Poppy felt herself relax a touch as Mr. Lestrange dropped his arm from around her waist. He didn’t look… thrilled, but what man would after being admonished and then slapped right across the cheek? Poppy couldn’t blame him in the least. Instead, she simply laced her fingers behind her back as if to indicate that she had no more intention of smacking him around in such a vulgar way. She already was starting to regret the hasty slap and the pure lack of breeding it had shown. When the blonde before her finally seemed to come out of his state of shock, Poppy eyed him warily. “I don’t mean to be,” she replied, delicatley. It was true, she hadn’t tried to be coy with him, to insinuate anything. She had just… trusted him, perhaps a little too freely with her sharing. She wasn’t sorry per se, but she had the decency to at least look abashed, despite her small smile.
Mr. Lestrange agreed then to let the moment pass in, quite frankly, the most gentlemanly like manner she could have imagined. Poppy felt herself release a small breath of relief, and she grinned at him openly. “I’m glad,” she said with all the honesty and genuine grace she could muster. “I should... go dry off.” Poppy gestured vaguely towards the restrooms just a touch further down the hall. (They had been lucky not have been caught thus far, but she wasn’t about to push her luck.) “Until next time then, Mr. Lestrange.”
Reluctantly, and with one last mischievous grin tossed in the blonde’s direction, Poppy turned and began to make her way down the hall to address her attire. She was glad of the narrow escape just there. The look that had crossed Mr. Lestrange’s face had sent a fluttering feeling through her already empty stomach, like doxy wings brushing against her intestines. She didn’t trust him, or herself, to make any more clever choices tonight.
© Fox