Texas Sizzle

by Lori Wilde

  What was it about her that attracted irresponsible—and sometimes even somewhat shifty—guys? Poppy pondered this while she brushed her teeth and stared solemnly into the mirror.

  She took stock of herself. She wasn’t bad-looking, but not gorgeous by any means, although she did keep her body in shape. Her thighs were on the bulky side. Her hair grew too low on her forehead so she had no choice but to wear bangs. She had a small gap between her teeth she could whistle through and a sprinkling of freckles over the bridge of her nose from being dumb about not using sunscreen when she was a teen.

  Sighing, she dipped her head to rinse out her mouth and caught a glimpse of the tattoo on her shoulder. She’d gotten it during a girls’ night out several years ago and while she didn’t regret it, she wondered if the tattoo had somehow branded her as a woman who was up for anything. If she were being honest, she’d have to admit that she did like to have a good time. Life was short, right? Why waste your youth? Was that why she drew bad boys to her?

  But now, with thirty looming in her not-too-distant future, Poppy had to ask herself if it was time to give up her footloose ways. The only thing in her life that kept her anchored was her yoga studio. Until now, it had been enough, but without any warning, she felt empty and aimless.

  Tonight, however, the yoga hadn’t helped. The endorphin rush she usually experienced had eluded her. Instead, she felt drained, numb, weary to the bone, and strangely detached. As if she were standing in a long corridor filled with closed doors, unable to make a choice about which one to open and walk through.

  Just waiting... waiting... For what, she did not know.

  You’re just feeling sorry for yourself because no one remembered your birthday. Shake it off.

  She finished up in the bathroom, slipped into pajamas, and got into bed. “Happy birthday, Poppy,” she murmured and turned off the lamp.

  It wasn’t the worst birthday she’d ever had. After all, she’d treated herself to her favorite Thai takeout. The honor of worst birthday was reserved for her seventh when she and her mom had been living out of a van in Tucson and her mother had stuck a candle in a stale Twinkie and called it a birthday cake.

  Poppy had started to cry because she’d really wanted a strawberry ice cream cake and she’d accidentally knocked the Twinkie—complete with the lit candle in the shape of the number 7—onto the floor of the van and the icky old carpet had burst into flames.

  Angie had dragged her into the convenience store where she’d bought the Twinkie and the candle, yelling that her house was on fire. Poppy remembered being so embarrassed by that. A van was not a house.

  The fire department arrived with sirens blaring and doused the van. One of the firefighters and Angie had started an affair and he had moved Poppy and her mother into a little apartment over a sandwich shop. The shopkeeper gave them the leftover sandwiches at the end of the night. Fried baloney with mayonnaise had been her favorite.

  Everything was going good for a change. Then the firefighter’s wife had shown up a few weeks later, brandishing a gun and threatening to shoot Angie, until she saw Poppy cowering behind her mother and put the weapon away.

  Ah, good times.

  The truly sad thing was that the firefighter had been one of Angie’s better hookups.

  No sooner had Poppy slipped underneath the covers than her phone rang. She propped up on one elbow and peered at the caller ID in the darkness.

  It was her half sister Sienna.

  Someone had remembered her birthday after all. Smiling, she snagged the cordless phone from its dock and sat up against the headboard. “Hello?”

  “Poppy! Guess what?” Sienna exclaimed.

  The hollow feeling returned to the pit of her stomach. Sienna wasn’t calling to wish her a happy birthday.

  “It must be something big; you sound really excited.”

  “Ryan popped the question. We’re getting married!”

  Stunned, Poppy couldn’t speak.

  “Sis? You still there?” Sienna asked breathlessly.

  “Um...” She didn’t know what to say. Sienna was only twenty and in her junior year of nursing school. “I’m here.”

  “You don’t sound excited for me.”

  “I... I didn’t realize you and Ryan were that serious,” she said, when what she wanted to say was, “Bunny rabbits and kittens, Sienna, you’re only twenty; you have the rest of your life to get married.”

