Page 13 of Bombshell

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.

But I don’t really believe it.

There’s no getting around the fact that things have changed, and definitely for the worse. It’s almost like there’s an invisible third person in our relationship. Every moment, every kiss, every touch is possessive like he’s marking his territory.