by Emma Hart
I didn’t need a reminder. I could well imagine it. Not that I was in a position to be imagining it while lying on the beach in a pair of shorts, but there I was, imagining it.
Wondering what it’d feel like to have her kneeling between my legs, her hand wrapped around the base of my cock while she played with the top with her mouth.
I adjusted my shorts, shifting uncomfortably on the sand. Poppy’s head turned the slightest amount, so she’d caught my movement. If the turn of her head wasn’t enough, the curve of her pouty, bright pink lips gave it away.
She’d be shit at poker. I knew that much.
“Look at me like that again, Red, and I’m gonna kiss the smirk off your lips.”
She snorted. “You wish.”
“Don’t test me.”
“You don’t scare me.”
“I don’t need to scare you, but I already know that your self-control is running low.”
Poppy propped herself up on one elbow and glared at me over the top of her glasses. She was lying there in her bikini, fingers pinched on the arm of her sunglasses—well, it was hard to take her seriously.
“And what do you know about my self-control, hockey boy?”
I rolled onto my side and kept my gaze on hers. “I know I could run my finger up the inside of your thigh and you’d squirm.”
“Of course I would. That’s a ticklish area.”
“I know could lean in and not even kiss your neck and you’d start breathing heavily, and that if I did kiss you, your nails would be digging into my skin.”
“If you’re trying to turn me on, it’s not working.” She replaced her glasses and dropped down again. “All you’re doing is making me want to take a nap, honestly. That lunch was stressful.”
“And that’s how you’re going to cope with it? By napping?”
“Isn’t that how everybody deals with stress? By sleeping and pretending it doesn’t really exist?”
Slowly, I shook my head. “No, Red. Most people, I don’t know. I work out.”
“Yeah, well, that sounds like too much exercise for me.” She sniffed. “I’d rather nap, then eat a pint of ice cream and deal with it tomorrow.”
“That would be more beneficial if your mom wasn’t here today.” I chuckled. “Come on. It wasn’t as bad as you’re making out and you know it.”
She sniffed, rolling onto her stomach. “I can’t talk to you when you’re being this unreasonable.”
Laughing, I reached over her. With a big tug, I pulled her onto her back once more and straddled her, pinning her in this position. I didn’t need her to remove her glasses to know that she was glaring at me as if I’d just kicked her puppy.
“I’m unreasonable?” I asked, running my hands down her arms. My fingers toyed with her palms until I slipped them between hers. “You’re the one making a fuss out of absolutely nothing.”
“Absolutely nothing? We barely escaped through the skin of our teeth.”
“Maybe in Poppyville. In the real world, she believed everything we said and drank three of those margaritas.” I quirked one eyebrow. “You’re just annoyed because she likes me. You all but admitted it a few minutes ago.”
“Fine. I’m annoyed she likes you. But not just because I have to fake break up with you. I’m not used to her liking my boyfriends. Real or otherwise.”
“Boyfriends? You mean more than one person has put up with your drama for real?”
“If you weren’t sitting on me I’d kick you in the balls,” she threatened, wiggling beneath me.
My dick twitched. “I’d stop moving if I were you.”
“No.” She wriggled harder.
With a jerk, I pulled her with me as I rolled onto my back. She squealed, and as she came down on top of me, I wrapped my arms around her back, our hands still clasped.
“I am not comfortable!” she snapped.
“Neither was I when you were wriggling under my cock,” I retorted.
“So, you’re going to dislocate my shoulders?”
“No. I’m just going to keep you here until you understand that I told you to stop wriggling for a reason.”
I swear she rolled her eyes.
“I know why you told me to stop, hockey boy,” she drawled. “I can feel it pressing against my stomach. It’s not exactly a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it penis, is it?”
I bit back a laugh. “That’s the strangest way anyone has ever told me I have a big cock.”
“I didn’t say it was big. I said it wasn’t small.” She paused. “For all you know, I was calling it mediocre.”
