by Emma Hart
“You did not just throw wine at me,” he said in a low voice.
“You did it to me first.”
“That was an accident.”
“So was that. I went to drink, then, whoops! My wrist flicked and it went all over you,” I said, doing the motion with the glass in my hand.
“Poppy…” There was an edge of a warning to the way he said my name.
I had only one option.
Run.
I scrambled up from the blanket and with a shriek, hit the sand. He was right behind me, and I barely made it ten feet before he circled me with his arms and lifted me up.
“No, no, no!” I laughed, gripping onto his forearms.
“You didn’t think you could outrun me, did you?” He spun, and I squealed.
“Yes!” I was still laughing. “It was worth a try.”
“Silly girl. You can’t outrun me.” Now, he was laughing. “You did it on purpose.”
“Fine! If I admit it, will you let me go?” My toes touched the sand.
“Yes.”
“It was deliberate. I threw it on you on purpose as payback.”
“Right.” His grip tightened on me and he lifted me again, this time spinning me several times, round and round.
“Adaaaaaaam!” I screamed. “Nooooo!”
Sure. I was screaming. But I was laughing, too. It was ridiculous, being spun around at twenty-four, but also weirdly fun.
It didn’t hurt that I was being spun around by however many pounds of smoking hot muscle.
One more spin and he put me down. My feet touching the sand had never felt so good, and I laugh-wheezed when he released me. I’d barely caught my breath when he stepped in front of me, cupped my face, and planted a huge kiss on my lips.
“Go and shower before I do it again,” he said in a low voice.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
He took one step toward me.
You know what?
I wasn’t going to stay to find out, because I had a feeling he would.
The sound of his laughter following me up the beach as I ran away confirmed that.
***
“You’re late!” My mother barked the second I walked into Rosie’s suite.
“By five minutes. I had to shower.” I pointed to the towel still on my head.
“No excuses.”
“Mom, lay off her.” Rosie appeared from the bathroom. Her hair was done, and so was her makeup. Her makeup was flawless and natural, showing off the brightness of her eyes and the handful of freckles that were scattered over her nose. Her hair was pulled back at the front, two tiny French braids running along the sides of her head. The rest fell around her shoulders in loose curls. Tiny flowers dotted the braids, and one large one covered the place at the back of her head where the braids met.
“What?” she said, switching her attention to me.
“Nothing. You just look beautiful.” I reached out and squeezed her hand.
“I know.” She winked, and we both laughed. “Why are you late?”
“Adam threw wine on my hair.”
She shrugged. “That happens when you make out on a beach.”
I rolled my eyes. “Lay off me.”
She grinned. “Come sit down. Lori will get your hair done.”
I allowed myself to be guided toward a dining table that was littered with all manner of hair-things. Rosie sat me in one chair, nodded to a brunette, and that was that.
I sat for an hour being preened and primed. This had to have been how the Kardashians felt every morning. How did people cope with it? My head was tugged left and right. Brushes and wands and sponges and whatever else assaulted my face. I was on the verge of telling everyone I’d had enough when I was given the all-clear and told to get up.
I looked in the mirror.
Well, damn.
I looked good.
My makeup was the same natural style as my sister’s, and one side of my red hair had been pulled back and secured with a large white flower. The contrast of it against my hair was striking, and damn it, I felt pretty.
The bridesmaids all helped each other into our dresses. They were pale pink and flattering on all of our body shakes. The asymmetrical hems combined with a full but light lace skirts hid a multitude of sins, and the soft v-necks and spaghetti straps meant all our girls were supported even though we were all braless.
My sister had found wedding beach shoes that weren’t shoes at all, but rather material that tied around our ankles and went down to loop over our second toes so we were essentially barefoot.
We were all sitting in various places putting on our special wedding shoes when the door to Rosie’s bedroom opened.
I stilled as the other girls all gasped. Mom sniffed and reached for the tissues as she stepped out.
She was beautiful.
Her boho-chic dress hugged the top of her figure, with applique flowers perfectly positioned over it, before it flowed out at her waist into a loose silk chiffon skirt that made it look like the dress was made for her.
“Ro,” I said softly. “You look amazing.”
She swished the skirt side to side. “You think?”
“We know,” Mom said, gently kissing her cheek. She checked her watch. “Right? Is everybody ready? Is Celia—”
“Yes,” Celia said, pushing the door open. “Rory’s here.”
Rory stepped into the room, wearing a white shirt with a pale pink bow tie and gray shorts. “Mommy! You look like a princess!”
Rosie bent down and kissed him. “And you look very handsome.”
Mom checked her watch again. “Okay, girls, you need to head downstairs. The groomsmen will be waiting for you. Celia, you can go and take your seat, honey, thank you. Rosie, your father will be here any minute.”
We all gave one last check in the mirror, and we all made our way to the door.
Rory held his tiny hand up to me. “Ready, Auntie Poppy?”
“I sure am, buddy.” I took his hand in mine. “Ready to be the most handsome guy walking down the aisle?”
