by Emma Hart
I hit the button for the elevator and glanced over at him. “Noted. But I’m putting your name on it to make those millions.”
“Do I get royalties?”
“I’ll give you a blow job for every thousand dollars I make.”
“What if I ever get married?” Adam placed his hand on the side of the elevator opening so the doors wouldn’t shut.
Shrugging, I stepped into the mirrored box. “Then we’ll have to draw up a contract about this and your future wife will have to be in full agreement. If not, then you’ll have to take whatever the going rate is for a blow job.”
He leaned against the side, sticking his hands in his pockets. His lips quirked to the side. “Do you know what the going rate is?”
Blinking quickly, I did my best to look offended. “What are you trying to say, sir?”
“Nothing. It was merely a question. Nothing insinuated,” he said quickly.
I grinned. “Okay, first, stop panicking. It’ll take more than that offend me.”
“I wasn’t panicking.”
“Liar,” I said as the doors swooshed open. “I could smell your panic from here.”
“What are you? A wild animal?”
I glanced over my shoulder. “If you really want to find out, you can buy me tequila.”
His eyes flashed with something, and he placed his hand on the small of my back. “I’ll lose a little sanity for that,” he said, guiding me toward the main lobby.
Eyes were on us—on him—the second we stepped into it. I didn’t recognize the little boy who was staring at him like he’d just seen God in real life, but I knew exactly what was about to happen.
The little boy grabbed hold of his mom’s dress and tugged. She bent down, fussing at him, and he pointed in Adam’s direction. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, and I swear, I could feel his excitement.
He looked exactly how my nephew had the night before.
Adam hadn’t noticed. He was happy to guide me toward the door, and I dipped my head. Something tugged in my stomach—guilt, regret, just the general feeling of being wrong.
A glance to the side showed me why.
We’d walked right past him. Adam still had tunnel-vision to the main doors, and the little boy, while excited, stopped. Every step we took closer to the door meant his shoulders dropped a little more.
If that was my nephew, and I were the woman standing next to him, would I let them keep walking?
No. I’d go out on a limb and see if I could do something.
I faltered in my step, reaching my hand onto Adam’s chest to stop him.
“What’s up?” he asked, dipping his head.
“There’s a little boy over there,” I said softly. “He knows who you are. He wants to meet you.”
He slowly turned his head in the direction of the little boy who’d commanded my attention. Now, he was shyly hiding behind his mom’s leg, as if meeting his hero was too much for him.
“Poppy—”
I said nothing. I wriggled free of his hold and walked to the little guy. My eyes met his mom’s, and with a smile, I kneeled down in front of him. “Hey, buddy. Are you here for Rosie’s wedding?”
Clutching his mom’s dress tighter, he nodded.
“Wanna know a secret?”
Another nod.
“I’m Rosie’s sister. And that guy? That’s Adam West.”
“From da Stowms?” he whispered.
I leaned right into him. “Yes. Don’t tell anyone, okay? I’ll bring him over here if you promise to keep it secret.”
He nodded so enthusiastically I thought his head might fly off.
“What’s your name, buddy?”
“Adam,” he whispered.
Oh. My heart.
“Okay, hold on.” I pressed a finger to my lips and stood. My flip-flops thundered against the tiled floor as I crossed back to Adam.
“What are you doing?” Adult Adam whispered.
I linked my fingers through his. “You’re his hero,” I whispered right back.
“We’ll be late for lunch with your mom,” he reminded me.
“I don’t care. He needs you.” I dragged him across the floor to where Little Adam was standing, starstruck.
I mean, I kinda got it. I’d be the same if a naked Channing Tatum showed up in my bedroom, you know?
“Adam, this is Adam,” I said, releasing Adult Adam’s hand. “He’s a big fan of yours.”
Adult Adam dropped to his knees. “Hi there, Adam. That’s a great name. Did you know that?”
Little Adam nodded. “My dad said he named me after your dad.”
Eh?
