Kissing Cousins Page 14

  Poppy giggled, delighted with his obvious interest in her life. “Of course,” she told him.

  She did wish, however, that Whitney hadn’t looked quite so starstruck in those first moments when she introduced her to Mark.

  “Poppy tells me you’ve been her friend nearly since birth,” Mark said as Whitney stood staring at him in astonished disbelief.

  “Yep,” Whitney managed. “We’ve been friends forever!”

  “It’s a nice apartment you girls have,” Mark said, looking around the room.

  Poppy still couldn’t believe a man the like of Mark Lawson was standing in her apartment. “Thanks,” Poppy said. “We really like it here.”

  “Especially when the garbage disposal is working,” Whitney interjected. “I’ve been trying to get that quarter out of the garbage disposal all night.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Poppy said, playfully frowning at Whitney. She knew she was going to hear about the garbage disposal again, but she’d thought Whitney would wait until Mark was gone, at least.

  “It’s stuck good, I’ll tell you that,” Whitney said to Poppy.

  “A quarter?” Mark asked.

  “I was washing off some tip change,” Poppy began, “My lip gloss leaked out all over my tips yesterday, and I was just washing off some of the change this morning, and I dropped a quarter in the garbage disposal.”

  “It’s stuck in there now,” Whitney explained.

  “And we all know that Whitney can’t live without the garbage disposal,” Poppy teased.

  “Hey, Mark,” Whitney said. “Do you know anything about garbage disposals?”

  Mark smiled and chuckled. “Nope. If it were me, I’d just call the plumber,” he said.

  “Naw,” Whitney said. “Too expensive. We can probably just wiggle it out with a screwdriver if we try hard enough.”

  “Have you tried just reaching in there?” Mark asked. Poppy smiled as he walked over to the sink. How sweet—he was going to take a look at it!

  “I’m not reaching in there!” Whitney exclaimed. “I’ve seen that movie one too many times. You know, the one where the lady sticks her hand in the garbage disposal, and it suddenly turns on and chews off her fingers!”

  Mark laughed and peered into the sink. “Yeah, I’ve seen that one too,” he said. “Besides, it’s probably pretty nasty in there.”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” Whitney said.

  “I’m sure we can get someone to fix it, Whit,” Poppy said. “You’ll just have to live an entire day without it.”

  “Well, I’m going to go call someone to come fix it now,” Whitney said picking her cell phone up off the counter.

  “It’s almost eleven,” Poppy reminded her.

  “Well, I’ll leave a message, ’cause we need to clean the fridge, and I need my garbage disposal for that gross of a project.” Whitney began dialing on her phone as she went into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

  “She’s too funny,” Mark said, still smiling.

  “I know,” Poppy agreed. “She keeps life entertaining, that’s for sure.”

  “Thanks for giving your whole day away to me,” Mark said, taking Poppy’s hands in his own. “I had a great time.”

  “Me too,” Poppy said, smiling at him.

  “When do you have time for me again?” he asked.

  Poppy bit her lip, delighted that he wanted to see her again. She was really starting to believe he truly liked her more than other girls of his acquaintance.

  “I’m off Wednesday and Thursday of this week,” she told him.

  “Thursday?” he asked, tugging on her hands and pulling her closer to him.

  Poppy’s heartbeat increased as he smiled at her. He meant to kiss her again, and she was glad she’d taken the time to freshen her lip gloss after they’d eaten—shiny lips were always more appealing!

  “Sure,” she said.

  “I hear there’s a guy performing at the Comedy Corner next week who’s supposed to be hilarious,” Mark said. “What do you think? Sound fun?”

  “Sounds really fun,” Poppy told him.

  “Fabulous! I’ll pick you up at five thirty, and we’ll do dinner first, okay?” he asked.

  “Perfect,” Poppy said.

  He was smiling at her, his head descending toward hers—he did mean to kiss her again.

  Poppy was puzzled when he paused, however. Still smiling at her, he reached up and ran his thumb over her lips twice.

  “Perfect,” he breathed as he kissed her then.

  And it was! It was the perfect good night kiss—warm, lingering, noninvasive, yet thoroughly romantic! He kissed her twice more, pulling her into his arms and against his muscular form the third time.