He nodded. “I’m ready.”
I laughed and, after blowing my sister a kiss over my shoulder, took the most handsome little guy to walk down the aisle.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN – ADAM
Rings and Reality
I couldn’t stop staring at her. Not as she’d appeared at the end of the aisle clutching Rory’s hand. Not as she walked past me, shooting me a shy smile. Not as she stood at the front, lined with the other bridesmaids as Rosie and Mark said “I do.”
And, as Mark was told to kiss his bride, I still couldn’t look away, especially when she glanced my way.
She looked so fucking beautiful it was almost painful. Everyone’s eyes were on Rosie, but for me, Poppy stood out like a sore thumb. Her fiery hair was so much brighter than all the other bridesmaids.
Maybe it was because I was looking for her. Every time I tried to look away, my gaze gravitated back toward her.
And I think she knew it. She kept glancing at me, even when she was playing the perfect sister and bridesmaid.
It was magnetic. I had no control over how we looked at each other. I saw nobody but her, and it was fucking terrifying.
On paper, Poppy Dunn was nothing more than a beautiful stranger.
In reality, Poppy Dunn was a walking daydream with the allure of the devil.
Either way, I wasn’t strong enough to resist her. Not while she was around me. Not while her mouth shut me down and her eyes captivated me and her laugh sent me wild.
I had feelings for that crazy redhead, and they were nothing but bullshit.
She’d made her position clear from day one, and I was willing to agree. This was a four day thing. A fling.
A four day fling.
Nothing more, nothing less.
I had nothing against that. Nothing except the feelings I was quickly collecting for the little spitfire, but those were easy to hide. How fucking attracted to her and how much I wanted her w
ere another thing, but my emotions?
I built a career on hiding emotions. I didn’t have the trophies and accolades to my name that I did by showing the opposition how I felt.
Poppy was, for all intents and purposes, the opposition.
Hiding how I felt about her was hard. I was attracted to her beyond belief. She was hot as fuck and sassy as hell—and everything else in between was so goddamn endearing I couldn’t stop the things I felt for her.
Sure. I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t want to clamp my hand over her mouth and shut her up every now and then. I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t want to kiss her soft lips and shut her up that way.
I applauded as Rosie and Mark made their way back down the aisle, holding hands with huge grins on their faces. I was happy for them. It was always nice to see two people who loved each other get their happy ending, and there was no doubt in my mind that they were with the person they were supposed to be with.
Slowly, the guests all started moving from their seats, and the wedding party at the front began to disperse. People branched out into groups, friends greeting friends with hugs and family greeting family with kisses and shouts of “It’s so great to see you!”
I slid out of the row of chairs when I was clear to do so, and I barely had a chance to do anything when I was stopped by two pre-teen boys. One was clearly nervous, shifting back and forth on his feet, but the other was markedly more confident.
“Excuse me,” the non-nervous one said. “But, um, are you Adam Winters?”
I could have said no. That would have been the easiest thing to do, but hell, I was one of those boys once. Plus, the wedding was over, and I had nothing to do during the photos, so…
“You caught me.” I grinned. “What are your names?”
“I’m Ross, and this is Ryan,” the talker said. “We were wondering, if, uh, it wasn’t a problem, if…” he trailed off, now just as nervous as the other boy who was now clearly his brother.
“If you could have a photo?” I finished for him.
They nodded shyly.
“Of course! One rule, though. You don’t put them online until tomorrow when the wedding is done, all right?”
“We promise,” they said together.
“All right then. Who’s got the camera?”
Ross dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “Do you mind if we do one together and one alone?”
“You got it, buddy.” I bent down as the boys came to either side of me. They did a few snaps of each shot and then alternated between having individual photos with me.
They were thanking me with enthusiasm when a familiar redhead came up behind them and ruffled their hair with her hands.
“What trouble are you causing now?” Poppy asked them. “You’re not putting those on Twitter, are you? You know the rules of the wedding. No photos today.”
Both boys’ eyes widened. “We’re not doing anything, Poppy,” they said in unison.
I laughed. “They just wanted their photo. They know the rules. It’s all good.”
She grinned and hugged them both. “Your mom is looking for you. Go, quick, and I won’t tell her about the time you pooped in the pool and blamed your sister.”
They ran like their asses were on fire.
I quirked a brow at her.
“My cousins.” She smirked. “They were six, and Ross accidentally pooped in the pool. He blamed Ryan, who blamed Ruby, and I’m the only one who knows the truth.”
“You’re going to blackmail them with that for eternity, aren’t you?”
“You bet.” Her smile widened. “I don’t have a little brother, but if I did, I’d be the worst big sister ever.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
She smacked me. “Mom wants you. Apparently, you’re supposed to be in the photos.”
I stilled. “Why?”
She sighed, throwing her hands out in a shrug. “Something about her thinking we’re serious enough that you should be in some of the family shots.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Do you think we laid it on a little thick, then?”
