,” I say. “I like granola, Poppy.”
Fuck, I just said her name. I don’t know if I’ve ever actually said it out loud. It’s so pretty. It fits her so well.
Her smile widens and her face brightens like she’s got particles of light trapped beneath her sun-kissed skin. She’s fucking breathtaking. “Great. Well, I’m a bit of a night owl, so just give my door a knock when you get back and I’ll have it ready for you. Have a good dinner, Colton.”
With a last wave, she disappears inside her unit, and I’m left standing here, staring at her closed door. My phone buzzes in my hand again. This time it’s Sanford, and I know I’m in trouble. Twenty bucks says the guys threaten to take me off the group chat and replace me with Davidson as soon as I sit down.
In this moment, I really don’t care. I just learned four new things about Poppy St. James:
Close to (and still grieving) her dead grandmother.
Former competitive (now occasional) runner.
Likes to bake.
Night owl.
That’s four things I didn’t know before. Four things that make her real. A mirage can’t make homemade granola. A mirage doesn’t fill my senses with the sweet smell of her athletic sweat. A mirage can’t touch my arm, offering me the condoling caress of a friend.
Poppy is real, and she’s here.
I was a chickenshit in DC, too focused on chasing my own career to bother with actually chasing her. But Dad’s dying put so much of my life into sharp perspective. I don’t want to look back on my deathbed and realize I only ever had my career to keep me warm. I want a partner, a friend, a lover. God willing, I’ll have a family too. I want something that lasts when I’m gone. I want something real.
I want Poppy St. James.
This is my second chance. I’ve been chasing the idea of her in my dreams for so long. Now it’s time to man up and chase the real thing.