She was so full of shit, but damn, that sharp wit would kill me one day.
“All right, Red. Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is and we’ll go back to our room so I can show you just how mediocre it is when your pussy is wet and you’re begging me for more?”
Poppy squirmed, and I felt her legs clench together. “Actually, you know what, I remember promising Rosie I’d help her do something today.”
She forced her way out of my grip, and I smirked, letting my hands fall to the sides.
“You did, huh?”
She nodded. “Yeah, uh, something about that table plan Mom was interfering with.”
I sat up as she reached for her tank top and grabbed it. “And you just remembered.”
“Uh-huh. I’m forgetful. Forget everything. What can I say?” She tugged the shirt over her head and went to move.
I snatched her wrist and tugged her back to me. She squeaked out a weird sound, and I slipped my fingers into her hair and round the back of her head.
And kissed her.
Her nails instantly dug into my thigh as she leaned into me. She tasted of tequila and strawberries and ice cream and smelled like the sea. It was an addictive combination.
Or maybe it was just her who was addictive.
I released her with a graze of my teeth over her lower lip. “Forget that,” I murmured.
She opened her mouth, then stopped, shook her head, and scrambled up to her feet. The sand moved beneath her, almost making her trip, and I had to laugh into my hand, so she didn’t turn around and hit me.
Which, let’s face it, was probably something she’d do.
I watched her go, flicking her fiery hair over her shoulder. She glanced back, blushing when she realized I’d caught her looking, and jerked her gaze away just in time to avoid tripping over the bottom step.
Helping Rosie my ass.
All she was doing was helping herself keep her pants on—and my cock hard.
I rolled to my front, shifting my hips so my throbbing, hard cock wasn’t totally flat against the sand, and buried my face in my arms.
This was turning out to be a long weekend.
CHAPTER ELEVEN – POPPY
Clits and Clucks
I rubbed my hand down my face with one hand and set my glasses on top of my head with the other.
Oh. My. God.
Adam Winters was going to kill me.
It wouldn’t be my mother after all. Maybe my gravestone wouldn’t read that I was a liar. Maybe it would read that a red-hot hockey player made my clitoris explode with lust and that was how I died.
I mean, as long as I orgasmed first, I wasn’t against it.
Now, I’d lied to escape his sex God ways, and I was screwed. After seeing Rosie earlier, I did not want to be in the presence of the female equivalent to Godzilla. Unlike me, she was able to hold her temper.
Unfortunately, just like me, when she let it fly, it was a doozy, and everyone needed to evacuate the immediate area.
I tucked hair behind my ear and wandered through the lobby. I didn’t know if I was expecting her to pop out from behind a wall or something, but she didn’t. Leaning against the concierge’s desk, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and texted her.
Her response was a little too quick for my liking.
Rosie: Ballroom from last night. Done w lunch?
Me:…Yes
Rosie: Come here bef
ore I murder someone
Oh, goodie.
I clutched my phone tightly in case, you know, I needed to use it as a weapon or something. You never knew with her. Once, when I’d forgotten to turn off her curling iron and burned a hole in her favorite shirt, I’d had to use a tape dispenser to get her out of my room.
That was the fifth time I’d burned something from not turning it off. In hindsight, it wasn’t totally unreasonable for her to hit me with it or to ban me from using it in the future.
She could have let it cool down before she hit me, though…
I stepped out of the elevator and headed for the room the other side of the hall. Mark was standing outside, phone to his ear, hand on his forehead.
“Hold on. I’ll call you back,” he said into the phone. “Pop, where’s your mom?”
“Judging by the margaritas at lunch and the giggle at the bartender, I’m going to say in bed,” I said slowly. “Why?”
He sighed heavily. “That was your dad. Apparently, your grandfather had a Bloody Mary on the plane.”
“Oh no.”
