by Emma Hart
Slowly, Adam turned to me. “You’re brilliant.”
“I have something called common sense,” I retorted. “The media likes money. Take the money, boom.” I shrugged.
“I see studying marketing taught you something,” Mom said, smiling almost proudly.
“Common sense,” I repeated, taking another drink.
Dad chuckled. “She’s right.”
“You studied marketing?” Adam asked me.
“Can I get your order?” The waitress asked, interrupting us. We all quickly rattled off our orders, even though Adam and I had barely had a chance to look at the menu.
“It was a side subject,” I said to Adam. “Not my major.”
“You never discussed majors?” Dad asked.
“It didn’t come up,” I said tightly.
“What was your major?” Adam asked.
I took another drink, and Dad grabbed the wine bottle to top me up. I shot him a grateful look.
Mom sniffed. “Art.”
“Now, Miranda, there’s nothing wrong with art.” Dad put the bottle down. “You know she’s talented.”
Adam tilted his head and looked at me. “The painting stuff. On your table. That’s yours.”
Kill me.
Someone had to.
I’d take death by fork at this point.
“You didn’t know?” Mom grasped her glass and looked at us with interest.
Seriously. Now. Stab me.
“It’s just a hobby,” I said tightly. “I paint for fun now.”
“There you go,” Dad said. “Problem solved.”
“Will you show me some?” Adam asked. “Do you have any at your place?”
Yes. Your poppy.
“A few.” I was deliberately evasive.
“You still paint?” Mom’s eyebrows shot up.
“I need to use the bathroom.” I pushed back from the table and headed the way of the bathroom.
More than anything, I needed to breathe. My feelings for Adam were going haywire, and the whole painting thing—yes, art was my damn major, but it was now just a passion—was driving me insane.
I couldn’t take this anymore.
I locked myself in the cubicle in the women’s bathroom, sat on top of the toilet seat, and took a deep breath. I took several, actually.
Why the hell had I agreed to this? Why had I done any of this? Fuck me, I was an idiot. A royal fucking idiot.
I took a few minutes to just sit and breathe and think about the hell that would ensue. I decided I was going to do a few things: I would be quiet and only speak when spoken to. And, if anyone asked, I was on my damn period.
I unlocked the cubicle door and stepped out in front of the mirror. I was still alone, so I washed my hands and dried them before stepping out.
Right into my father.
He held one finger up to his lips and pulled me farther down the hall and close to the staff-only room. “I know,” he said quietly.
“You know what?” I asked, smoothing out my dress.
“I know about you and Adam.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“I know that you had no damn idea who he was until you introduced him to us.”
“I’m gonna kill Rosie,” I hissed.
Dad held his hands up. “Listen to me, Pops. I know. She told me. But I also know you like each other. In around thirty minutes, I’m going to have an emergency call from my office and your mom and I have to leave immediately. We’ll cover the bill, but—”
“You meddler!” I jabbed my finger into his arm. “Dad! What the hell?”
“I like him,” Dad said simply. “I think he’s perfect for you and I think you’re a stubborn pain in the ass who won’t admit that you love him.”
“I don’t love him.”
“You’re proving my point, Pops.”
“You’re a meddler,” I repeated. “And I’m annoyed.”
“Eh. It worked.” He shrugged. “I have a flask of whiskey in my pocket. Want some?”
I held out my hand.
Without speaking, he put the flask in my hand, and I took a big mouthful. I was so annoyed—so freaking annoyed—but what could I do?
Kill my sister, for one. Although, I’d have to consider if that crime was worth the time.
Probably not.
“What do you expect me to do now?” I asked him.
“I expect you to tolerate your mother—who is being particularly difficult today—for thirty minutes. Smile. Nod. Eat. That’s all you have to do.”
“Mm. You owe me for this, Dad.”
“Why? I’m doing you a favor.”
“No, you’re meddling. And making me have dinner with Mom for no real reason. You owe me.”
He sighed. “Fine. What do I owe you?”
“I’ll let you know when I figure it out,” I said, walking back down the hall.
What was wrong with my family?
***
“I’m so sorry,” Dad said, standing at the end of the table. “Miranda, sweetheart, we have to go. I’ve got a call at work—one of my clients is having an emergency I have to deal with.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I was still annoyed, and I still wasn’t on board with my father’s plan.
I thought the whole thing was ridiculous. I was doing just fine until he’d stuck his nose in, and I’d texted my sister a few choice words, too.
They mostly consisted of “fuck” and “you” and “off,” but still.
They were words.
“Oh, goodness. Of course.” Mom dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “I’m so sorry. Honey, did you take care of the bill?”
“It’s all handled. I’m sorry.” Dad kissed me on the cheek then leaned over to shake Adam’s hand. “Hopefully we can have dinner again soon.”
Not on your nelly, Dad.
Mom kissed both our cheeks and scurried out to Dad saying, “I’ll drop you back at the house, Miranda, then go to the office…”
My God. The little shit had it all planned out.
