“She’s got all the accounts.”

He quirks a brow. “You been stalking her?”

“A little bit.”

Randy barks out a laugh. But before he can razz me too much, Coach blows the whistle.

I’m distracted during practice. I still manage not to screw up too much, even though my head is anywhere but on the ice.

After practice, I get pulled aside by Smart who likes to ride my ass and check in about the fucking massages, which he still makes me get on a pretty regular basis. His talk today is about making sure I’m taking care of myself, but since I haven’t punched anyone out recently, he doesn’t have a reason to lecture me for long.

I rush through the shower, wrap a towel around my waist, grab my phone, and head for the sauna. I want to see what the hell is going on in the social media world so I can run interference.

I hit my page first and stop outside the door to the sauna to scroll through the new pictures circulating. Thankfully most of them are from the restaurant. I should’ve known better than to take her to a high-profile place like that. She looks sexy as hell, though, so that’s good. And not in a slutty way. Poppy is classy and classically beautiful.

There are a bunch of pictures of me with my arm around her, and my lips close to her ear. Randy’s right—I’m all over this girl. And the bunnies are not happy about it.

Then I see a picture reposted from a year ago. It’s the night Miller, Randy, and I went out to the bar and took a limo home with three girls. One of them is Poppy, although she’s in profile. I’m not touching her, though; my hand is on the waist of a blonde chick—the friend I never slept with.

Speculation is flying now. Bunnies are saying I’ve been keeping Poppy a secret all this time. It’s a clusterfuck. I’ll be lucky if she’s still willing to go out with me again after this. If I were her, I’d say fuck it.

I decide to skip the sauna. Instead I get dressed, say a quick goodbye to the guys in the locker room, and get in my car—which I’m still driving over the Hummer. I stop at my house, since it’s halfway between the gym and Poppy’s work. I still have the flowers and candy I forgot to bring with me last night. I don’t really have a plan. I want to make sure I’ll still get to see Poppy tonight and that I haven’t fucked this up.

It’s after four when I get to the clinic. I put on my best smile when I see Bernadette at the receptionist desk. Her eyes light up.

“Oh! Hi!” She takes in the flowers and box of candy in my hand. “Is Poppy expecting you? I didn’t think she had any more clients booked today.”

I’ve had to cancel all my appointments with her, but maybe the receptionist lady doesn’t know yet. “She doesn’t. She isn’t. Is she busy?”

“Her last client left a few minutes ago. I think she’s still in her room.”

“Great, thanks.” I head down the hall. The door’s ajar. I’m about to knock, but it’s open a crack, so I can see inside. Low music is playing, some upbeat dance stuff. Poppy shimmies around the room, humming away. Her hair is pulled up in a ponytail. I want her to wear it like that the next time we have sex.

Which I hope might be tonight. Depending on how this goes.

I slip into the room, closing the door behind me with a quiet click. Poppy jumps and turns, gasping when she sees me.

“Lance.” She brings her hand to her lips, and then it flutters around. “What are you doing here?” Her eyes move to the flowers.

“I uh—” I hold out the flowers and candy. “I wanted to give you these. I forgot them at home yesterday and—yeah, so here.”

“Um. Thanks?” It comes out a question, most likely because I’m acting like a fucking weirdo. I wonder if this is the kind of thing Violet was talking about with Waters when they first started dating.

“Have you been online much today?” I blurt.

“Uh, no. I haven’t had time. Why?”

Of course she hasn’t had time. She’s been working. I have no idea what I should say to her, other than don’t look at any of my feeds for the next couple of days, which is like telling an addict not to take the hit of heroin sitting in front of him.

“Lance? Is something wrong?”

Shit. I’m just standing here, staring. “Some, uh, pictures showed up on social media today.”

Her hand flutters to her throat, her delicate throat that I want to kiss and nuzzle and touch again. “What kind of pictures?”

“Of you and me.”

“Oh my God.” She sets the flowers on the massage table and drops down on the stool. Her fingers go to her lips. “Oh, God.”

She’s way more upset about this than I expected. “They’re from the restaurant. It’s gonna happen if you go out with me again. So, like, if it’s a huge problem we could order in next time, or whatever.” I just want to erase the panicked look on her face. Why didn’t I plan the date better?

Her brow furrows, and she drops her hand. Her lips are turned down, but her frown looks more like a pout. “Wait. So we’re not naked?”

“What?”

“The pictures? We’re fully dressed?”

“Aye. Oh, fuck, you thought I meant naked ones?” I bite my bottom lip to keep from smiling at her sudden relief. It’s not working, though.

Poppy points a finger. “Don’t you dare laugh at me!”

“’At’s a dirty mind ya got there, pretty little Poppy.” It comes out heavily accented, which happens sometimes, like my roots can’t stay buried.