“Yes. Long story short, he started stripping in the car on the way home until your dad agreed to take him to a strip club for a dance.”
“Not again,” I groaned. “We specifically told the airline not to give him alcohol when we booked his seat. People pick gluten-free, we pick alcohol-free.”
Grimacing, he nodded. “He had a dance, and now he won’t leave. Your mom isn’t answering her phone, and your dad is panicking.”
Why was this always left up to me? I was the youngest. And why had I let my mother drink at lunch knowing this shit was happening?
I held my hand out for his phone.
He unlocked it and handed it to me.
Bringing up the last call, I dialed my father’s number.
“Mark. Did you find her?”
“Dad, it’s me. Poppy. Put Grandpa on the phone.” I sighed.
“Pops? Where’s your mom?”
“Too much sun at lunch,” I lied. “She’s got a headache and is lying down.”
“Cocktail tasting went well, then,” he replied with a chuckle.
“Yeah, watch her on those tomorrow. Grandpa?”
“Give me a second.” There was a rustling, followed by muffled club-style music. I couldn’t make out what happened next, but after a minute or so, silence cut through the line and Dad said, “Here.”
“Grandpa?” I asked.
“Pops! Why are you calling me? Am I in trouble?” Grandpa’s gruff voice was weirdly playful and filled me with warmth.
“Yes, you are!” I said firmly. “This is your granddaughter’s wedding, and you’re messing around in strip clubs! What did we tell you about Bloody Mary’s on the plane? You can’t be trusted, and this is why! Rosie’s devastated you’re not here, and Mom is about to have a cow, so you get yourself in that car and you come home right now!”
There was a moment of silence, then, “Your mother is always having a cow.”
“Grandpa!”
“All right, all right, firecracker. We’re leaving now.”
“And you’re coming straight here. I’ll see you soon.”
I heard a faint “Bugger!” right before I cut the call. I’d caught his loophole, and he had no choice but to behave himself and come here.
“Done,” I said to Mark. “Here.”
He took the phone and blinked at me. “You’re scarily like your mother sometimes.”
I pointed at him. “Say that again and I’ll slice your balls off with a butter knife.”
He put one hand over his groin and gave me a thumb up with the other.
“Is Rosie in the ballroom?”
Another grimace. He was so out of his element. “Yep. And someone let her bitch flag fly.”
“I told you to burn it.” I sighed.
“Something to do with the catering. Apparently, I wasn’t helping, so I was sent away.” He snorted. “Figured I’d get Rory and head down to the beach. And stay far, far away from my lovely wife-to-be.”
Now it was me who snorted. “I think Adam is still down there. He didn’t show any signs of moving when I left. You should see if you can find him.”
“You want me to hang out with your fake boyfriend?”
I held up my hands. “Look, if Chrissy Teigen was here as someone’s fake girlfriend, I wouldn’t care about the fake thing. I’d be down there asking her how to write bomb-ass Instagram captions and the art of trolling on Twitter.”
“I think you just need an account to do that, Pop.”
“Whatever. He’s Rory’s hero, and after Monday, I’ll never see him again. Make the most of it for him.” I paused. “And you, you big kid.”
His eyes sparkled with laughter. “Right. Sure. Monday.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.” He dipped and kissed my cheek. “Try and make sure Rosie doesn’t kill anyone, would you?”
“Been doing that for twenty-four years,” I muttered, turning away from him to the ballroom.
It was nowhere near as crazy as it was last night. The centerpieces were still in place, but all the balloons had disappeared. A top table had now been set up, and I shuddered at the idea of being up there in front of everyone.
Rosie was standing by the bar with a man wearing a sharp suit and shiny shoes.
Well, I say Rosie was standing. The man was standing. She was pacing, and she looked like she was ready to go all Hulk or something.
“Hey. I found you,” I said, interrupting her pacing. “What’s up?”
My sister stopped, took a deep breath, and closed her eyes. They snapped open a second later after a heavy exhale and she said, “They’ve run out of chicken.”
