[The Social Experiment 01.0] The Social Experiment

by Addison Moore

  “Well?” Kali’s eyes bug out. “I knew it. I saw the way you two were sitting at that table last night. And the way you both left at about the same time. Eww! Did you bring her to your room and screw her?”

  Jules chokes out a laugh. “I bet if you woke Mom up, she would have cheered from the sidelines.”

  As sick and twisted as that sounds, I know it’s true.

  Jules sours as if on cue. “Don’t tell me you and that hussy have something happening between you. She treated you like less than dirt for the better half of your life. I’m not going to let her take advantage of you that way. And if she’s suddenly your best friend again after all these years, I can’t help but wonder if it’s some Stade Steel green she’s after.”

  Poppy isn’t a gold digger, but as much as I want to defend her, it’ll only rile Jules up. Jules can be rabid once she gloms onto a subject. Get her lathered up in a heap, and there’s no letting go of it on her part. And the last thing I want her shredding to pieces is Poppy.

  “You’ll have to wait and see like everybody else. Dinner tonight at the Montgomery’s. It’s going to be a memorable night.”

  “I bet.” Kali kicks me from under the table as if she’s already enjoying the prospect of Poppy and me toughing it out. Not that the thought of being with Pops would be tough on any level. I miss her. The old Poppy, Eight Ball to be exact. I miss the old us. I miss my father being here and our mothers colluding to get us together. I miss a lot of things. But this new version of what we’ve become is one thing I can do without.

  Jensen crashes into my arms as Jules snorts out a laugh. “I wouldn’t miss tonight for the world.” Jules shakes her head at me, her eyes already both disappointed and curious as to why I’d ever keep a secret from her. “What have you gotten yourself into, Jaxson?”

  “Wait and see.” I turn Jensen into an airplane for the rest of the afternoon. I could listen to his laughter all day long, and I do just that until it’s time for dinner with a girl I never thought I’d see again.

  Poppy and I are about to kill it.

  It’s show time.

  I put on a suit. I take off a suit. I put on my favorite jeans. I take them off. I take two hot showers, brush my teeth ten times, and practically down the mouthwash. How far are we going to take this? Why isn’t Poppy returning any of my text messages? Was this all some big prank on me? The thought has crossed my mind about a dozen times this afternoon. Poppy has always been up for tossing a good jab my way. There weren’t too many occasions that I escaped that razor-sharp tongue of hers.

  A dull smile comes and goes. I’d love to tame that little shrew. And as much as I used to pretend I hated our acid coated banter, I secretly loved every barb-wired minute.

  I opt for the button-down shirt, twill blazer, and a pair of cords I’ve excavated from the dusty end of my old closet. It’s strange being back in my childhood bedroom. Of course, I could leave, stay at a hotel, not that there is a plethora of choices in Oak Grove. But Denver is certainly an option. I can run the company from a satellite office for as long as I like—hell, I own the company. I can uproot my office any damn day I please, but I choose to leave it be each and every time.

  My mother and sisters drive down to the Montgomery’s first. I pull in last, not so much to make an entrance, but because for the first time in as long as I can remember, I’m nervous as hell.

  The minute Poppy Montgomery walked into that bar looking hot as liquid steel, her tiny body squeezed into those jeans, that leather jacket that screamed let me tie you up and teach you a lesson or two—and I would welcome Poppy tying me up, although I have a feeling she’s going to teach me a lesson or two regardless—I knew I was in for a ride I would not forget. Poppy was smoking hot, and I wanted nothing else but to stomp my way over and toss her onto the nearest table and take her like a beast. I may be known for my revolving door of bedmates—although there have been far fewer than public perception has been rumored to believe—but in my spare time, during every lonely night it’s Poppy I go to bed with.

  Before the great fall that spelled out our demise, Poppy was the closest I had ever gotten to another human being. Since then, there have been plenty of girls, but not one of them has even compared to the intimacy Poppy and I once shared. Ironic, since I never knew Poppy in a carnal sense. And a part of me wonders, hopes against hope, that our relationship might take a turn for the carnal. But the truth is, with Poppy, I’d want something far more than that. I’d want everything we had back in spades, and then some.

