It was only years of cultivated compassion and self-discipline that kept me from driving my fist right into this guy’s classically square jaw. Not only from jealousy, but from the equally macho urge to protect Poppy’s dignity and stop her choices from being reframed by this asshole.
She doesn’t need you to defend her honor, Feminist Ally Tyler told me. But regular Tyler, the Irish-American one who enjoyed f*****g and whiskey and roaring obscenities at soccer games, didn’t care. It didn’t matter if she needed me to and it didn’t matter that I didn’t have a right to—the universe had been knocked off-balance by this guy’s assholery and my fist itched to correct that.
“Did that strike a nerve?” Sterling asked, amused.
“I consider Poppy one of my flock,” I said, inclining my head in admissio