I stared at her.
“Poppy! Why are you staring at me? There’s no chicken!”
Apparently, silence wasn’t the right answer.
“Why isn’t there any chicken?” I asked.
“Because they’ve run out!” she shrieked.
I turned to Mr. Suit. “How can you run out of chicken? They’re not exactly an endangered species.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but she beat him to it. “Some supplier issue! They’ll be delayed!”
“Can’t you use another?” I asked him as if he’d answered.
“Apparently not!” Rosie ran her hands through her hair.
I spun and looked at her. “Are you the manager?”
“I’m just saying what I know!”
“Okay, Bridezilla.” I stepped toward her, grasping her gently at the tops of her arms. “Mark is taking Rory to the beach. Why don’t you go back to your room and lie down for half an hour? Mom had a couple too many margaritas at lunch, so you’ll have some time to chill out without her causing problems.”
“But I—”
“And I will help this nice man find a few chickens to shoot and pluck, okay?”
“Right. Like you could pluck a chicken. You can’t even pluck your eyebrows,” she muttered.
“Rosie!” I snapped my fingers in front of her. “Figure of speech. Take yourself up to your room and lie down before you give yourself a migraine.”
She hovered, looking like she’d argue, but after a minute gave in. Her shoulders deflated, and she dropped her chin so she was looking at the ground. “Okay, fine.” She pulled a big file off the bar and handed it to me. “This is yours. For now. It has everything you need. The wedding planner is around and needs final confirmation on the table plan.” She whipped open the front and slammed her fist against the first page. “This is my plan. It does not change. You’re stubborn, Pops. You dig your heels in if she’s changed anything.”
“Uh…I think that was a compliment, so sure.”
“And you find me chicken!” Rosie said, jabbing her finger in the direction of Mr. Suit. One last glance at us both and she left the ballroom, taking all the tension with her.
Mr. Suit breathed out a huge sigh of relief.
“Sorry about her. S
he’s a bit uptight,” I said brightly. “I, however, am much more pleasant to deal with.”
His eyes darted to my shirt. His lips barely twitched, but amusement definitely flashed in his eyes for a second. “Thank God for that, because that’s not the only problem.”
I groaned. “Hit me.”
***
I slammed my car door shut, pressing the button on the key a little too vigorously. “Fucking chicken. Fucking strawberries. Fucking wedding,” I muttered to myself. “I’m not a fucking personal shopper for a wedding venue that can’t cater for chicken and strawberries.”
I clutched the receipts tightly in my hand. I never wanted to see another grocery store again. I was gonna do it all online from now. I’d been to every damn store in Key West to get as many strawberries as I could.
I swear, by the time I entered the last Publix, there was a security guard following the weird redhead buying everyone’s strawberries.
And I was over them.
Strawberries, that was. Not Publix. They’d provided me the aspirin I needed for my damn headache from this day.
The bright side was that I knew Grandpa was safely locked in his room—for now—my mom was waking up from her tequila-induced nap, and rumor had it that Celia had slipped my sister something by telling her it was paracetamol, and she’d been sleeping for the last hour.
I wished someone would slip me something. Like a shot of vodka.
I asked for the Mr. Suit at the desk. Using his real name, of course. But Mr. Suit sounded better in my head.
“Ms. Dunn.” Resting his hand on my elbow, he pulled me aside. “Did you get the strawberries?”
“Cleared the entire place out of them,” I told him. “And as soon as you reimburse me, you can have them from my trunk.” I held the receipts out to him.
He unfolded them, eyes flitting back and forth frantically as he added up each total. “Three hundred dollars on strawberries?”
“Do you want my sister to find out about this?”
His spine straightened. “No, no, of course not. Will you take a check?”
“You told me cash.” I folded my arms. I needed that money to pay my damn rent. “But I’ll accept a bank transfer.”