A Thousand Boy Kisses(9)

I lifted my head to see the freshman girls pointing at Poppy and whispering to each other. Their eyes were focused on Poppy in my arms. My jaw clenched. I hated that they treated her this way—out of jealousy. Most of the girls never gave Poppy a chance because they wanted what she had. Poppy said she didn’t care, but I could tell that she did. The fact that she stiffened in my arms told me just how much.

Shifting in front of Poppy, I waited for her to lift her head. As soon as she did, I ordered, “Ignore them.”

My stomach dropped as I watched her force a smile. “I am, Rune. They don’t bother me.”

I tipped my head to the side and raised my brows. Poppy shook her head. “They don’t. I promise,” she tried to lie. Poppy glanced over my shoulder and shrugged. When she met my eyes with her own, she said, “But I get it. I mean, look at you, Rune. You’re gorgeous. Tall, mysterious, exotic … Norwegian!” She laughed and pressed her palm over my chest. “You have that whole bad-boy, indie-style thing going for you. The girls can’t help but want you. You’re you. You’re perfect.”

I shifted closer and watched her green eyes widen. “And yours,” I added. The tension leaked from her shoulders.

I slipped my hand into the hand still on my chest. “And I’m not mysterious, Poppymin. You know all there is to know about me: no secrets, no mystery.”

“To me,” she argued, meeting my eyes once more. “You’re not a mystery to me, but you are to all the girls in our school. They all want you.”

I sighed, beginning to feel pissed. “And all I want is you.” Poppy watched me, like she was trying to find something in my expression. It just pissed me off more. I linked our fingers and whispered, “For infinity.”

With this, a genuine smile tugged on Poppy’s lips. “Forever always,” she eventually whispered in reply.

I dropped my forehead to rest against hers. My hands cupped her cheeks, and I assured her, “I want you and only you. I have done since I was five years old and you shook my hand. No other girl will change that.”

“Yeah?” Poppy asked, but I could hear the humor back in her sweet voice.

“Ja,” I replied in Norwegian, hearing the sweet sound of her giggle wash into my ears. She loved it when I spoke to her in my native language. I kissed her forehead, then stepped back to take hold of her hands. “Your mama and daddy took the girls home; they told me to tell you.”

She nodded her head, then looked up at me, nervously. “What did you think of tonight?”

I rolled my eyes and crinkled my nose. “Terrible, as always,” I said dryly.

Poppy laughed and hit my arm. “Rune Kristiansen! Don’t be so mean!” she scolded.

“Fine,” I said, pretending to be annoyed. I slammed her into my chest, wrapping my arms around her back, trapping her against me. She squealed when I began kissing up and down her cheek, keeping her arms locked by her side. I dropped my lips to her neck and caught her breath hitch, all laughter forgotten.

I moved my mouth up until I tugged on her earlobe with my teeth. “You were amazing,” I whispered softly. “As always. You were perfect up there. You owned that stage. You owned everyone in that room.”

“Rune,” she murmured. I heard the happy tone in her voice.

I pulled back, still not unlocking her arms. “I’m never more proud of you than when I see you up on that stage,” I confessed.

Poppy blushed. “Rune,” she said shyly, but I ducked my head to keep eye contact when she tried to pull away. “Carnegie Hall, remember. One day I’ll be watching you perform at Carnegie Hall.”

Poppy managed to free one of her hands and softly swatted my arm. “You flatter me.”

I shook my head. “Never. I only ever say the truth.”

Poppy pressed her lips to mine, and I felt her kiss all the way to my toes. When she drew back, I released her and threaded our fingers together.

“We heading out to the field?” Poppy asked as I began leading her away across the parking lot, holding her just that little bit closer as we passed the group of freshman girls.

“I’d prefer to be alone with you,” I said.

“Jorie asked if we’d go. Everyone is there.” Poppy looked up at me. By the twitch of her lips, I knew I was scowling. “It’s Friday night, Rune. We’re fifteen, and you’ve just spent most of the night watching me play the cello. We have ninety minutes left until curfew; we should actually see our friends like normal teenagers.”

“Fine,” I submitted and wrapped my arm around her shoulders. Leaning down, I placed my mouth at her ear and said, “But I get you to myself tomorrow.”

Poppy put her arm around my waist and gripped me tightly. “I promise.”

We heard the girls behind us mention my name. I sighed in frustration when Poppy briefly tensed.

“It’s because you’re different, Rune,” Poppy said, without looking up. “You’re artsy, into photography. You wear dark clothes.” She laughed and shook her head. I pushed my hair back from my face, and Poppy pointed up. “But mainly it’s because of that.”

I frowned. “Because of what?”

She reached up and pulled on a strand of my long hair. “When you do that. When you push your hair back like you do.” I raised an eyebrow, bemused. Poppy shrugged. “It’s kinda irresistible.”