And yes, I would refer to him as a shit. He was a shit. I was mad.
I drank the rest of my wine in one go.
“That was weird,” Adam said, turning around.
I peered at him out of the corner of my eye. “Not really.”
“What do you mean?”
I sighed and put the empty glass down. How the hell was I supposed to say this? There was no way to say it that wasn’t all weird.
Like, hey, my dad knows we’re fake and wanted to set us up for real because he knows that I’m basically on the edge of falling in love with you.
No.
Jesus, no.
“Poppy.”
I glanced at the wine. That’s right. I finished it.
Fuck this.
“Dad, uh…He knows,” I said vaguely.
Adam stared at me to elaborate.
“He knows I didn’t know who you were at the wedding,” I said quietly, looking down. “He spoke to Rosie. She told him everything.”
“Fucking traitor,” he muttered.
I covered my mouth with my hand and laughed into my palm. Look—there was no arguing with the cold, hard truth. And that was the truth. My sister was a damn traitor.
“You know the British behead people for that,” Adam added.
“Maybe two hundred years ago. Probably not so much now,” I said. “But, yes. She told him. He set us up tonight.”
Adam rubbed his chin. “So we sat through the stress of your mother to get set up? Couldn’t he arrange that we all meet and then not come? If I was setting my son up, that’s what I’d do.”
“Your son? Why not your daughter?”
“Because any date of my daughter’s, is getting greeted with the barrel of a shotgun,” he replied.
“Well, any date of my son’s is getting greeted the same way.” I folded my arms. “That’s how this works. You date my child, you get to sit your ass down and tell me about yourself before I agree.”
&n
bsp; Adam tilted his head. “Did your dad ever do that?”
“Does my dad look like he’s the type to threaten dates with a gun?”
“No. Do I?”
“Only because you have muscles,” I replied. “My hair makes me scary.”
“Oh, yes. Look at those curls. They’re terrifying.”
“The temper,” I reminded him. “Like a match.”
He reached over and twirled a curl around his finger. “Is that why you’ve had a face like a smacked ass all night? Because you knew this was a set-up?”
“Mhmm.” I met his eyes. “I’m not happy.”
“There are worse guys you could be set up with.”
“I’m not saying it’s bad, I’m—”
“Your dad set us up for a reason, Poppy. It wasn’t because we’d be a good ice-skating team.”
It was because we like each other.
Those words hung between us. Unsaid. Neither of us wanted to admit it until the other did, so we were stuck in a loop of silence.
Adam sighed, releasing my hair. “You want me to take you home?”
I nodded, picking my purse up from my feet. “Please.”
“All right, Red. Come on.”
***
Adam pulled open my door. “I’ll walk you up.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know. But I’m a gentleman, and that’s what gentlemen do.” He held the door for me to get out of the car. “Come on.”
I got out, clutching my purse to me. I made it to the door before him and punched in the code, slipping through and trying to close the door before he made it there.
I failed.
Adam put his foot between the door and the frame. “Nice try, Red.”
“Fuck it.” I turned and went to the stairs, but he beat me there, too. Instead of letting me walk, he scooped me up in one movement, despite my protests, and threw me over his shoulder.
“Shut up,” he said. “You’ll disturb your neighbors.”
“You’re manhandling me!”
He took to the next flight of stairs. “Hardly. I’m giving you a helping hand.”
He and I had different ideas of what a helping hand was. “Try offering me your arm next time, Fred Flintstone.”
“Yes, Wilma.”
“I can kick your balls from here.”
“You won’t do that.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you like my balls.”
“Wrong,” I said. “I’m indifferent to balls in general. Footballs, basketballs, hockey balls—”
He coughed. “Pucks.”
“What?”
“You play hockey with pucks. Not balls.”
“Hockey is weird,” I said matter-of-factly. “And so are you. Now put me down.”
“Gladly.” He slid me down his body. “Here’s your apartment.”
I rolled my eyes and pushed him away from me. “You’re annoying me. This has been the most frustrating night ever.” I dug in my purse for my keys and yanked them out from the bottom corner.
Why were they always in the bottom corner?
I jammed them in the door and twisted, unlocking it. The apartment was completely silent since Avery was at work, and I was looking forward to hiding in the bathroom.
That was how normal, rational people dealt with complete emotional upheaval, wasn’t it?
I stepped inside and turned, catching Adam’s eye. There was something rueful about his expression—a sadness that glinted in his gaze.
I put down my purse and hugged the door. “Thanks for humoring my parents,” I said softly. “Sorry it wasn’t what we thought.”
He shrugged one shoulder, lifting it to his ear before he dropped it down. “Hey—we got away with it for this long. It is what it is, right?”
“Right.” My heart clenched.
Stupid heart.
“Now your dad is on your side when you have to explain why we didn’t work,” Adam continued. “Because that’s how this goes, isn’t it?”
