The Wicked Collection

by Vivian Wood

  “So you’re new here?” he asked as she popped open the soda. Stupid. We’re all new here.

  But she just nodded. “Yeah, but new new,” she said. “We moved here from the West Coast. At least this time I started a new school the same time as everyone else! Usually it’s in the middle of the year after everyone’s already made friends.”

  “Yeah,” he said. As if he had any clue. He’d been in the same elementary school his entire life, had known the same group of kids since kindergarten.

  There was some kind of security in elementary school, and even though the other kids might not have necessarily liked him, they tolerated him. There was a sense of camaraderie when you were in the same group for six years. This was all new, and not in a good way. Poppy was the first good thing he’d encountered.

  “So, what’s your story?” she asked as she tore into a peanut butter sandwich. She didn’t eat like the other girls, all tiny careful bites and hyperawareness someone might be watching. Poppy ate like she enjoyed it.

  “Not much of a story,” he said as she handed him half her sandwich.

  “I don’t believe that,” she said with a smile. A tiny spot of strawberry jam clung to the corner of her mouth.

  Somehow, he just knew. They’d be friends for keeps.

  2

  Ryan

  Present day

  Poppy’s eyes commanded his as she pulled down her shorts in one fluid movement. Beneath that threadbare denim, just as he knew it would be, there was nothing—save for that strip of dark blonde hair. She reached behind her back and unhooked the white lace bra. As the strappy material fell away from her chest, she smiled.

  “You like what you see?” It was Sarah, Poppy’s friend with the long, layered dark brown shaggy hair. Sarah’s olive skin complemented Poppy’s creamy complexion perfectly. Ryan felt his hardness pressed against his jeans. But when he tried to stand up from the straight back chair, Poppy and Sarah both pushed him down. Sarah’s touch was soft and gentle. Poppy’s was a little more demanding.

  “No, no, no,” Poppy said with a laugh. “It’s called a striptease. You’re not allowed to take any of the tease out of it.”

  “At least not yet,” Sarah said. “Help me?” she asked Poppy as she turned her back to Poppy and flipped her hair forward. Poppy maintained eye contact with Ryan as she unzipped Sarah’s floral dress that barely covered her ass.

  Poppy slowly peeled Sarah’s dress down her shoulders. Her fingers grazed across her friend’s bare breasts and made the nipples harden instantly. The flimsy material fell to the floor, and Sarah stepped out of it. She left her black heels on. “Sarah!” Poppy said. “You could have left something more for me to take off.”

  Sarah shrugged, smiled at Ryan, and ran her fingers through her own triangle of dark hair. “I didn’t want to frustrate the poor guy more than you’ve been managing for the past twenty years,” she said.

  He kept his eyes on Poppy even as Sarah moved onto his lap and faced him. His body responded naturally to having a pretty girl on his thighs, and her hair tickled his neck as she kissed his jaw. Poppy stood behind her friend. Her long golden hair covered her breasts. “Show me,” he told Poppy, and it was as if she understood him completely. She grasped her hair in one hand and lifted it up, exposing her breasts for him with those perfect pink nipples.

  “Switch,” Poppy told Sarah as she placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder. Sarah got up without a word, and Poppy took her place. She straddled Ryan, her breasts touching his chest. Without another word, her lips found his. They kissed deeply, and his eyes closed. It may as well just have been the two of them. He felt Poppy start to grind against the fly of his jeans.

  “Sharing is caring.” Sarah’s voice broke the trance. When Ryan opened his eyes, Sarah was right there, cheek pressed against Poppy’s. He was just inches away from them as their tongues intertwined. Still, even as Poppy got lost in her friend’s mouth, her hands continue to roam across Ryan’s chest. Her hard nipples were impossible to resist. He lowered his mouth to them.

  Poppy responded instantly. “That feels good,” she said. “Harder.” He nibbled on her breasts and rolled her nipples between his lips. Poppy’s eyes rolled back in her head and Sarah moved behind him. Right as he went to slide a finger through Poppy’s wetness, Sarah grabbed his hands and held them behind his back.

