by Geneva Lee
“Poppy, it’s Sterling,” I interject.
“Oh,” Poppy says, and I can picture her furrowed brow.
“We got caught in the rain in the Jag, we just got to my place. That’s why Adair hasn’t called. She’s in the shower, trying to thaw herself out.”
“I see,” Poppy says, and it reminds me of how Francie used to talk when she chose to leave her feelings on whatever stupid thing I had done unsaid.
And I guess, from the outside, she has her reasons. Her best friend had to leave a wedding because it looked like I went on a bender. But isn’t that the whole fucking problem to begin with? Poppy—an extremely nice person—sees more to complain about from my behavior than Angus MacLaine’s.
That’s how much money has warped these people. I’m a lesser being because my net value is in the negative. Poppy is nice, but she’s not asking if I’m okay. She was looking for Adair. She doesn’t give a shit about me. I’m Adair’s lost puppy. A stupid mutt they’re all putting up with.
But I don’t want her pity. I don’t want to explain myself to her. If she doesn’t get it, she can fuck off. An awkward silence hangs between us, and I decide I’ve had enough of talking to Poppy. “Do you want me to have her call you when she gets out of the shower?”
“Just tell her to call me if she wants,” Poppy says brusquely.
“Will do.”
I end the call as the water shuts off in the shower. I move closer to the door, placing my palm on it. One piece of wood separating me from her, but a world between us. Where do we go from here? How do I show her she needs to get away from everything she’s ever known? How can I even be sure she really wants to?
“I have some boxers and an undershirt when you’re ready,” I say, putting on the same ensemble myself.
“Just leave them by the door.”
I wish I knew the answers. I don’t. I just know I’m lucky to have her, and that—if she really means it when she says she’d give up everything to be with me—I need her to open her eyes about her family. Her friends. Her world.
She comes out of the bathroom looking as tired as I feel. The corners of her eyes are red and puffy, and I can’t tell if it’s because she’s been crying, or if that’s what it looks like after a girl takes off makeup with one of my cheap washcloths.
“Feel better?” It’s a stupid question. Of course, she doesn’t.
She hugs her waist, inadvertently stretching the thin fabric of my shirt until it’s nearly sheer. “Much better. I didn’t think I’d ever stop shivering.”
“You’re still cold,” I say, noting how pert her nipples are beneath my undershirt. There’s something I can do about this. “I can warm you up some more.”
“I want you to promise me something first,” she says, giving me the sense she has been screwing up her courage to tell me whatever it is she’s about to say.
I brace myself. “What would that be?”
“Promise me you won’t let anyone come between us.” She puts her palm on my chest, and looks up at me with eyes like a full moon. The bright hope there leeches away my anger. “I need something real, Sterling. Someone real. Someone I can count on. And it’s going to be hard. We both know that now.”
I pull her to me, wrapping her in my arms.
What did I ever do to deserve her—the girl with everything, who somehow wants me more than all the rest? I can’t pretend I understand everything about how she works yet, but there is no doubt in my mind she means what she says.
“I promise,” I say, and tension melts from her face. “Can you promise me the same?”
“Of course,” she says, her eyes closing, her lips waiting for my kiss.
“Then show me,” I say, covering her lips with mine.
She opens to my touch, tilting her head back to help me explore more of her. I lift her by the buttocks, smashing her body into mine. We continue to search for answers with our lips and hands, our skin and our teeth. My mouth finds her earlobe. It takes her breath away, and she stops kissing my shoulder, burying her face there, clearing the path for me to take the lead.
I need her to understand she is mine. What did she say earlier? That her father wants to convince everyone his world is the only one? She wants a different world, and I need to show her my world is the best place for her.
I wrench the boxers off her hips, and she moans expectantly. I move up, with greedy hands, to her breasts, and I pinch her nipple, relishing the little yelp it produces. “You belong to me, Adair. Not your father, not anyone else. And I belong to you.”
She nuzzles her forehead against my chin, whispering in my ear, “I need you, Sterling. I need to feel something besides scared, and trapped, and—”
I spin her body away from me, dropping her gently on her feet and pushing her torso forward onto the bed. Leaning on top of her, I alternate kisses and sharp nips on the skin of her shoulders and back, enjoying the way they leave marks—proof she’s mine. She squirms toward me, but I’m not going to give her what she wants until I know she’d die to have it.
I slide the tip of my cock against her clit. She tries to move again, urging me inside her, but I hold her hips in place, kneading the soft, supple skin of her ass in my hands.
“Fuck, your body is so beautiful. I love how it responds to me.” I push into her briefly, and a low purr rumbles from her chest. I pull out, and her hips attempt to follow.
“Sterling,” she pleads.
“Tell me you love me,” I demand.
“I love you. You know, I love you.” She almost sounds annoyed, and she wriggles in my grasp.
It’s why I love her. She’s so impatient for life. “And I love you.”
I slam into her as hard as I can, and she strangles a cry. “Yessss.”
Our lovemaking is frantic, tinged with a sour edge that was never there before. I slow for a moment, considering if we should change positions, but Adair reaches back to grab at my hips, demanding that I go faster, harder, as if she needs this physical connection as much as I do.
