by Poppy Parkes
Praise for Poppy Parkes
“It's well-written and extremely lovely as well as a steamy hot piece.”
“[The characters] are a raging inferno and nothing is extinguishing their flame.”
“This is a succulent insta-love story and I can't help but wish to get more of it.”
“Cute short story that will have you laughing, crying and rooting for [the characters].”
“This was a great read with characters that are well developed and engaging and have chemistry. The storyline is well written and flows smoothly from page to page.”
“Like-able characters; their chemistry is intense, instant, and off the charts! Definitely recommended!”
“I really enjoyed reading [this book by Poppy Parkes] and found the story-line to be completely engaging and the characters were wonderful.”
“Humorous banter and lots of passion!”
“Poppy Parkes is a new to me author and let me tell you I am so happy that I gave her a chance! This book is instaeverything.”
“An enjoyable and exciting read! It is quick, engaging, witty, funny, and emotionally deep guaranteed to pull you in from the first page.”
“This is a story I want more of. My imagination runs wild with what happens next…”
“More Poppy please!”
Thank you for downloading Love Tumble
Meet law student Kate Conrad and undergrad business major Harry Abbott. They make quite the impact — literally — on each other the first time they meet. He’s taken with her curvy body and sass, and she can’t turn away from his kind eyes and muscular body. They can't help but tumble into each other’s arms. But will they allow their hearts to be tumbled too?
Love Tumble is a super hot new adult story about an older woman student finding out-of-the-blue true love with a younger man. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and only consensual shenanigans await. This contemporary instalove romance is the second installment in the Love at First Sight series (find book one here), and will make you squirm with delight. ;Steamy happily ever after guaranteed!
Happy reading! ;)
Love, Poppy
Love Tumble
Love at First Sight: Book Two
Poppy Parkes
Copyright © 2020 by Poppy Parkes.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities between elements of this book and real places, people, or things is coincidental.
This book is intended for adult audiences 18 years and older only. All characters are consenting adults 18 years and older only.
Contents
The Oops Club
Kate
Harry
Kate
Harry
Kate
Harry
Kate
Epilogue
Love at First Sight
A Love Note For You
Also by Poppy Parkes
Acknowledgments
About the Author
The Oops Club
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With love and gratitude,
Poppy
Kate
I’m late.
I’m never late, not ever. But today, the first day of the fall semester at the college where I’m teaching a course, I’m fucking late.
I usually have everything so together. I’d double-checked my cell phone alarm last night, made sure my charcoal pantsuit was laid out and ready, and even packed myself a lunch. Between the political science course I’m teaching and my own law school classes, I’ve got a full day.
That I’m late for, thanks to my phone updating itself overnight and somehow not retaining the alarm I set.
I’d thrown myself into my clothes, hauled my thick waist-length brown hair into a high ponytail, and dashed to the car. I realized halfway to campus that I forgot my lunch, but it didn’t matter. Pressing the upper reaches of the speed limit the whole way here, I’d made it to my designated campus parking lot in record time.
And now I’m sprinting across the quad of Shotgun College, a surprisingly sizable institution offering a liberal arts undergrad program and several graduate level options. I clutch an armful of folders stuffed with syllabi, deadline lists, and packets of articles. Glancing at my watch, I think that the remaining five minutes before my class is set to begin might be just enough time for me to get there.
I lengthen my stride and weave between the herds of freshman who are traveling to their first day of classes, all wearing a confused expression as if they’re not quite sure how they got here.
The clock tower on the top of Central Hall chimes as I pass it. I know it’s always a few minutes early, but the sound still makes my skin flash cold.
I cannot screw this up. I’m nearly done with law school, and this teaching job will look great on my resumé. And I need the money. Paying out of pocket for years of higher education will do that to your bank account.
Just another year of school and then I can take the bar in July and — with luck — finally start my career in earnest. I’m so ready to be done with school. All of my friends are, and as I watch them conduct their professional lives, I’m filled with admiration undercut by a thin ribbon of jealousy.
The Central Hall clock stops its tolling, and I check my watch again. The damn digital thing refuses to show me the time when I turn my wrist, so I shake my hand and look again. Still nothing. I curse under my breath and, still running, shake my wrist once more.
My watch lights up at last, but it’s no longer my top priority because I’ve run headfirst into something large and solid that — I find my brain noting as I tumble to the ground, papers flying — smells incredibly good.