“He has good taste,” Adult Adam replied. “Are you here to see Rosie and Marcus get married?”
The little one nodded again. “I love Uncle Marcus,” he said.
Ah. Clarification. Wonderful.
“Marcus’ sister-in-law,” Little Adam’s mom said, touching my arm. “Jerica.”
“Poppy. Rosie’s sister,” I replied softly, touching her hand.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Adam West is his Iron Man.”
Adam laughed at something her son had said. Little Adam threw back his head, clutching his stomach, laughing as though every single one of his dreams had come true.
I swallowed hard. “He’s amazing. I think he’s spent more time with guests than he has with me.” I rolled my eyes.
She laughed, touching my arm. “I’d say that’s a sign of a good man, but that’s probably debatable right now to you.”
I looked back at Adam giving her little boy a high five, and there was nothing debatable about it. “No. He is. He’s a good man.”
Jerica nudged me with her elbow. “You got a good one. Don’t let him go.”
I smiled, but I didn’t say anything. He was my fake boyfriend, after all. But I knew it—he was a good man, and that was all there was to it.
“Adam, baby, we need to go and check in,” Jerica said softly, approaching the two Adams. “I’m sure we’ll see Mr. Winters again this weekend.”
“Your mom is right,” Adam said. “I’ll see you at the wedding!”
Little Adam nodded, grinning widely. “Okay. You promise?”
My Adam nodded. “Sure. I promise.”
***
“That was cute,” I said, turning onto the sloping stairs that led to the beach.
“It was?” Adam reached over and cupped my elbow when I almost tripped on a little crack in one of the steps.
“Thanks.” I smiled at him. “Yes, it was cute. You made his day. How can that not be cute?”
“Is this like when I tell you that you’re cute or adorable and you don’t like it?”
“No. Because I’m neither cute or adorable, but you interacting with little Adam actually was cute. Like a line-up of fluffy kittens interspersed with ducklings cute.”
“Wouldn’t the kittens chase the ducklings and try to eat them?”
I stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned to him. “Are you trying to hurt me?”
Laughing, he wrapped one arm around my shoulders and hugged me against him. “I’m sorry. The kittens and the ducklings played with a little ball of wool and lived happily ever after.”
“Why would ducklings be playing with wool?”
“Why would you line up ducklings and kittens?”
“Because it’s my explanation and I can use whatever imagery I like,” I replied. “It’s like asking J.K. Rowling why Ron got annoyed at Dean for dating Ginny but didn’t bat an eyelid about Harry doing it. Personally, I think she needed to be more consistent in his emotions, but I wouldn’t question her on it. Why do you need to question my comparison for cuteness?”
Adam opened his mouth as if he was going to respond to that, but he quickly shut it and shook his head.
I see he was understanding why I once made my mom roll her eyes so hard she gave herself a migraine and had to lie down.
I was a delight.
“Okay, so wha
t I did was cute. Great. That’s how I want to be seen. The guy who does cute things,” Adam said with a sigh.
“Then don’t do cute things,” I told him, grinning. “It’s really all your own fault.”
He rolled his eyes, squeezing me again gently. Obviously, he’d come to his senses and had decided to give up arguing with me. Not to mention that I could see the tiki-style beach bar and my mom was already sitting at a table with four rattan-style chairs.
The bar wasn’t anything fancy, but it was definitely somewhere I could imagine being the heart and soul of a warm evening on the beach. It was all made out of wood, and the sloping roof was coated in palm tree leaves, giving it an exotic feel.
Large, colorful lights were attached to the edge of it, although they weren’t turned on right now, I imagined they looked beautiful in the dark. The bar jutted out enough for someone to sit and eat—not that I would sit at the bar.
The seats were swings.
Could you imagine sitting at that bar after one too many cocktails and trying to sit still? It wasn’t going to happen. Hell, it probably wasn’t going to happen for me stone cold sober.
Adam caught where I was looking. “You’re trying to figure out how long you’d last on one of those swings, aren’t you?”