No.
“Yeah. I mean… We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for my dad, so… Yeah.”
God, he was so beautiful.
This is why I didn’t do this again. This is why I couldn’t see him. I’d said goodbye once. I didn’t want to have to do it a second time.
“Thank you,” I said again.
Adam cupped the side of my face. “No, Red. Thank you.”
He kissed me, his lips touching mine with an air of finality that forced a lump in my throat. Tingles ran over my skin, and I knew this was it.
This was goodbye.
This was where our crazy, fake romance ended.
And I wasn’t okay with it.
He pulled back, running his thumb over my lower lip one last time. “See you, Red.”
“See you.” My voice was barely there, and I pushed the door shut so I didn’t have to look at him.
It clicked, and I flattened my back against it, squeezing my eyes shut.
God, he was there. He was right fucking there.
Four fucking days. Four fucking days had me twisted up like a freshly-knitted scarf.
Wood.
Wood was all that separated us.
What if I opened the door? Would he still be there? What if I pulled off my shoes and chased him?
Tonight, technically, we were still fake. Sure, my feelings were hella real, but he was right fucking there.
Could I let him leave without kissing him one more time? Like I meant it? If I kissed him hard enough, would I be able to tell him that I was falling for him?
That I was falling for him based on four days and those memories on loop.
Was that possible?
Would I hate myself if I tried?
Would I hate myself if I didn’t?
Oh, fuck, man. Why did he have to be perfect? Why did he have to be everything? Why couldn’t he be bad in bed or have one leg shorter than the other?
Why did he have to make me so completely obsessed with him?
And why did the thought of never seeing him again—ever—hurt me so fucking much?
I kicked off my shoes and kicked them right across the floor. My hands dove into my hair as I squeezed my eyes shut again.
This decision would change everything. It would either tell him how I wanted him, or it would put the nail of the coffin of what could have been.
I turned.
Took a deep breath.
Grabbed the handle.
And pulled out the stupidest game in the book—the quick answer game. The first thing that popped into my head would be the right thing to do.
Pink or purple?
Pink.
Tacos or pizza?
Pizza.
Wine or vodka?
Vodka.
Disney or Universal?
Disney.
Heels or flats?
Flats.
Open or closed?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE – POPPY
Repeat, Repeat, Repeat
I tugged the door open.
Adam was leaning against the wall opposite the door, one arm wrapped around his stomach and the other hand was in his hair.
He was standing there.
He looked up at me.
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I didn’t know what to say to him. I didn’t know what I could say to him.
But I’d opened this door for a reason, and I hope he knew it wasn’t because of a spider in my bathtub or something.
He held my gaze for what felt like forever, the intensity in his eyes chilling in the best kind of way.
Slowly, I lifted one shoulder to my ear and dropped it again in a shrug.
He wasted no time closing the distance between us. He grasped the sides of my face and kissed me, staggering us into the apartment. He kicked the door shut with a bang behind us, and I grabbed his shirt.
The kiss was hot and heavy from the get-go, and it was interspersed with breaks to make sure we were heading to
my room. Adam kicked the door to that shut, too, and we collapsed together on the bed.
There was a hastiness to our movements—a pure desperation as we clawed at each other’s clothes and removed them. As I sat up to remove my dress, as he pulled back to shrug off his shirt and undo his pants.
It was hot and hard, neither of us willing to give anything less than all of us. We wasted no time getting to our underwear, and it was Adam’s control under pressure as I was stripped to my bra and thong.
His hands explored my body as thoroughly as his mouth did, from unclasping my bra to tugging my panties down my legs so I was completely naked. He was fully in control as his mouth made its way from my neck to my nipples to my clit.
He was all in control as shivers and hot flushes simultaneously made their way across my skin. As he moved to remove his pants. To whisper into my ear that he trusted me, did I trust him, because he just wanted me.
Nothing else.
I answered simply, reaching between us and guiding his bare cock inside me. It was pure hunger and desire as he moved inside my wet pussy, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, tilting my hips so he could be deeper.
It was raw and hard, and I wanted it all. We kissed just as passionately as we fucked, and even as his fingers dug into my ass and my teeth scraped his lower lip, the sensations that rocketed through my body were insane.
The pain, the pleasure, the downright rawness of how I clenched around him as I came from his relentless fucking.
It was everything.
It was perfect.
It was the things fairytales were made of, because it wasn’t romantic at all. It didn’t have to be. It was real and uncontrolled, and it was the ultimate release of all the things I feared we’d both kept to ourselves over the past weeks.
And, as he kissed me hard, tongue fighting mine, his cock pressed hard me, I had the fleeting feeling that I had nothing to fear at all.
Because this was the most honest we’d ever been with each other, and neither of us had said a damn thing.
I guess actions really did speak louder than words.
Adam pulled out of me and rolled to the side, holding me against him for a second. He buried his face in my hair, and I let him curl his body around mine.