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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 what 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?”
