Free Wings Over Poppies (Over #2) by J.A. DeRouen Page A

slow, gentle, and loving. I separate from him and look into his eyes.
    “Tell me something, West. Tell me something I don’t know,” I whisper as I feel him nudging between my legs.
    “Leaving you will be the hardest thing I ever do,” he says as he enters me.
    Truthfully, it hurts. It isn’t the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced, but it’s extremely uncomfortable. My first time doesn’t read like a romance novel. It’s not the mind-blowing experience that writers describe. But it’s soul squeezing. It’s heart bending. It’s life-changing in its own right.
    And I wouldn’t change one thing.
    As I lay next to West in comfortable silence, I want to say so many things. I want him to know that I’ll wait a lifetime for the chance to be with him again. I want to tell him that I love him.
    But I keep my words inside, knowing that it will only make it harder for him to leave. That’s my burden to carry, not his.
    If only I knew this beautiful boy would disappear from my life after this night, I would have said so many things…

 
     
     
     

 
    “ 6’2 ” by Marie Miller
     
     
    “SO, I’M GOING to ask you a series of rapid fire questions to test our compatibility. No first date is complete without a lightning round, don’t you agree?” Quentin’s blue eyes sparkle with laughter as I shrug shyly and giggle. They’re light and cheerful, in direct contrast with the dark and brooding eyes from my past.
    Just let it go, Alex.
    “Totally agree.” I stretch my neck from side to side and crack my knuckles in preparation. “I’m ready. Do your worst!”
    “Night owl or early riser?”
    “Night owl, definitely.”
    “Sand or snow?
    “Sand, but not in the crack of my ass.”
    “No, no. Just answers, no explanations.”
    “Sorry.”
    “Truth or dare?”
    “Dare.”
    “A girl with something to hide. Interesting.”
    “No, no. Just questions, no commentary.”
    “Touché. Romantic comedy or action movie?
    “Romantic comedy … sorry, I’m hopeless.” I shrug apologetically.
    “You’re forgiven. I’ve been known to watch a rom-com every once in a while, but don’t tell anyone. It’ll fuck with my street cred.”
    “I wouldn’t want to do that. I’d hate for you to lose the respect of your posse.”
    “Don’t play, girl. I’m deep in the streets.”
    I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face if my life depended on it. I met Quentin at a Northern University art exhibit last week. He argued that the fruit display was more aesthetically pleasing than ninety percent of the art on display. I argued that his brain must not be developed enough to appreciate true beauty. His response?
    “Hmmm. What does that say about you, since I find you truly stunning?”
    I didn’t hesitate when he asked me to meet him for drinks. A handsome man with a snarky sense of humor? Yes, please. To say I have bad dating juju would be the understatement of the century. I need a win in my corner. Quentin has proven to be a victory thus far.
    Sparkling blue eyes and blond waves that brush his shoulders?
    Check.
    Sexy five o’clock shadow and biceps that have his shirtsleeves stretching to their limits?
    Check .
    A smart sense of humor, throaty laugh, and interest in something other than himself?
    Check, check, and check .
    Did I feel fireworks and butterflies when he placed his hand on my lower back and led me to our table? Nah, but that’s not the end of the world. I feel a relaxed friendship, and that’s something I can build upon. I like our back and forth, and I silently wish he’ll ask to see me again at the end of the night. In the past, fireworks and butterflies have left me shattered, so I will myself to enjoy the moment.
    “Do I get a turn with the lightning round? I need to see if you make the cut,” I joke good-heartedly.
    Quentin’s eyes focus on the entrance, and recognition flashes in his eyes. His back visibly stiffens, and he immediately slides his bar stool closer to mine.
    “Not now,