  The Montgomery home is stately in a humble, suburban country house sort of way. They live a good ten miles from us, but as the crow flies you could cut across the woods and cross our property and end up on theirs.

  I spot Frasier Montgomery on the porch swilling a highball in his hand, whiskey over ice with seltzer to finish it off, just the way my dad used to drink it. Much like Charlene and my mother, Frasier and my dad were the best of friends. Way back when, my father offered Frasier a position at the steel mill that would have set the Montgomerys up with a nice nest egg, stock options, mega retirement payout, but Frasier was too proud to take it, and retired recently from the insurance job he held for a majority of his life.

  “Well, if it isn’t the prince of peace.” He offers me a quick slap to the back as we head on in.

  “That’s one nickname I don’t think I’ve ever been called.” I laugh at the thought.

  “Are you kidding? You’ve been as quiet as a ghost. I don’t think I’ve seen you at this end of town in the last five years.” It’s true. For as close as my mother is to the Montgomerys, I never seem to venture over.

  Conner is in my life on a daily basis, and that’s always been enough Montgomery for me. My stomach clenches at the lie. Yes, Conner has been around for me, but I’ve always craved a little more Montgomery. I’ve craved Poppy. She’s addictive, the kind of person people naturally magnetize to, and not always for the right reasons. She’s a show if anything.

  Five years. It’s been five long years since Poppy left for L.A. and this house became a painful reminder of everything that transpired between us.

  “That’s right,” I muse as I take in the familiar foyer. “But I’m haunting the place tonight,” I say, ducking into what amounts to a time warp. The Montgomery home is light and bright, white walls, painted wooden floors, a cluster of family photos on all of the walls. Every free surface is adorned with frames filled with pictures that I remember seeing as a child. If it’s one thing Charlene Montgomery is good at, it’s holding on to the past. And ironically, if it’s one thing Poppy Montgomery is good at, it’s forgetting it ever existed.

  I glance into the living room and spot Poppy with Sadie, and behind them Jules and Kali mill around with Conner. But Poppy. She’s stunning in red. Her hair is long and wild, and the unruly beast in me demands to twist it around my wrists as I make her mine.

  “Jaxson Stade?” Char shouts so loud that everyone behind her stops all movement and turns my way. “Look who decided to come to dinner!” She glances to my mother, shocked as hell. It’s clear that Mom held out on her as she barrels on over, squeezing my cheeks as if I were three-years-old all over again. “My God! Did you know that Poppy is here tonight, too? It’s a real Montgomery-Stade reunion with all of the important members front and center!”

  My eyes snag on a picture of my father just over her shoulder. It’s the picture we took as a family—the last one—at Lawson creek after Kali caught a trout. It’s hard to believe that family as I once knew it is done and in the record books.

  I want to correct a well-meaning Char, that no, not all of the important members are front and center tonight.

  Poppy appears beside her mother wearing a grin and not much else. Holy hell, that dress, that body, those eyes that have always seemed to see right through me.

  My mouth opens, but for the life of me I can’t figure out what comes next.

  “I think dinner is getting cold,” Poppy offers, and both our mothers busy
themselves ushering everyone to the table. And just like that, here we are, alone, just Poppy and me, a deception at the ready that involves the two of us in ways I used to dream about.

  Poppy steps in close, her perfume pours over me like a fine wine, and I would give anything to drink this girl down right now.

  Damn, she smells good, intoxicating. And those velvet eyes. How I’ve missed them. I thought I knew how much, but having her here next to me, the warmth of her body exuding toward mine makes me ache in the deepest part of my heart.

  “So—are you still up for offering those two the scare of a lifetime?” She wrinkles her nose, and I fight the dirty grin dying to take over.

  “I’ll say it again. I’m in.” I lean in, towering over her like some sexist oaf. “Where do we draw the line?” Everything in me wants to trace out her lips with my finger. I’d die happy just to trace out her body with my hands.

