Poppy
Three years later…
Devon Wallace is a d**k!
A gorgeous, badass biker with a body chiseled out of marble… but regardless… a total d**k. I let out a frustrated squeak and threw my phone on the bed. It bounced off and dropped on the floor, popping the back open.
“Damn it!” I snapped.
“Poppy,” Mum called through the door before knocking and pushing it open. “You okay, poppet?”
I took a deep breath, then another, and schooled my features before facing her. “I’m super.”
She leaned against the doorframe and raised an eyebrow. “So, the string of foul-mouthed expletives that just came out of your mouth was, what?”
I scoffed. “Mum.”
My mother was all-British, gorgeous, and had a mouth like a sailor when it suited her.
She smiled. “Devon rang, I take it?”
“Just to be clear… murder’