  “No touching,” Sarah whispered. “Not unless we tell you to.”

  Ryan awoke with a jolt, drenched in sweat. What the fuck was that?

  He grabbed the towel off the chair next to the bed and started wiping himself down. The ache between his legs was almost unbearable. Since when do I dream about Poppy like that? And her friends? Especially Sarah, Jesus.

  Ryan glanced around the room, disoriented. It took him a few seconds to figure out his location. Stateside. You’re stateside. The obnoxiously loud clock clicked from 3:01 to 3:02. It felt like the middle of the night, but the glaring sun streaming through the windows meant it had to be afternoon.

  He pushed himself up in bed even as the jet lag clung tight. It was his new apartment, that was all. He was still getting used to all the angles and shadows.

  All around him, boxes reminded him of his new life. Is this it? A handful of boxes and a mattress without a sheet? He looked down at his new mattress and could make out sweat stains already. Well, it was nice while it lasted.

  As he moved into the bathroom to brush his teeth, he shook his head at the dream. Poppy was his best friend, and had been for two decades. And as far as Sarah went? He’d only met her a few times. She was pretty enough, but annoying as hell. Either he was hot for her and didn’t know it, or it had been a lot longer since he’d gotten any action than he realized.

  When he’d met Sarah for the first time, he couldn’t tell what Poppy saw in her. Then again, people probably said the same thing about Poppy and him. I guess you never can gauge a friendship from the outside looking in.

  He could only imagine what Poppy would say if she knew about the dream. She’d probably laugh. Yeah. Or shudder.

  It wasn’t like he’d never thought about it before. Hell, you always think ”what if” with a female friend. But they’d been friends for so long. It was the longest friendship he had. There was a part of him that thought it would be almost incestuous. Not that he thought of Poppy like a sister, but what if that was how she thought of him? Like a brother?

  It wasn’t worth risking their friendship anyway.

  Ryan spat mint toothpaste into the sink. As he gazed into the mirror, he couldn’t believe it. He’d only been discharged from the SEALs for three days, and he was still getting used to civilian life. The complete lack of a schedule was throwing him for a loop, that was all. No wonder he was having these crazy dreams.

  He pulled on his jersey shorts, a well-worn Navy T-shirt and running shoes. In the condo gym, there was only one other person and the elderly woman in a pink tracksuit didn't even look at him.

  Ryan had the free weights to himself. Years of perfecting a lifting regimen meant he didn't even have to think about reps or rest periods. Instead, he could lose himself in daydreams and plans while he took his arms and chest through their Tuesday workout.

  Poppy didn't even know he was coming home, and he had the whole thing planned out. He’d low-key found out her rotation schedule at the hospital over the past few weeks, and Poppy had thought he was just interested in her daily life. Tomorrow, he’d pick up a bouquet of red poppies and surprise her at the end of her shift. It was cheesy, sure, but ever since he’d given her that poppy corsage in high school, it was their inside joke.

  As he headed back upstairs, he ticked through the groceries he’d picked up yesterday. It was going to be cereal and milk for dinner unless he was up for another run to the corner market. He splashed water on his face, and dumped half a box of cornflakes into a salad bowl meant to serve an entire table. Ryan poured whole milk over the flakes as he called his brother Eli and put him on speakerphone.

  “Hey, ma
n! What’s up? You back?” Eli’s voice always brought him back to their basic training days.

  “Yeah,” Ryan said between chomps and slurps. “Just the other day. Jet lag is still kicking my ass though.”

  “What the hell are you doing? It sounds like you’re feeding a starving Saint Bernard over there.”

  “Gotta feed the muscles,” Ryan said between more spoonfuls.

  “You still eat like you’re twenty years old,” Eli said. “That’s going to catch up with you one day. Mark my words, you won’t always have abs with a diet like that.”

  “It’s cereal. That doesn’t even count. Besides, I can’t help how much I eat. I’m still a growing boy.”

  Eli laughed. “Yeah, a growing boy at thirty-something years old.”