  “He’s my soul mate.” Sienna sighed dreamily.

  “Ryan is the only guy you’ve ever dated.”

  “Doesn’t matter. When it’s right, it’s right. And it’s kind of nice that neither of us has ever been with anyone else. It makes our relationship special.”

  Yeah, like people who weren’t virgins when they hooked up could never have anything special. Poppy bit her tongue.

  “Besides, we have been dating for four years.”

  “I’m glad you’re happy,” Poppy said truthfully. It was about the only positive thing she could think to say. Good thing Sienna wasn’t here. Poppy would grab her by the shoulders, look her straight in the eyes, and yell, “Are you freakin’ kidding me?”

  “Ryan is the greatest guy in the world.” For the next ten minutes, she rhapsodized about her fiancé’s stellar qualities.

  Bitter much? the voice at the back of Poppy’s mind needled.

  “Tell me you’re going to finish nursing school first,” Poppy said.

  “Oh, yes, absolutely. The wedding is scheduled for next June right after graduation.”

  “What does Angie think?”

  “Oh, you know Mom; she’s cool about everything. It’s Dad who’s a tiny bit upset that I’m getting married so young.”

  Of course Angie was cool with it. Poppy swallowed. She was acutely aware of how different her childhood had been from her younger sisters. When Poppy was growing up, her mother had insisted she call her by her first name so men wouldn’t think she was old enough to have a daughter Poppy’s age. Sienna and their younger sister, Brenna, got to call her Mom like normal people.

  Until Angie had married Sienna’s dad, Mike Shoemaker, Poppy’s life had been a chaotic mess. They’d never lived in one place for long as her mother traipsed from town to town, guy to guy, trying to “find” herself. And while Poppy was grateful that Angie had finally latched on to a decent guy like Mike, she and her stepfather had never really bonded.

  It was clear enough that he considered Poppy Angie’s daughter, while Sienna and Brenna were his. He had honestly tried to connect with her, but they’d just never found common ground beyond Angie.

  If Poppy were being honest, she’d admit most of it was her fault. She’d just kept waiting for Mike to take off on them like the others, and by the time she realized that he wasn’t going anywhere, she’d been all grown-up.

  The hollowness in her stomach deepened, but Poppy shrugged it off. She wasn’t the type to wallow in the past, wishing that circumstances had been different. She was pretty good at making the best of things, but along with that hollowness was a tinge of jealousy. It wasn’t fair that Sienna who was nine years younger had already found her soul mate.

  Come on, you don’t even believe in that soul mate malarkey.

  “So,” Sienna said, “I’m hoping you’ll be my maid of honor.”

  “Of course,” Poppy agreed.

  In spite of the stiff relationship she had with her stepfather, she loved her younger sisters with a fierceness that surprised her. She couldn’t be jealous of Sienna’s happiness even though part of her wished she, too, could know what it was like to fall head over heels in love with a guy worth giving up her freedom for.

  Since when? She’d never even really thought about marriage—which might explain why she kept hooking up with guys like Keith.

  But now, she was twenty-nine. Twenty-nine with no birthday cake, no presents, no card, not even a damned phone call.

  This is what happens when you’re footloose and fancy-free.

  “Poppy,” Sienna s
aid, “I’m so, so happy. I want you to be this happy someday. How are things with Keith?”

  “We broke up.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. And here I was going on about how wonderful my life is.”

  “No need to be sorry; it’s no big deal. Keith certainly wasn’t my soul mate.”

  “Do you think that um... maybe...” Sienna paused.

  “What?”

  “Well, that maybe the reason you can’t find a keeper is because you rush into relationships? I mean Keith is like what? Your fifth boyfriend in two years?”

  Guilty as charged. She did tend to rush into physical intimacy. A flush of embarrassment, combined with irritation, burned her neck.

  “Sixth,” she admitted.

  “I didn’t mean to make you mad. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “No, no, feel free to speak your mind.”

  “It’s just that I want to see you as happy as Ryan and I are, Poppy. So next time you meet Mr. Maybe, why not take things a little slower?”