  She swallows hard. Her breathing picks up, but her eyes are still secured to mine. “I’m in it to win it, Gordo. Do whatever you have to do to make this believable. It’s only the deep end that matters, right?”

  A small laugh gets buried in my chest. That’s a saying we came up with shortly after we both mastered the fine art of swimming. An analogy for the hard part of things that we needed to conquer. It was only the deep end that mattered in most things. Poppy and I shared so many firsts together, it’s touching when you think about it. But we shared the bitter firsts, too, when things began to go south.

  “This is the deep end, Pop. If you need a boost out of the pool—”

  Her affect flattens from an opened mouthed smile to a stern, I-might-just-kick-your-ass frown. “I won’t need a boost, Stade.” The fact she just invoked my last name is not a good sign. Any invoking of the last name by either party was a clear signal someone was damn pissed. “I’m going to put on a show out there, and I suggest you do the same. This is no-holds-barred. Now, grow some hair on your balls and let’s have them eating out of our wicked palms by the end of this night, got it?”

  A dark laugh rumbles in my chest, but I won’t give it. “I got it. You realize this might kill your brother.”

  “You realize my brother might kill you.” There’s a touch of a smile when she says it, and now I’m wondering if that’s been the plan all along.

  “Touché.” I touch my thumb to her cheek, just shy of her lips, and she twists into it as if begging me to touch her mouth. “We’re going to make this look like the real deal. You and I are going to date, Eight Ball—and you’re going to like it.”

  And deep down, so the hell am I.

  If Poppy wants a show, that’s exactly what she’ll get. I’ll deal with Conner later.

  Dinner goes off without a hiccup with Poppy seated right next to me as if it were a natural occurrence and not something more along the lines of a solar eclipse, or a comet that shoots by Oak Grove for a hot L.A. minute.

  Conner keeps me busy with talk of sports, the office, the girl he took home last night. Mom and Char yak up a storm about their favorite things, themselves, their friendship, their blog, their big sixtieth bash coming up in a few weeks, and, of course, their secretive announcement that has had us curious for over a month now. Most likely some new recipe that they believe will be groundbreaking in the culinary world that exists outside of Oak Grove, or some new stunt their sixty-year-old twisted minds think is pretty nifty and will most likely cause unending humiliation to whomever they’ve pegged as their victim.

  “Speaking of announcements.” Mom tips her head my way, her blue eyes filled with curiosity. “You mentioned you had something very special you wanted to share with us this evening.” Her eyes enlarge without stopping, and for a minute I’m convinced they’ll take over her head.

  “Oh?” Charlene is seemingly perplexed by this. “Poppy mentioned she had something she could hardly wait to get off her chest as well. Isn’t this an interesting turn of events?” She strums her apple red nails over the table.

  “That’s right.” Poppy stands and smacks my arm for me to do the same. Her chest pulsates in and out as she pants up a storm, and for a brief moment I envision her on top of me, those sweet tits that have been staring me in the face all night dripping into my mouth like honey. The thought alone makes me feel guilty for carrying on an entire conversation with Conner while thinking about licking his sister’s body in all the right places. “There’s something I’ve been keeping from you.” She picks up my hand, and an audible gasp circles the room. My own mother’s jaw roots to the hardwood floor. “Something we’ve both been keeping from you.”

  Mom sucks in a hard breath as does poor Charlene, the two of them with their hands pressed against their chests. If this goes over too well, we just might have a double funeral to plan.

  Conner clears his throat, his arms crossed over his chest as if to protest whatever is about to fly from her mouth.

  Jules slaps a hand down over the table in protest, and poor Jensen looks up from the kiddie table at me. My heart breaks because I never wanted to lie to any of them. But I’m here, and Poppy Montgomery is holding my hand, and for a moment, everything seems right with the world. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least to see Dalton Stade, my own dead father, walk right through those doors. This is a night of impossibilities, and surely that would be the biggest one of all—outside of this miracle taking place beside me. I want to pinch myself to see if it’s real. Every face that I’ve known all my life stares up at me in a mixture of horror and disbelief—utter delight in our mothers’ eyes, and yet a twinge of doubt there as well.