  Slowly releasing her, he said, “You’re fabulous, Poppy Amore. I’m afraid you’ve gotten under my skin.”

  Poppy smiled, blushed, and bit her lip, delighted by his inference.

  “As I said before—you’re too charming to be true, Mr. Lawson,” Poppy said.

  “You’re lucky you have a garbage-disposal-obsessed roommate, or I’d be tempted to hang around and kiss you some more,” Mark said.

  Poppy laughed and said, “She’s so random.” Whitney was a jewel, and Mark was wonderful! She wasn’t sure she wanted him to leave yet—she wished he’d stay, that they could talk some more like they had throughout the day and evening.

  “You’ve got something on your shirt,” she said as her gaze fell to his broad shoulders. “Right there…it looks like mud,” she said, brushing at a dime-sized smudge of mud near his right shoulder.

  He looked down at the spot and frowned.

  “Oh, man!” he mumbled. “I hope that doesn’t stain—I like this shirt.”

  “I’m sure it won’t,” Poppy said. His concern over his bright yellow polo amused her. “And I like this shirt too.”

  He looked back to her and smiled. “How about the guy wearing it?”

  “Oh, I really like the guy wearing it,” she said.

  He leaned forward, kissing her once more. “I better get going,” he said. “See you Thursday, okay?”

  “Okay,” Poppy said. She followed him to the door, closing and locking it behind him.

  Releasing a heavy sigh and leaning back against the door, Poppy smiled. What a wonderful day! Lunch at the bistro, canoeing on the lake, the concert, the kisses. All of it was wonderful! Mark was wonderful! Dreamy, charming, and wonderful! She giggled, certain he’d make an appearance in her dreams that night.

  She thought of his kisses, expertly applied and truly romantic—just the right kind for these early stages of a relationship. The kisses she’d shared with Swaggart were passionate, fiery, and knee-weakening, and her arms erupted in goose bumps at the memory of them. She wondered if Mark liked her enough, would continue to like her enough—enough to intensify the kisses between them. She wondered if Mark could one day cause her body to ripple with goose bumps—she was sure he could. It would take time—for Pete’s sake, they hardly knew each other! It was different with Swaggart—she’d known him for so long. It only stood to reason Swaggart’s kisses would’ve had a more profound effect on her than Mark’s did at this point—after all, she’d been in love with Swaggart for seven hundred sixty-three years! Of course he could thrill her! And Mark would thrill her, too—once she got to know him better.

  Poppy pulled on one of her dad’s old New Orleans Saints t-shirts to serve as pajamas, brushed her teeth, and fell into bed, exhausted. She dreamed of lakes, of trees, of beautiful music. Yet her happiest dream was the reminiscent dream of the first day she’d worked at Good Ol’ Days—the day Swaggart Moretti had made her one of his famous Jiggy burgers for lunch. Even in her dreams, she salivated at the memory of the taste of it. It was the perfect hamburger—hot, spiced, and delicious in every way—just like his kiss.

  *

  “Sheesh!” Whitney said as Poppy staggered out of her bedroom the next morning. “I thought you were never going to get up.”

 
; “Why? What time is it?” Poppy asked, blurry-eyed and yawning.

  “Nine,” Whitney answered. “You already missed Scooby-Doo, by the way.”

  “Nine?” Poppy whined. “I had some stuff I wanted to get done early today. You should’ve woken me, Whit.”

  “You have your own alarm clock,” Whitney said. “Besides, I’m still mad at you for breaking the garbage disposal.”

  “Sorry,” Poppy said. She opened the refrigerator and took out a chocolate pudding cup. She took a plastic spoon out of the basket on the counter, opened the pudding cup, and started her breakfast. “Did you call someone about it?”

  “Girl, you are so groggy when you first get up in the morning,” Whitney said, pointing to the sink. Poppy looked over to see a man lying on the floor in front of the sink, his head and torso inside the cabinet, arms struggling with the garbage disposal.

  “You sure didn’t waste any time,” Poppy said. “And who did you find to come out this early on a weekend? It’s probably going to cost us an arm and a…”

  Poppy froze—she was sure her heart dropped and landed with a thud in her stomach as the man sat up.