I pump again and again, and each time Adair splays further onto the bed, her head nearly hitting the wall. If she’s not careful, I’ll end up fucking her straight through to my neighbors’ room.
Her breathing quickens and I allow myself to match her. When we climax, it seems to last forever, and then she goes limp, sagging into a boneless heap beneath me. I pull back the covers and tuck her gently beneath them, noticing where the frame of the bed bit into her thighs, leaving long, purple indentations. I rub them gently as I slide in behind her, giving her a kiss.
“When you’re in my bed, I know I can do anything,” I say, tracing the curve of her chin with the tip of my nose.
She smiles vaguely, the corners of her mouth falling open as her eyes close, sleep beginning to take her.
“I love you,” I say, but her only response is a faint snoring sound.
Sleep begins to take me, too, but not before I swear to myself that I won’t quit until every last one of these condescending assholes either respects me or fears me. It’s the only way I can keep their world from swallowing mine. It’s the only way I keep what I’ve already won. It’s the only way I keep her.
5
Adair
“The metal frame is cheaper, though,” I say, hooking Poppy’s elbow and guiding her away from the gorgeous ivory headboard she’s latched onto in the more expensive section of the furniture store—the side she obviously prefers.
“But it’s a four-poster!” she argues. “It’s on sale!” She pouts all the way back to the inexpensive metal headboard I’d picked out earlier.
Poppy insisted on coming with me to shop for stuff for her place—which just became our place. But she seems to be having trouble with my budget, which led to arguments and then offers to buy me the things I couldn’t afford before I put my foot down.
The cost of freedom from my father might have started out reasonable—all it took was a large chunk of the inheritance Mom left me, and a visit to the campus housing
office—but I’m struggling with how much things snowballed from there.
At Valmont, all freshmen are required to live on campus or at home. For the Valmont elites however, it works differently. Poppy and Ava managed to negotiate residence in one of the on-campus duplexes reserved for students with families. This was technically a violation of University policy, but since Poppy and Ava were guaranteed to renovate the apartment at no expense to the school, and since they agreed not to host any parties, no one could come up with a reason why they shouldn’t be allowed. Also, I suspect some money passed hands quietly between University officials and their parents.
I slept on their couch for a week after my brother’s wedding, never going home when my father and brother were likely to be around, and never for more than a few minutes. In the end, I realized I needed to make it official. If I want my life to be my own, I have to get away from Windfall.
Poppy and Ava were excited when I asked if I could move into the small room, most likely meant to be an office they’re actually using as a glorified walk-in closet. I’d only had to agree to two things. Ava wanted me to guarantee that if the shit hit the fan with my father, Sterling wouldn’t end up living with us, too. Poppy jumped in as soon as she said it, letting me know it was still fine for him to come over. Her only demand was that she be allowed to help me decorate. At the time, I thought Poppy’s half would be easier than navigating visits from Sterling.
Now, I’m not so sure.
When Poppy and I arrived at the home store, I had plugged the absolute limit of my budget into the calculator app on my phone. Without that precaution, Poppy would have spent the entire sum in the first 60 seconds.
“There’s not space for a four-poster in my room,” I say, “but you can get it if you like it.”
“And then you can take the one I’m using now?” she says, trying on the idea.
That is so not what I meant. “Poppy, that’s sweet, but—”
“But what?” She lifts one end of the metal, full-size bed frame on display, and it creaks loudly. “This won’t withstand a man like Sterling.”
“It’s not about that,” I say, sighing. Why can’t she understand what it is I want out of today?
“It’s just that everyone in the complex is going to hear this every time you two...you know...”
“Have sex?” I offer.
She flushes. “Honestly, I know you don’t want to take your dad’s money, but I don’t mind helping out. It’s not a big deal.”
“It is though,” I say. “I’m at the point I’d rather have something crappy that’s entirely my own.”
Her expression says I’m speaking Greek. “If you say so. Can I at least get you some really nice bedding? Consider it a housewarming present!”
“Fine.”
Some battles can’t be won.
We make our way to the linens section, and Poppy actually licks her lips when she sees the store’s main bedding display, an old Hollywood combination of lace, champagne satin, and silver chiffon. “This is freaking fantas—”
“Poppy, it’s more than the four poster!” I stop her as soon as I see the price tag.
“Hush, you said I could get the bedding.” She’s already plopping sheets and throw pillows into a cart. Piled there in its romantic, neutral hues, it looks like the remnants of a bridal party.
“I want Sterling to feel comfortable. I’m not sure satin will help him forget what happened at the wedding.” It’s true. In the week since the wedding, Sterling has bounced back and forth between something like the pre-wedding version of himself and the sullen, angry guy I found trying to walk out of my life.
Poppy takes a step back to study it, sighs, and pulls the items out of the cart. “Maybe you’re right.”
I do my best to hide my shock and hurry her away from the display.
“How has that been going?” Poppy asks, moving to examine a much more neutral option. “You haven’t really said much about where things stand with you two.”