  My mother tosses down her napkin with all of the drama she can drum up on this cold January night. “What in hell’s name is going on?”

  I clear my throat as I look to Poppy. She’s frozen. Her breathing has gone from panting to hardly taking in enough oxygen to keep her on her feet.

  “What we’re trying to say is”—I look into Poppy’s lime green eyes, and a swell of relief comes over me because I don’t want to pretend with her. I want to believe it’s so, that every bit of this is real—“the two of us are together now.”

  An audible grunt comes from the motherload end of the table, followed by whimpers and the frantic flailing of limbs as they fan one another in an attempt to keep from passing out. Conner stands for a moment in protest, mumbling an indistinguishable threat before falling back into his seat.

  “Okay.” Char holds out a hand. “You’ve got us. I don’t think I could take much more. The gig is up. It’s not funny.” She wags her finger our way as if to admonish us further.

  Crap. I glance to Poppy, and her smile tightens as she squeezes the shit out of my hand, code for what I’m assuming means do something right fucking now.

  “No joke.” I pull Poppy’s hand to my lips and linger over her velvet flesh a moment too long. “We’ve been secretly in touch for months now. We’re officially a couple.” Her eyes widen a notch when I say it. “And we wanted to let you in on our little secret.”

  Jules shakes her head in protest, but for the most part I’ve managed to silence the masses once again.

  Kali looks right at me with that this-is-the-no-bullshit-zone look on her face. “Is this true?”

  “Yup. I went out to see her this Christmas.”

  Mom gasps and points over to me with a stabbing finger. “You swore you had a business meeting in New York you couldn’t get out of.”

  “You did.” Conner shoots a suspicious look from Poppy to me. Conner may be aware of my schedule, but he doesn’t have a GPS tagged to my briefcase.

  Yes, I did, but that’s beside the point. Poppy didn’t show up for Christmas, so that creates the possibility.

  “I knew if I said Los Angeles you’d put the pieces together.”

  My mother shakes her head as if there wasn’t the slightest chance she could have, and judging by that shocked as hell look on both their faces, I can tell we’re off to a damn great start.

  “Oh dear. Is this really happening?” Char clutches onto
poor Frasier as if everyone in the room is suffering a mass hallucination.

  “It’s happening,” Poppy assures. “In fact, the reason we’ve decided to spring it on you so quickly is because, well, we’ve sort of been moving quickly ourselves.” She straightens. “Not like that, Dad.” The room breaks out into a nervous chuckle, with her sister being the loudest and Conner being the quietest. I don’t know what Mack finds so funny, considering this was her bright idea. I make a mental note to send her a thank you somewhere down the road.

  “What she’s trying to say is”—I wrap my arm around Poppy’s tiny waist and pull her in close—“we’re madly, deeply, crazy in love.” I gaze into those lily pads she calls eyes, those deep unknowable wells you could dive into. “We don’t want to keep our feelings a secret anymore.” I kiss the back of her hand and pull her in tight until her soft tits rest over my chest. “And try as any of you might, there’s not a thing that can ever keep us apart again.”

  “Oh my God!” Char sways in her seat, and I almost feel sorry for her. Heck, I almost feel sorry for my own mother who seems to be equally struggling to hold it together.

  Frasier clears his throat, his face still rife with suspicion. “When exactly did the two of you reconnect?”

  “I’d like to know that myself.” Jules offers me a hard look that says my ass is grass once we’re alone. I’ve never kept much from Jules. Kali was just a kid when Poppy and I went our separate ways, but Jules was someone I could talk to and I did. She knows just about everything. Just about.

  “I’m in line myself.” Conner offers a smug look my way that says despite the evidence he’s in control of this haunted hayride. He gives a hard look to my arms positioned around her waist. “And, dude, get your hands the hell off my sister.”

  Char swats him over the shoulder. “Oh, hush, you. They’re a couple now. Couples hold one another in public. Get over it. Your sister is in love.” Her entire face lights up like a Christmas tree. “They’re lovers!”

  “They’re lovers!” Mom cries—and holy shit, the entire rest of the table looks as if they’re about to be sick.