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

Author:J.A. DeRouen [DeRouen, J.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Wings Over Poppies
Publisher: J.A. DeRouen
Published: 2015-01-24T00:00:00+00:00

This sounded like a fantastic idea in my head. I tossed and turned through the night, the things I should have said rolling over in my mind. While I may have been a pushover last night, in hindsight, I’m truly a snarky bitch.

Instead of letting him take me against the wall, I slapped his face and told him he had no say in my life. I stormed away, locked the door, and left him to rot on my porch.

Yeah, I’m a real badass in hindsight.

Fast forward to this morning, where the aforementioned badass is sitting in West’s driveway, bound and determined to give him a much-needed dress down. Every nasty word he spat at me plays on a continuous loop in my mind, and I want to cram those words back down his throat. I hate him for making me feel so small. It’s clear to me now that the boy I once loved no longer exists, and I have no use for the man he’s become. The man he’s become betrayed me—betrayed my memories.

I’ve had West’s home address ever since Caroline located him, but I’ve never put it to use until today. He lives in an older neighborhood on the outskirts of Providence, but the homes and yards have been well taken care of. His yard is expertly manicured with no nonsense bushes, a front porch void of any niceties, and not one thing out of place. I have no problem believing a military man lives here. His truck is parked in the driveway, so I’m sure he’s home.

I remind myself of his parting words to stoke the fires of my anger. I amble out of the car and stomp up his porch. Before I have a chance to change my mind, I pound three times and I wait, arms crossed and hip popped. When there’s no answer, I lean over the porch and peer into the front window, holding onto the door handle for balance. My hand slips and the knob turns, inadvertently opening his front door.

I look to the left, I look to the right, and then I peek my head in through the crack. Silence. I slide in through the crack, because opening the door any further would make this feel wrong. Sliding in through a cracked door? That’s just opportunistic.

The inside of his house is as meticulously kept as the outside, with no clutter to be found. The living room consists of a large brown leather sofa, a coffee table, and a large screen television. There are no pictures, no decorations, nothing to signify that it belongs to any particular person. It’s the picture of anonymity.

Now that I’m inside, I hear the faint sound of water running from the back of the house. West must be showering, and I’m eager for the opportunity to take him completely off guard. That’s what he deserves.

I sit on the couch and wait, nervously picking the ever-present paint from under my nails. I intentionally drop the paint chips onto his spotless floor, smirking at the thought of him having to clean it up.

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