I’m sprawled on the brick path, eyes looking at the big sky that Montana is known for, heart stuttering with shock.
“Fuck,” says a male voice that feels like honey to my addled cranium, “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
“Um,” I begin, then decide that’s a complete sentence. I’m not sure how to answer the question. All I know is that I’m definitely going to be late for my class and that my head is pounding in a way that makes me groan inwardly at the thought of standing.
A young man’s face appears over mine, forehead creased with concern. “Can I help you up? Or call the campus EMTs?”
I draw a deep breath and take a mental inventory of my body. Aside from my head, I don’t feel any other pain. Laying here isn’t going to do me much good so, gingerly, I extend a hand and allow him to help me sit up.
He crouches next to me, looking at me like I’m a bomb about to go off. My head still hurts, but nothing else feels worse in this upright position, so I take that as a small win on a morning of epic fails.
“I — I think I’m okay,” I murmur, more to reassure myself than him. “I’m sorry I ran you over.”
“It was my fault.” He gives me a crooked smile, eyes as blue as the sky crinkling under his shock of light brown hair. My heart flip flops in a way that has nothing to do with potential injury. “I was looking at my phone. You know what they say about driving and texting? Well, apparently you shouldn’t walk and text either.”
�
�I wasn’t paying attention either.” I shrug, returning his smile. His widens when he sees mine, and I find myself thinking that making this guy smile makes me happy.
I shove the thought away. I’ve got bigger concerns. I’m late for my teaching gig, might lose said gig, and can feel my head beginning to pound. I don’t have time for ogling some hottie — and he’s definitely a hottie.
My errant brain reminds me of my friend Amelia. It wasn’t all that long ago that she got left at the altar, then met the love of her life that same night. They’ve been together ever since. She’s even pregnant with their baby.
But I don’t believe love at first sight exists — at least, not for me. As a would-be lawyer, logic is my North Star. And logic doesn’t have time for lifelong relationships founded on a sudden shared chemistry communicated with a glance of the eyes.
Even so, the sight of this guy gathering up my strewn papers, tucking them carefully back into their folders, makes my thigh muscles turn to jelly. His hands are so big, strong with smooth knuckles. I imagine how they’d feel fondling my breasts or supporting my ass as he pounds me against the wall.
Crimson heat creeps up my cheeks. Getting turned on by and fantasizing about some stranger? This is not my usual.
Just like being late, my traitor of a brain pipes up, and look what’s happening.
Quit it, I command myself. My brain shuts up, but that pleasant wiggly feeling still permeates my thighs.
I’ve got to get out of here. And not just because I’m probably going to be in big trouble with the head of my department. Apparently my brain and body have taken a liking to this guy, and I’m not sure what that means. The best thing to do is get to class and put him out of my mind.
He hands me the collected stack of papers and manila folders. “It’s not in the right order,” he says, apology written over his face, “but it’s not all over the ground anymore.”
“Thank you so much. Really.” I accept the stack, my gratitude warm and real in my throat. I feel like there’s something else I should say — that I’m about to say — but I open my mouth and nothing emerges.
His eyes explore my face while he waits, jaw flexing rhythmically as if he’s making a list of observations. My flush deepens, and I wonder what he sees when he looks at me. Not that it matters because, after this moment, I’ll probably never see him again.
“Should we get you on your feet?” he says after a moment. “I’m not exactly in a rush to get to class, but I figure that I should.” He leans in and whispers like he’s telling a secret. “I’m trying to be a good student here.”
“You are paying for it,” I point out. “Might as well get the credit your tuition is buying.”
He laughs, showing his beautiful white teeth. “Damn straight.”
Again that golden warmth fills me, along with the satisfaction that having made him smile and laugh brings.
He extends a hand. “Now, let’s get you up.”
I’d like to get him up, that renegade part of my brain says as I place my palm on his, and this time I don’t tell it to shush.
Harry
I didn’t expect my junior year in college to start off with such an impact. But when I lock eyes with the brunette beauty that I literally knocked off her feet, I can’t help but feel just a little bit happy. Because damn.
Like, damn.
She’s all curves, and the suit she’s wearing hugs them just right, and I wouldn’t mind learning what those plump lips feel like against my own.
But all that flies out of my head as I help her get to her feet. Because once she’s up, she clutches onto my hand for dear life, swaying.
“You doing okay?” I ask mostly to see if she’ll answer — I can tell from her pallid cheeks and unsteady stance that she’s definitely not okay.