“Can you read my mind?”
“No. I was thinking the same thing.” His lips twitched. “Fifty bucks says three margaritas and you’re on your ass.”
“Fifty bucks says one glass of water and I’m on my ass, and that’s pushing it,” I muttered. “All right. Here we go. Let’s survive this.”
“You say it like we’re going down to burn in hell.”
“We are, and I’m taking you with me.”
Another squeeze. This time, a reassuring one. “Come on. We got this.”
I was glad he was so confident. I was shitting my pants. My mother had an eye like a hawk and her mind was as sharp as my tongue was. You could sedate her and tell her a lie and she’d wake up knowing you were lying.
Being so close to her for at least an hour was not going to be a good thing. She’d spend the next sixty minutes examining us to make sure our relationship was what we were saying it was.
Since it wasn’t, that was problematic. If she knew I was faking, I’d never hear the end of it. Birthdays. Christmases. Christenings. Weddings.
Hell, she’d put it on my gravestone.
Here lies Poppy Dunn. She was a big fat liar, liar, pants on fire who faked a boyfriend.
I glanced up at my mom. She picked up a large plastic cup and sipped through the bright red straw that was inside it.
Then, she saw my t-shirt.
“I want to be where the people aren’t,” read my nice, bright, turquoise tank top.
Mom frowned.
Adam looked at my shirt. “Maybe you should have worn a dress.”
“And miss the look on her face? Never.”
He shook his head. “And you think she’s the one who’ll drag us to hell.”
I jabbed my elbow into his side.
I’d remember that.
CHAPTER NINE – POPPY
Drinks and Disasters
“Mom. Did we keep you waiting long?” I asked, being perfectly sweet.
“Yes,” she said, pinching the arm of her sunglasses and lifting them so I could get the full hit of the ire that burned in her eyes. “You’re late.”
“That’s my fault, Mrs. Dunn,” Adam stepped forward. “I’m sorry. One of Mark’s cousins saw us in the lobby, and her son is a fan. I stopped to say hello.”
Mom touched her hand to her chest. “Oh! That was lovely of you. Why don’t you both sit down? I’ll get the first cocktail brought over for us to try.”
I took a deep breath and reached for my chair, but Adam beat me to it. He pulled it out, the bottoms of the legs scratching against the patio we were on.
Mom caught it, raising an eyebrow, but she didn’t say anything.
“Thank you,” I said softly, taking my seat.
Adam positioned himself between us. A wise choice. The women in my family had been known to kick each other under the table on occasion.
Mom sat up straight and waved in the direction of the bar. “Rosie asked them for three light pink cocktails to match the theme of the wedding, and we have to pick one out of the three. The first we’re trying is a rhubarb and ginger gin cocktail.”
“Rhubarb? In a cocktail? At a wedding?” It escaped me before I could engage my brain. “Really?”
She sighed. “I know. I raised the same concern. Gin is rather an acquired taste, not one I’m sure I possess.”
“They put rhubarb in a cocktail and the gin is what you’re worried about?”
“It might be nice,” Adam said in an obvious attempt to defuse the situation. “The weirdest things make sense sometimes. Like pineapple on pizza.”
Mom shook her head. “Pineapple on pizza never makes sense.”
With a grimace, I nodded.
“Why are you smiling like that? Is it because you’re agreeing with me?”
I pretended to look around at the bar. “Are the cocktails ready yet?”
Mom smiled and looked at Adam. “Pineapple on pizza is about the only thing we agree on. That and the shortness of her temper.”
“Really? You agree about your temper?” Adam turned to me.
I shrugged. “I have a hot temper. It’s not my fault. It’s the redhead in me. My temper strikes like a match.”
“And burns like a house fire,” Mom continued.
“If prison suits didn’t clash with my hair, I’d probably be a murderer.”
“They’re orange. They blend with your hair,” Adam said, frowning.
Mom shook her head. “She wore orange once. She looked like a human bowl of fruit.”