  “Don’t hate on the metabolism, asshole,” Ryan said. It was good, this banter. He’d missed it since Eli had left the SEALs a few years ago.

  “So. You seen Poppy yet?” Eli asked. He’d only met her a few times, but meeting Poppy once was all it took to see how special she was.

  “Nah, not yet. I’m planning on surprising her tomorrow,” Ryan said as he lifted the bowl to his mouth to drain the cereal-sweetened milk.

  “You? Actually planning something without the MCPO making you?”

  “Hey, I can plan,” Ryan said. “I don’t like to, but I can do it.”

  “Maybe getting out did you some good,” Eli said.

  “Maybe so.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring all that up,” Eli said. “I mean, it’s kind of bullshit they discharged you for that knee—”

  “It’s okay, man. Really,” Ryan said. “Probably for the best. I mean, at least I finished that last tour with no serious injuries.”

  “Yeah. But, still.” Ryan heard a rustling on Eli’s end and a soft murmuring. “Hey, I gotta go,” Eli said suddenly. “Duty calls.”

  “Okay, hit me up when you wanna meet up.” It had been months since he’d seen Eli, and even though he missed his battle buddy, it was Poppy who he always thought of first.

  Energized by the late lunch, he couldn't sit still. Does it really matter if I see her today or tomorrow? He knew Poppy was at the hospital until eight o’clock. What would an early surprise hurt?

  Before he could talk himself out of it, he grabbed the motorcycle keys and loped downstairs. Poppy always chided him about his impulsiveness—said he’d surely get himself into trouble with it. But he couldn’t help it. There was something electrifying in going with his gut. “You’re an impulse marketer’s dream!” Poppy always told him, and he took it as a compliment.

  He just hoped the florist at the hospital had red poppies. Big, beautiful fresh ones that would make Poppy give him one of her world-stopping smiles.

  3

  Poppy

  Nobody looked at her when she changed into a fresh pair of scrubs, that she was certain of. For Poppy, it didn’t matter that she’d been changing with her fellow interns for the past year—she still got shy when it came down to slipping out of those blue baggy pants in public. The co-ed dressing room with its dark wooden cubbies, hard benches, and tough stained carpet that held who knows how many secrets was her dream come true.

  She’d always wanted to be a physician, and now it was within reach. She readjusted her white lab coat and double-checked to make sure none of the vomit was on the lapels. It was her lucky day. The kid had only thrown up on her pants, leaving the white coat she’d worked years to earn crisp and clean for once.

  Not that it was their fault, she reminded herself. She’d never had appendicitis herself, but had helped with numerous cases in the pediatrics wing. As an intern, she was still allowed to swing back and forth between pediatrics and endocrinology, at least when they overlapped. But not for long. “You’re going to have to make up your mind,” the lead physician always told her. The warnings had become more frequent in recent weeks.

  She took one final look at her reflection in the locker. I look forty years old, she thought, and ran her fingers across her tired eyes. Greasy hair knotted up in a bun, no makeup and of course no jewelry. She’d never considered herself vain, but was still surprised what eight years of school and taking all those medical exams had done to her.

  Still, she couldn’t help but smile when her gaze wandered over to the photo of Ryan and her at a wedding last year. It was a miracle. One of the few times he'd been on leave and she'd actually had the evening off. In the photo, they clung to each other beneath a gazebo lit up like a fairy tale. She in her yellow, tea length dress like some kind of Grace Kelly incarnation, and Ryan looking ruggedly handsome in his tux. They were both laughing with squinted eyes and not a trace of holding back.

  That night, they’d gone drink for drink at the open bar. Drunk on champagne, he’d asked her to slow dance, and it had felt like prom all over again. This is it, she’d remembered thinking. This is how it should be. Of course, it was the drinks talking.

  “Isn’t this romantic?” she’d asked him as she rested her head on his chest.

  He’d laughed and said, “I guess so. If you’re into this sort of thing. Rose-colored trellises, sunsets and all that.” She’d punched him lightly in the chest, and in that moment she was reminded they’d always just be friends.