“You think?” she said flatly. “Whatever. If anything, Mark and Rory get bragging rights that the Adam Winters was at this wedding. Just…tell them it’s only been a few months and while you’re happy to do a few, you don’t think you should be in a lot, okay?”
There was an edge of frustration to her voice, and I wanted to remind her that this was her idea, but I got the feeling she’d simply tell me I didn’t have to agree to be her date, but I had, so it was both of our faults.
And she’d be right.
She was right enough on her own without me literally inviting her to be right.
“All right. We can do this. It’s only a few photos, right?”
“Yeah. Just a few, then Mark and Ro go off and do all their fancy lovey-dovey ones. It’ll take ten minutes.” She took my hand and pulled me through the people. “Promise.”
***
Spoiler: it did not take ten minutes, and she lied.
“That was not ten minutes,” I told her when she joined me at our table with drinks from the bar.
Poppy set a Coors Light in front of me and sat down with her pink margarita thing. “That’s what they told me! I was passing on information. It’s really not my fault if the photographer wanted every pose done ten times.” She paused. “Also, it was cute when you posed with Rory. I’m pretty sure you made his entire life with that.”
I shrugged, toying with the ice-cold bottle. “He’s a great kid. That took so long because he talked my ear off between shots about how much he loves hockey and wants to be just like me.”
Poppy’s smile was small, and her brown eyes sparkled. “You have no idea. You know how teen girls are with people like Harry Styles?”
“Not Harry Styles in particular, but yes, I have four sisters. I know how crazy teen girls are.”
“Well, that. You’re his Justin Timberlake or whatever.” She waved a hand dismissively. “I think he’s going to be bragging about this for years. Actually, so is Mark.”
I laughed, leaning back in the chair.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Other than the question you just asked?”
She pursed her lips.
I grinned. “Go ahead.”
Poppy propped her chin up on her hand and tilted her head slightly. “Does it feel weird knowing that people look at you like you’re some kind of God?”
Boy, that was a loaded question.
“Truthfully, yeah.” I gave her a half-smile. “It feels weird. I’m not gonna lie. The only thing that makes it bearable is knowing that I was once Rory.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
“Haven’t we had this conversation before?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” She shrugged a shoulder. “I think we have, but it just made me think again. Seeing my cousins, then Rory, then all the others after the photos when they were practically lining up to take their turn…”
I chuckled and swigged my beer. “It can be overwhelming.”
“And you smile at all of them. I can’t even smile at myself most days.”
“But you’re not a people person,” I reminded her. “You’re barely a Poppy person.”
“It’s hard to argue with the facts.” She snorted. “Are you a people person?”
“God, no, but I’m great at pretending I am.”
She wrinkled her face up. She looked fucking cute. “I don’t think I could pretend to be. I hate people that much.”
“I never could have guessed.”
“You’re getting too sarcastic. I think I’m rubbing off on you.”
“I can say with one hundred percent confidence that you can rub on me all you like.”
She choked on her margarita. I bit back a laugh as she smacked her chest as she coughed.
“If you’re laughing at me,” she said scratchily, “I’m going to kill you.”
I held my hands out at my
sides. “Not laughing!”
“Mm.” She gave me a fierce side-eye and took another sip of her drink. “Trying not to laugh is more like it.”
Couldn’t argue with the truth.
I gave her a playful grin and nodded when I saw her mom over her shoulder. “Your mom’s coming.”
She groaned, slapping her hand to her face.
“Poppy? It’s time for the speeches,” Miranda said, touching her shoulder. “Are you ready?”
“Sure. I’ll be right there,” Poppy said without looking at her.
I twisted my lips to the side as Miranda left. “You’re not ready at all, are you?”
She shook her head, her curls flying. “Not in the slightest.”
Reaching over the table, I squeezed her hand, then brought it to my lips to kiss her fingers. “You’ll be fine. As long as you don’t fall off the chair.”
She groaned as she stood up. “Great. Now I know I’m going to fall off the chair. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, Red. You’re welcome.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN – POPPY
Sunsets and Speeches
My stomach rolled as Mark finished his speech. Everyone broke out into applause, and I caught Adam’s eye in the crowd. He winked, giving me a small, reassuring smile.
It didn’t work. I was nervous as hell. I hated speaking in front of people. I avoided it at all costs. The last time I’d done it, I’d tripped over my own feet on the way up to the stage and almost flashed everyone my underwear.
The only thing I had going for me for this one was the fact my dress was long enough to cover my ass if I fell over.
That, and I had alcohol. I’d drink my way through this if I had to.
I’d have to. I knew that.
“Your turn, sweetie,” Dad said, holding his hand out for me.
Swallowing hard, I took his hand and stepped up onto the chair. My stomach literally flipped as I looked out at the hundred or so people turning in my direction.
“Her boobs look bigger. Did she get her boobs done?” My great-aunt Linda shouted. “Is she pregnant?”
I clicked my tongue and took the mic from Dad. “Not how I planned to start this speech, but, uh, Aunt Linda, no, I did not get my boobs done. And,” I raised my glass, “Definitely not pregnant.”