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Poppy looked at the glass, back at her mom’s retreating back, then to me. “You said that on purpose, didn’t you? To get rid of her.”
I picked up the margarita glass. “What makes you say that?”
“Because she’s gone,” she said matter-of-factly, her gaze just as calculating as her mom’s had been.
She said her mom had the eyes of a hawk, but she had them, too. And the biggest problem with Poppy Dunn was that she didn’t miss a damn thing.
“Maybe it was to give us a break from interrogation,” I admitted, “But after I said what I did…” I put the glass down without touching it and ran my hand down my face.
Poppy frowned.
Reaching over, I pushed some hair from her face, letting my fingertips trail across her soft skin. She met my eyes, and uncertainty shone at me.
“It’s a thing, Red.” I sighed, dropping my head. “I wish it weren’t, but it is. There are a whole bunch of teens here, and if teens love anything, it’s fucking social media,” I finished on a mutter.
“I didn’t think of that.”
“Why would you? You had no reason to.” My lips tugged to the side. “I also don’t want anything to happen to your sister’s wedding. She seemed stressed enough this morning without me being an issue for her.”
I also don’t want you wrapped up in anything you don’t need to be.
Poppy’s lips pursed as if she knew there was something I wasn’t saying. Her gaze darted back and forth across my face. She was figuring out if I was hiding something from her—like I was—and I knew she’d figure it out.
She plucked a straw from the holder in the middle of the table and put it into her glass. Leaning forward, she made sure her hair was out of the way and took the straw between her lips.
My eyes dropped to her mouth.
Fuck. I’d never wanted to be a plastic straw so much in my life.
Her eyes slid to me as she released the straw. “You want a photograph so you can keep staring even when I’m not here?”
“Depends what the photo is of.”
“Me giving you the finger,” she muttered.
I laughed, leaning right back in my chair. “Probably the easiest photo to get of you.”
Proving me right, she flipped me the bird and took another big drink. “By the way, I know you stopped yourself from saying something a minute ago, and by the end of the weekend, I’ll get it out of you.”
I picked up my margarita and shrugged a shoulder. “You can try.”
“So you’re admitting it?”
“Lying doesn’t do me any good now, does it?”
“I don’t care,” she said. “You’ll tell me. I’ll annoy the hell out of you until you do.”
“Do what?” her mom said as she joined us again at the table. “What are you doing?”
“Admitting that he was more interested in me than I was in him when we first met,” Poppy said without batting an eyelid. “It’s a point of contention.”
“Even if it were true, I’d never admit it,” I said, picking it up immediately. “God knows what you’d do with that info.”
“Hire Banksy to put it on the wall on the side of your house,” she quipped.
“Can you do that? That’s on my property which would mean I’d own it. That’s money right there.”
Poppy opened her mouth, something flashing through her eyes. She kept that expression for a moment before she decided against arguing with me. Snapping her lips shut, she grasped hold of her glass and leaned back in her chair, eyeing me with annoyance.
I grinned at her. Then, to rub salt in the wound, lifted my glass to her.
Her mom looked between us both, eyes flitting back and forth for a good few seconds. Then, she picked up her own glass, looked at me, smiled, and raised hers.
Well, well, well.
I just got the approval from her mom—one I didn’t need.
But, strangely, I was fucking happy to have it.
***
“That was torture,” Poppy said, dropping onto the sand. “And you! You traitor.” She shoved me the second my ass hit the sand. “You enjoyed yourself!”
I reached behind my head and pulled my shirt off with one tug. “What?”
“You enjoyed yourself!” she said.
To my stomach.
“Do you want a picture of me?” I pulled out her line from lunch.
“Ugh! You’re insufferable!” Following my movement, she pulled her tank top off and tossed it over me to join my shirt.
Her bikini top was white, showing off a weird pink-golden color to her skin, and she swept her hair around to one side, exposing the side of her neck.
She jerked to look at me. “Now who needs another fucking picture?”
I held up my hands. “Just because I got along with your mom…”
“This is not because she now adores you!”
“Adores me, eh?”
“She hugged you longer than she hugged me!”
“That’s because I was nice to her,” I reminded her. “You were, well, a human cactus.”