  Sober Poppy was okay with that. It was their unspoken agreement, their pact. Friendship always came first. It was just when she had a drink or two in her that she started wondering, What if?

  She was shaken out of her memory by the buzzing of her phone. Will. He always had a knack for texting her right when she was thinking about Ryan.

  Dinner tonight? Something big I have to tell you.

  Sure. Shouldn’t she be more excited? After all, they’d been dating for three years. And he'd stuck with her through med school, when she was sure she must have been a raging pain.

  Pick you up at 8. Wear something nice.

  She shook her head and put the phone back in her pocket. Will was nice enough. Safe, her friends called him. And she didn’t mind their life. He fulfilled the creative role as a screenwriter who was always working on something big. Not that he’d ever sold anything, but Will seemed satiated on those seemingly “close calls” he loved to talk about.

  Plus, he’d never put pressure on her. “I think it’s cool you’re still a virgin,” he had said when they first met. Still. She'd been twenty-eight at the time, and very aware she was past the cutesy stage of clinging to that V-card. By now, she was solidly in weird territory, and she knew it.

  Will had accepted her situation because she’d dropped just enough hints about her past to tell him to back off. But nobody knew the whole truth—not even Ryan.

  “You little whore.” Her father had a way of hissing in a low snarl that froze her. He had a length of electric cord wrapped around his fist. “You think you’re grown. Is that it?”

  She was eleven years old and a lifetime of this had instilled part bravery and part stupidity into her. She was never sure which was which. “It’s just lip gloss, Daddy,” she whispered.

  “What?” Her father smiled his wicked grin. The one she knew was a trap, but couldn’t stop herself from inching toward.

  “It’s lip gloss. All the girls wear it.”

  The crack of the cord across her hip was electrifying. Instantly, a splitting blossom of pain exploded across her pelvic bone.

  “Just lip gloss? What, you think you can just spread your legs for every boy that comes your way and ride off into the sunset like some kind of fairy tale?”

  “No, I—”

  “No is right,” her dad said as he raised his hand to whip her again.

  Poppy rubbed her hand along her hip where the scar had turned to keloid. All these years later, and she still needed routine steroid injections to keep the scar from rising. Every pair of pants irritated it, and ensured the scar was a constant reminder of her beginnings.

  “Baker, let’s go.” One of the observing physicians popped his head into the locker room and barked at her. Like a
dog. Sometimes that’s what it felt like here. She loved it, loved the diagnostics and patients, but the politics and people drove her nuts.

  She shook her head and slammed her locker door shut. As she started her rounds, her phone buzzed again. Oh my God, Will, what is it? She couldn’t imagine what exciting news this must be. For Will to plan something that didn’t involve beer tasting at a brewery with his boring friends meant it was serious.

  Poppy was digging for her phone, head tucked down, and didn’t even notice the big man in front of her. As she rammed into him, she felt nothing but solid muscle even as she fell to the ground.

  “Women are always falling over themselves to get to me.” Ryan smiled down at her and held out his hand. In his other hand was a spray of stunning poppies.

  “Ryan! What are you—what are you doing here?” It was always a shock to see him since it happened so infrequently. Ever since he’d sprouted up in high school between sophomore and junior year, each time she saw him she'd think he’d eventually stop getting so handsome. But he bested himself year after year.

  He pulled her up with ease, and she squealed as she wrapped her arms around him. He smelled incredible, a mix of cleanliness and masculinity. How could she ever forget that smell? It took her back to their high school days. “You smell like lemons and pine,” she said, and blushed.

  Ryan just laughed. “Thank you. I think? Though it kind of sounds like you’re talking about floor cleaner.”

  “No, seriously,” she said as she pushed on his chest. It was rock hard. “When did you get out?”

  A nurse arrived right as she finished her question, eyebrow raised as she looked Ryan up and down. “The SEALSs,” Ryan told the middle-aged nurse. “Not prison.” Poppy covered her mouth in embarrassment. “Actually, just a few days ago. I was discharged—”