  Yeah, I’ll get right on that. “Uh-huh.”

  “Don’t worry. You’re going to find someone,” Sienna said in a perky cheerleader voice. “Love will get you when you least expect it.”

  Twenty years old and she was talking as if she knew everything. Poppy pressed three fingers against her brow and massaged away her irritation. “I’m really happy for you. And don’t worry about me. Now go celebrate.”

  “Thanks.” Sienna paused. “I love you so much.”

  “I love you, too,” Poppy said.

  “Bye.”

  “Good night.” She hung up and stared into the darkness, waiting, feeling as if she was caught in suspended animation. It scared her. This weird sensation of not belonging anywhere, never fitting in.

  “To hell with self-pity,” she muttered, threw back the covers, stripped off her pajamas, and headed back to the living room. She wasn’t going to let getting dumped and turning twenty-nine and playing maid of honor to her kid sister get her down.

  Three minutes later, the candles were lit, Enya was crooning lyrically from the iPod, and Poppy was deep into Triangle Pose while the soft ocean breeze ruffled the curtains in front of the open window.

  And as she exercised, all her embarrassment and irritation vanished and in its place she felt a strange sense of peace, as if someone out there was watching over her.

  Chapter Three

  Poppy loved summer in South Padre Island. Warm but breezy. Not too hot, not too cold. Blue skies, bright sun. Not many clouds to speak of. On rare occasions they might get a thunderstorm, but it usually happened only once or twice a year.

  Two days after her conversation with Sienna, Poppy lay listening to the soothing music whispering through the ear buds of her iPod as she floated on the inflatable raft in the apartment complex pool. The air smelled of chlorine and hibiscus blossoms. Colorful umbrellas spread out over poolside patio tables. They were all empty. It was the middle of the week and not quite yet full-on tourist season.

  She smiled. God, she loved her job that allowed her to be home when most people were working. Monday through Friday she gave classes in the early mornings and then again in the evenings, but the middle of the day belonged to her. Saturday was her busiest day, when she ran back-to-back classes from six a.m. to one p.m. Of course, since she owned the studio, she popped in from time to time to make sure everything was running smoothly, but she hired good people. There weren’t many problems.

  For all her mother’s traipsing from town to town, state to state, Poppy had learned one thing. She was a water baby, through and through. Being around water made her happy. It didn’t matter if it was ocean or lake, river or pond, or even just a swimming pool; whenever she was near water, she felt balanced.

  Her best friend Zoey told her it was because she had Aquarius rising in her horoscope. Poppy didn’t even know what that meant, but she did know that surf, sun, and sand made her feel extraordinarily alive, and she loved living in South Padre. She closed her eyes behind her shades, feeling the wind skim the fine hairs around her navel. Ah, peace and quiet.

  Then an odd prickling sensation tugged at her stomach. Someone was watching her. She could feel it.

  Poppy opened her eyes.

  A man stood poolside staring down at her, a white trash bag in his hand. He was well over six feet tall with broad, ruler-straight shoulders and solid biceps bulging at the seams of his navy-blue T-shirt. He wore white shorts that hit just above tanned knees and running shoes. He looked both comfortable in his own skin and utterly in charge of the space around him.

  For a second or two, she thought that he was a mirage, conjured up by her sun-softened brain. Then she realized that nope, this hunk was the real deal.

  She was suddenly aware of how she must look to him, lounging on the float in her bright-red bikini, her blond hair tumbling about her shoulders, her body slick with perspiration. She took a deep breath, envisioned pulling her navel to her spine as she taught her students in yoga class, and then tugged the earbuds from her ears, pushed her sunglasses up on her forehead, and met his gaze.

  “Like what you see?” she drawled impishly.

  His steady gaze heated her up like a hot lick. “Sorry,” he said, not looking the least bit apologetic. “I didn’t mean to stare...”

  “And yet here you are, still staring.”

  Was it her imagination or were the tops of his ears turning red? But he did not look away. Embarrassed and bold. An unexpected combination that gave him a charming vulnerability.