That was sadly true.
I sighed. “That was a rough day.”
Adam looked at me and tilted his head. “So that’s really your natural hair color?”
“You didn’t know that?” Mom asked.
“We’ve never discussed her hair,” he said honestly.
“Yes.” I jumped in before it could go any deeper into what we had and hadn’t spoken about. “The bottom isn’t, but the top is,” I explained, referring to the ombre effect I had that took my hair from dark ginger to a lighter, brighter color. “Keeps it fresh. I like it.”
“You never discussed it?” Mom continued with
her interrogation.
Great. Now she had a bee in her bonnet. I saw the glint in her eye. She was a bloodhound and she’d picked up the scent of absolute bullshit.
“Do you discuss your hair with Dad?” I shot back.
She paused. “Well, no.”
“There you go then.”
Right on cue, the server appeared with a silver tray. Three small glasses that resembled stemless wine glasses sat on it, filled with a light pink liquid, a handful of ice cubes, and a weird swirly pink thing that I was afraid was real rhubarb.
I was already skeptical, and now I was ready to veto this drink just on its look.
“Rhubarb and ginger gin cocktail,” the server said, lowering the tray to the table. One by one, he picked up the glasses and set them on woven coasters in front of each of us. “And your menus.” Folded, laminated menus were then placed in front of us.
“Thank you,” Mom said. “Could we have some bread, please?”
“Absolutely, ma’am. I’ll get that for you now.”
“Thank you.” She opened the menu, effectively dismissing him, and Adam glanced at me.
It lasted only the briefest of seconds before he returned his attention right to the glass.
His expression could only be described as one thing.
Regret.
“Are you all right?” I asked him.
“Yeah. I’m just considering how I’d never live it down if any of my teammates ever saw me drinking pink cocktails.” He frowned. “I don’t think I will, even they don’t see me.”
“
You’re doing it for the greater good,” I told him chirpily. “And a lunch date might stop random teen girls screaming at you.”
“That happened one time,” he reminded me, holding up a finger. “And it was not my fault.”
“Teen girls screamed at you?” Mom asked, picking up the cocktail before quickly putting it down. “Do we need to send out a note asking people to control their children?”
I choked on my own saliva. “What is this? A freaking zoo? Mom, you can’t do that!”
“Well, if you hadn’t had brought a famous sports star as your date…”
And this was why my mother and I did not do lunch dates.
“I didn’t do it deliberately.” I shifted in my seat. Oh, if only she knew how true that was! “It’s not like I set out to sabotage a wedding or anything. Hell, I didn’t even know who he was when we met.”
That’s right. I was going to toe the line of truth as closely as I could. The fewer lies I told, the less chance I had of being caught with my pants on fire.
And nobody wanted their pants to be on fire. If my pants were on fire, my vagina would be at risk, and man was that a useful thing to have around and fully functioning.
Especially if the person who could, you know, do something with the vagina was Adam Winters.
Luckily for me, right at that point, the server saved my ginger ass once again.
“Here’s the bread basket you requested, Mrs. Dunn.” He put a wicker basket full of sliced bread in the center of the table, along with three small plates, knives, and a small dish full of butter. “Did you look at your menus or taste your drinks?”
“Yes, I know what I’d like to order,” I lied, opening my menu for the first time. Skimming it with my eyes and pretending like I knew what I was looking for, I ran my finger across the menu. “I’ll have the salmon with sweet potato fries. Thank you.” I folded it and handed it to him.
Adam’s eyes widened like I’d told him a puck was coming at his nose. “I’ll uh, I’ll have the steak.”
“Which steak, sir?” the server asked.
“Rump. Rare.” He snapped the menu shut and handed it to the server.
Mom, however, looked marginally amused. “I’ll have a Caesar salad with chicken, thank you. Dressing on the side.”
With that, he was dismissed. Even if he did open his mouth to ask about something else—probably our cocktails. I didn’t blame him. Mom was terrifying at the best of times. Horrific at the worst.