“My head . . .” She shakes her head, then winces. “I’m dizzy.”
“Your head hurts and you’re feeling dizzy?” I confirm, trying to ignore the fact that I just noticed how long her hair is and, against my will, I’m imagining that curtain of chocolate falling around us as she rides me.
But she’s not riding me. Not anywhere close. She must have hit her head when she fell. Which means that we’re potentially dealing with a concussion.
I don’t miss the fact that I automatically thought of her situation in terms of we, her problem as our problem, like we’re connected by anything more than accident and my apparently raging fantasy life. I choose to ignore the latter too.
“We’ve got to get you to a doctor.” With my free hand, I pull my cell phone out of my pocket. “I’m going to call an EMT.”
“No.” Her voice is thin, but it stops me from dialing nonetheless. I’m in her thrall, and I suspect I’ll do anything she wishes if it makes her happy and keeps her near. “I have to get to class.”
“Nope.”
She glares at me, but the irritation at me shining in her green eyes doesn’t quite mask her distress over the situation she’s found herself in. “What do you mean nope?”
“You said it — your head hurts, you feel dizzy. It’s doctor time.”
“But —“
“You could have a concussion. Or worse. I think it’s important that you’re seen by a medical professional.” I scan her with my eyes, noting her brow pinching in pain and how she stands like the earth might lurch under her feet at any moment. “Please.”
Her eyes fly wide, and I can tell she’s as surprised as I am at how pleading and tender the single syllable sounds leaving my lips.
“But my class . . . I’m teaching it. I’ll get into trouble.”
She’s a teacher, maybe a professor. That makes the suit and stack of papers make more sense.
But it doesn’t change anything else. I shake my head firmly. “You won’t, not once your boss hears that you had a medical emergency. Promise. Besides, it’s been more than ten minutes since the start of class. All your students are probably gone by now.” I raise my phone. “Now can I call the EMTs?”
She sighs, giving in. “I’ll go to the campus medical center.” She deflates for a moment against me, and I fight an urge to wrap my arms around her and hold her, promising to stay with her through whatever the rest of this day might bring.
Then she straightens, soft lips drawing into a thin line. “Thank you so much for all your help. I’ve got it from here.”
My mouth dangles wide as I realize that this woman intends to walk herself across campus, alone. “Yeah, I’m definitely going with you.”
Now it’s her time for her lips to form a perfect “o” of surprise. I can’t help but indulge in a momentary fantasy about how that perfect mouth would look wrapped around my cock. “But don’t you have class?” she says. “You’re trying to be a good student, remember?”
“You’re more important.”
Silence falls between us, and her cheeks pink at my words. My tongue is tied too. Because my declaration makes me realize that, suddenly, she really is more important than anything to me. More than getting to class this morning, more than rugby practice this afternoon. Definitely way more important than any lame college party. Not that I’m really into the undergrad party scene, but it’s nice to have somewhere to go on a Friday night.
I’m not sure I’m allowed to feel this way about a college teacher. Sure, I turned twenty-one this summer, but I’m not certain if it’s a good idea to fall head over heels for someone that works for the school you attend.
Because that’s exactly what’s happening.
But that’s a problem for later. Right now, this woman needs help whether or not she knows it, and I refuse to leave her side until I know that she’s going to be safe and cared for.
I ignore the primal desire that’s growing more insistent in my core, the one that’s decided that I need to be the one taking care of this woman.
“What’s your name?” My question, such a sharp change in topic, surprises her enough that she answers without hesitation.
“Kate Conrad.”
“But —“ she begins, and even though that pout is good enough to eat, I don’t let her interrupt me.
“Because leaving you to fend for yourself, not knowing if you’re okay? That is absolutely not an option.” I take a deep breath, finding myself far more turned on than I should be from the way Kate’s eyes are boring into me, full of fire. “So, what’s it going to be?”
She frowns. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“As serious as your potential concussion.”
Kate stares at me for another long moment, then finally rolls her eyes. “Fine. Take me to the medical center, serf.” She lets go of me long enough to try to point a commanding finger in the direction of the clinic. But without my support she sways, confirming my suspicion that she couldn’t make the trip alone, and leans back into me.
I offer a laugh at her joke, but my heart’s not in it — it’s mostly to hide my quickly deepening concern for her condition. “Then to the medical center we shall go, m’lady.”
She smiles in reply as we set off, slow and shaky, but the expression is thin and her face is still pale. The sooner we get to the campus clinic, the better.