  “I just moved in and I was wondering where the dumpster was located.” His deep voice seemed to blow the words across her skin like a child’s breath at a dandelion bloom.

  Why did she have a feeling that taking out the trash was simply a ruse to come down and say hello to her? She felt flattered, but immediately squelched the emotion. No more jumping willy-nilly into superficial relationships with good-looking men. She was twenty-nine now. She had to start thinking about the future.

  She cleared her throat. His intelligent dark-brown eyes swung back up to sharpen on her face. He came across as calculated, measured, self-assured. His equanimity both unnerved her and piqued her curiosity.

  “The dumpster is that way.” She pointed toward the back of the complex. “Just beyond the laundry room.”

  “Thanks,” he said, but he didn’t move. He just kept standing there.

  Poppy felt self-conscious and wished her cover-up wasn’t spread across a lounge chair on the opposite side of the pool.

  He dropped the garbage bag, and she watched it fall because she simply couldn’t continue holding his intense gaze.

  Watch it. Remember you’re turning over a new leaf. No more skimming the surface when it comes to relationships. From now on, it’s either all or nothing.

  “Name’s Abel,” he said. “Abel Black.”

  Then with his hand outstretched, he moved toward the edge of the pool, the material of his shorts molding against his muscular thighs.

  He leaned down. She reached up.

  Their hands touched.

  Sizzle.

  There was no other word to describe the slam dunk of his forceful sexuality ramming into hers. She’d had a lot of boyfriends in her life. Had shaken hands with many a good-looking man, too, but she’d never felt anything quite like this jolt of instant attraction.

  Involuntarily, she licked her lips. “Poppy. Poppy St. John.”

  His hand lingered on hers. His gaze pinned her to him like a corsage to a lapel, but he said nothing.

  “So, Abel,” she said, desperate to fill the silence before she said something totally inappropriate like my place or yours? “What brings you to South Padre?”

  “How do you know I’m not from South Padre?” He dropped her hand and straightened but didn’t back off.

  “No one is from South Padre.” She shrugged and peered up at him, keeping her belly sucked in. “You’ve got Montana vibe.”

  He looked startled. “Montana v
ibe, huh? What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know, you seem...” She paused. “Reserved in a way that Texas men are not, but you’ve got the cowboy core running through you. Although it could be a Wyoming or Idaho thing.”

  An eyebrow shot up on his forehead. “You can tell all that about me in five minutes?”

  “My mom moved around a lot when I was a kid. I’ve lived in forty-eight states.”

  “Really? I...” He seemed like he was about to say something else, but then he just stopped, as if monitoring himself. “That’s interesting.”

  “That’s Montana, too.”

  “What is?”

  “Holding back until you get to know someone.”

  “Maybe my holding back has nothing to do with the fact that I’m from Montana. Maybe it’s just my personality and I would be just as withholding if I’d grown up in Texas.”

  “Could be,” she agreed. “It’s probably something of a stereotype, anyway, that Texans are initially a lot friendlier, but you never get to see behind their masks whereas Northern folk might be more standoffish at first, but once they accept you, you’re like family.”

  “You’ve given this a lot of thought.”

  “I suppose I have,” she mused.

  “What about Southerners?”

  “They’ll kill you with kindness. Watch out when they bless your little heart.”

  “Texans don’t count as Southerners?”

  “They’re a whole breed apart,” she said and then grinned. “I was born in Brownsville.”

  “Ah, so after all the roaming, you decided to come home.”

  “What can I say? I love the fair weather.”

  Intrigued, her gaze strayed to the ring finger of his left hand. Bare.

  She struggled not to grin. A bare ring finger didn’t mean anything. He could still be married or in a committed relationship. He could be a flirtatious playboy after as many notches on his bedpost as he could collect.

  But that wasn’t the read she was getting on him. Then again, she wasn’t exactly a great judge of character—Keith a case in point. Poppy jumped too easily into relationships and she knew it. Even her baby sister knew it. She’d taken after Angie in that respect.