  “She found the only idiot stupid enough to do it and not charge you anything,” Swaggart said.

  Poppy could only remain frozen with humiliation. She knew all too well what she looked like—she’d seen herself briefly in the bathroom mirror before leaving her bedroom. Worn off makeup, pillow hair, and wearing her dad’s old New Orleans Saints t-shirt. She had one brief moment of being thankful—for at least the shirt was long and covered most of her thighs.

  “S-Swaggart,” she stammered at last.

  “Good morning, Poppy,” he said. He smiled as he studied her from head to toe, and Poppy felt the heat of embarrassment rise to her cheeks. He stood up and looked into the sink for a moment before putting his hand down the hole into the garbage disposal.

  “Swaggart, don’t!” Poppy heard Whitney’s voice exclaim in unison with her own.

  “What?” he shouted. It was obvious they had startled him.

  “Don’t put your hand down there!” Whitney scolded. “Haven’t you ever seen that movie where the lady gets her fingers chewed off in the garbage disposal?”

  “Yes, Whit,” Swaggart said. “That’s why I unplugged it first.”

  Poppy still couldn’t move. She didn’t know quite what to do. She should race back to her bedroom and put some clothes on. Yet she found she was entirely mesmerized by seeing Swaggart standing in her apartment. He was so handsome! He wore jeans and a red t-shirt, and his hair wasn’t tousled as it normally was at work.

  “You got it jammed in there pretty good,” he said, looking to Poppy. He frowned, and she could see his jaw clenching and unclenching as he struggled with the mechanism inside the sink.

  “Sorry,” Poppy said.

  “Can you fix it, Swaggart?” Whitney said. “A plumber will charge us a mint to come out here.”

  “I don’t know,” Swaggart said. “It’s really jammed in there.” He kept frowning, and Poppy could tell by the expressions crossing his face he was really struggling with the quarter.

  “Poppy,” he said.

  “Yeah?” she answered.

  “Come here.”

  Swallowing the lump of humiliation in her throat, Poppy walked over to the sink. She could feel the crimson on her cheeks. What could be worse than having Swaggart see her at her ultimate worst?

  “Give me a bite of that,” he said, nodding toward the pudding cup she held in her hand.

  “What?” Poppy asked. He couldn’t be serious. Everybody knew Swaggart Moretti never ate or drank after anybody—never!

  “Give me a bite,” he said.

  Poppy frowned. Was he serious? He seemed to be. Slowly she dipped her plastic spoon into the pudding and held it out toward him. He put his mouth over the spoon and nodded, indicating Poppy could remove it.

  “Thanks,” he said. “I love those things.”

  Poppy smiled, amused by his casual manner—as if seeing her standing there looking like an escapee from some mental ward that didn’t provide its patients with pajamas was the most normal thing in the world.

  “Hold on…wait a minute…wait a minute…I think…” he said, between grimaces.

  “Did you get it?” Whitney asked.

  Swaggart pulled his hand out of the garbage disposal. He turned on the water and washed his hands with the dish soap sitting on the counter. He pulled an Allen wrench out of his pocket and stretched out on the floor again. Poppy watched the muscles in his arms tighten as he worked on the disposal from underneath the sink for a minute.

  Standing, he turned on the water and flipped the disposal switch on the wall. The disposal roared to life, and Whitney clapped her hands with delight.

  Poppy smiled and watched as Swaggart washed off the quarter.

  “Give me another bite,” he said as he dried his hands on his t-shirt.

  Poppy smiled and offered the pudding cup to him.

  He accepted the pudding cup and said, “Thanks.”

  “No—thank you!” Whitney exclaimed. “The disposal is one of my favorite appliances! I was freaking out without it.”

  Poppy stuck the plastic spoon she’d been using into the pudding cup now belonging to Swaggart.

  “There’s more in the fridge if you want,” she said. She smiled at him, adding, “And thank you, Swaggart.”

  “You’re welcome, baby,” he said.

  Poppy’s stomach did a big loop-the-loop as he leaned back against the sink, crossed his feet, and began eating the pudding. Even without touching her, he’d caused her arms and legs to break into goose bumps—it was delicious!

