Page 86 of The Birthday List (Maysen Jar 1)

Splat.

Green Jell-O flew everywhere as Poppy screamed. She gargled as a chunk landed in her mouth—I gagged—then spit it out, struggling to sit up. Goo dripped from her fingertips and the knot of her hair. Her tank top would never be white again.

And I couldn’t resist. My phone was still in my hand and I lifted it up for a photo burst.

“Are you kidding me right now?”

I grinned. “Just in case you want proof.” I tossed my phone aside and bent down, helping her back up on her feet. “Here.”

This time when she stood, Jell-O covered her from head to toe.

Don’t laugh. Don’t be an asshole. It was no use. A snort escaped, followed by a fit of laughter as Poppy glared and gripped my hand with all her might.

“Sorry.” I stopped howling—though my chest was still heaving—as I helped her from the pool.

With a green finger shoved in my face, Poppy spoke through her clamped teeth. “Mention one thing about Yoda or Muppets or leprechauns and you’re dead.”

“Yes, ma’am. Not a word.”

She dropped her glare and my hand so she could rub the spot on her ass where she’d taken maximum impact. “That hurt. Jell-O is not a good cushion.”

“Sorry.” I swiped the towel I’d brought down off a deck chair. “Want to take a shower?”

She nodded as she wiped her face, then darted past me toward the door.

“The shower is upstairs. Last room on the right!” I called to her back.

She waved and kept on running inside.

I smiled, shaking my head as I examined my yard.

It was a mess. That pool was going to be a bitch to clean up, and I hoped the Jell-O chunks would dissolve into the grass, but still, I was glad Poppy had come here to do this.

Deciding I’d clean up the pool tomorrow, I grabbed my phone and went inside, plopping down on the couch to look through the pictures I’d taken.

Before the water turned on upstairs, I found my favorite photo.

My beautiful, green leprechaun, Poppy.

I loved her. Staring at her picture on my phone, it hit me square in the chest.

I was in love with Poppy Maysen.

The irony hit me next.

Aly had told me she loved me countless times and I’d never said it back. Not once. And now, I was finally ready to say those three words to a woman who couldn’t say them back.

Cole’s shower was fancy. And huge.

Floor-to-ceiling tiles extended from a bench seat at one end to the doorway at the opposite side. There wasn’t an actual door because the space was so big—the water coming from the three bronze showerheads didn’t come close to escaping. But as gorgeous as the ivory marble tile was, the best part of Cole’s shower was the smell.

Just as I’d suspected, on a cutout shelf was a bottle of Irish Spring body wash. The smell had seeped into the tile, so as the shower filled with steam, I was engulfed in Cole’s clean, manly scent.

I laughed as I stared at the bottle. Its dark green coordinated perfectly with my light-green skin.

I’d done my best—scrubbing with fury—to get the color off my arms and hands, but I would need a thorough exfoliation with some sugar scrub and my loofah to get back to my normal shade.

Doing the Jell-O pool at Cole’s had its drawbacks. I didn’t have any of my normal beauty products or a hair dryer. I’d be putting back on the clothes I’d worn earlier at the restaurant even though I longed for something fresh and clean. But still, I was glad we’d done it here. Not only was I avoiding bringing him to my house, it was nice to have company instead of doing it alone.