“He’s angry, mostly. And obsessed with making our world respect him, whatever that means. I think he just needs more time. I can’t stop thinking about his place in Queens, of how he grew up—and then to have my dad throw it in his face. I’m angry, too, but I want to move on.”
“Have you wondered what you’ll do if things don’t work out between you two?” My brow furrows as I load an objection, but Poppy rushes on, “I like Sterling, you know I do—”
“Do you like him?” Lately, I’m not sure. Looking back, I’m not sure she’s ever really liked him.
Poppy drops a set of pale blue, 800-thread-count sheets into the cart and fixes me with one of her deeply sympathetic looks. “I have nothing against Sterling personally—and I know your father just complicates everything—but what if you manage to keep him out of it...and it still doesn’t work out? You two have a lot of differences, and you’re only nineteen. Do you really want to cut out your whole family for a guy you’ve only known a few months?”
I bite back a saucy reply by telling myself she’s just trying to look out for me. What can I say to convince her? Nothing I haven’t tried telling myself, unfortunately. “I only have two people in my life who see me as something besides Angus MacLaine’s daughter. Just two people in all the world who will let me be something else. You’re one of them, and he’s the other. I don’t know how else to explain it.”
A flash of realization dawns on Poppy’s face. “You have to see where it goes. Or you’ll regret it later.”
“Exactly. Exactly.”
Poppy’s crimson lips finally crack into a smile. “I’m not trying to be pushy about it, love. I just want to make sure you’re focused on what you need. Aside from these pillows. Holy shit, what are they even made of? Some kind of kitten fur? I’ve never felt anything so soft!”
“God, I hope not!” I say, feeling the pillows and laughing.
“Sorry, but these are for me. Sterling would never appreciate them,” she says with a wink that says she’s trying. Trying to like him. Trying to understand. I can’t ask for more than that.
“Do you want me to wait here while you get your own cart?” I ask.
“I think I’m just going to come back later. I’ve been feeling the need for a refresh, and this place is giving me ideas.”
It takes another hour to get everything we need for my new room, which leaves my bank account dangerously low. My inheritance from my mother wasn’t much after taxes. Still, I’m glad I refused my father’s offer to invest it for me. It means for now I have something to live on—but for how long? The feeling I get isn’t exactly panic, more like a gnawing worry.
In the parking lot, it takes Poppy a couple minutes to figure out how to lay down the seats in her mother’s BMW crossover, which she borrowed for this quest, so we can put the bed frame in. I end up doing most of the lifting, which is fine—it’s my stuff, after all. But it leaves me panting and sweaty, and Poppy decides to cool me off with something from Starbucks. I don’t want to spend any more money or run any later than we already are, but I don’t quite know how to tell her.
Sterling was supposed to meet us when we got back, to help move things in. But by the time we get there, we’re running a half hour late, and a moving truck is parked on the curb in front of our building.
“Surprise!” Poppy says as we get out. “They’re here to do all the lifting. And before you complain, they were going to be here whether they helped you or not. Ava and I needed to move some of our clothes back home.”
I’ve known Poppy practically my entire life, but I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how much clothing she goes through. The door of the moving truck is rolled open, and well over half its space is filled with wood-frame wardrobes covered with zip-up canvas covers.
“As long as you’re sure you won’t have to do without something,” I say, but Poppy completely misses the sarcasm.
“Of course not, silly. I get by my parents’ a few times every week, anyway.”
“Hey,
Lucky,” says Sterling, emerging from between the moving truck and the front door of our unit. His lips return to a scowling position as his eyes dart to the contents of the truck and not knowing quite how to process what he’s seeing.
“That’s my cue. Enjoy not having to get sweaty, Sterling,” Poppy says, seamlessly transitioning to ordering the movers with the skill of a field marshal.
“I wish I’d known I wasn’t needed,” Sterling mutters, adding, “And you’re late.”
“I know, I’m sorry. It’s Poppy—”
“She’s out of control?” he guesses, but the words are biting, not joking.
“I should have called. I’m sorry—”
“Whatever,” he says, dismissing me completely. “I have class across campus, and if I don’t leave now, I won’t make it.”
He turns his body slightly, as if to go, so I grab his arm and pull him towards me. “I can drive you. It has to be over a mile.”
Why didn’t that occur to me when he offered to come over and help?
“No thanks,” he says, breaking free of me by taking a step away. He shoots me a forced smile, but there’s nothing real in it.
And then he’s gone, without even a backward glance.
Adjusting to life after Windfall is surprisingly easy. Poppy and Ava have a maid service that comes every day, so there’s no need to clean or do dishes—skills none of us have ever had the opportunity to learn, and, with the possible exception of me, probably would never need. The street we live on is quiet, the other residents are mostly graduate students, who are friendly but preoccupied. This being the South, there are more than a few promises to get together for dinner, though. Of course, it probably will never happen.
Over the next couple of days, I see Sterling a few more times, always at his dorm. Every time I try to have him over to my place, he comes up with excuses about needing to study for midterms, which are nearly a month away. I tell myself it’s because he doesn’t want to accept rides from anyone at the moment, and my new place is extremely inconvenient for him.