  “Here,” he said, picking the quarter up off the counter and flipping it to Poppy. She smiled and caught it as he added, “I guess the garbage disposal doesn’t take quarters.”

  “Oh, you’re a scream,” Whitney said, shaking her head.

  Poppy giggled, thinking him quite clever.

  “Well, girls,” he said, licking the last smidgen of pudding off the plastic spoon. “I gotta run.”

  “Don’t you want to stay for breakfast?” Whitney asked.

  “Will Poppy be serving me pudding while wearing her scandalous lingerie?” he asked.

  Poppy blushed again when he smiled as he surveyed her from head to toe once more.

  “We’re having French toast today, dummy,” Whitney said.

  “I’d rather have Poppy serve me pudding,” he said.

  Poppy held her breath as he walked over to her, stopping right before her.

  “I promise to tip you really, really, really well.”

  “He’s teasing you, Poppy,” Whitney giggled. “Call his bluff!”

  As Swaggart stood staring down at her, the warm syrup of his eyes drizzling over her like summer rain, Poppy tried to breathe.

  “So you’re a good tipper?” she managed.

  “Try me,” he coaxed.

  What did she have to lose? Swaggart had already witnessed her morning hideousness. Her stomach sickened at the thought. Again she was mortified at how she must look. Still, he was challenging her.

  “Fine,” Poppy said, smiling at him. She turned around and retrieved another pudding cup from the refrigerator. Opening the pudding cup, she snatched the plastic spoon from Swaggart’s hand and began to slowly feed the pudding to him.

  In truth, the act of feeding Swaggart the pudding, watching his mouth—which had been so adept at kissing hers—eat the pudding from the spoon she held caused excess moisture to flood her mouth. Her body somehow ached to feel his arms around her—her fingers longing to weave themselves through his hair. Poppy realized that simply being in the same room with Swaggart Moretti had more effect on her senses than actually kissing Mark Lawson did. It worried her somehow.

  As Swaggart ate the last bite of pudding he mumbled, “Mmm! I love this stuff.”

  Poppy smiled and set the empty pudding cup and spoon on the counter.

  “Okay, big
spender man—where’s my tip?” she asked.

  “You mean other than ‘garbage disposals don’t take quarters’?” he asked.

  Poppy rolled her eyes. “Yes—other than ‘garbage disposals don’t take quarters.’”

  “I can’t think of one,” he said, smiling. Mischief danced in his eyes as he added, “I just wanted you to feed me the pudding while wearing that scandalous lingerie.”

  “Oh my heck!” Poppy exclaimed, playfully smacking him on one solid shoulder. “You brat!”

  Swaggart chuckled. “I fixed your garbage disposal, didn’t I? Don’t I deserve one little pudding cup?”

  “You had one and a half, you idiot,” Whitney said.

  “And they were the best pudding cups I’ve ever had,” he said, winking at Poppy.

  Poppy blushed from the tips of her hair follicles to the red polish on her toenails.

  “Thanks, Poppy,” he said.

  “Thank you for retrieving my quarter,” Poppy said. “And for fixing the disposal before Whitney had a nervous breakdown.”

  “Anytime,” Swaggart chuckled. “I’ll see you girls at work. Go Saints!” he said, raising a fist in the air.

  “Thanks for fixing it, Swaggart. Really,” Whitney said.

  “You’re welcome,” he said.

  He left, and Poppy wasn’t sure her heartbeat would ever slow down. Her stomach was looping double time, and she felt overheated, weak, breathless.

  Swaggart’s mornings were usually very busy, especially when he wasn’t at work. Poppy was sure he’d sacrificed something else to help her and Whitney and their injured garbage disposal. She thought about the way he’d simply stuck his hand in the disposal without hesitation, the way he’d tricked her into feeding him the pudding—the way he’d smiled at her when he’d studied her. She was trembling, quivering with the desire to run after him, beg him to hold her, kiss her, talk with her, smile at her.

  Swaggart Moretti was dangerous—her heart was in danger from him. Poppy thought about the day before—the wonderful day she’d spent with Mark. How could it be possible? How could ten minutes of Swaggart Moretti fiddling with her garbage disposal manage to thrill her more than an entire day spent in Mark Lawson’s gorgeous company?

  CHAPTER TEN