My mouth opens, but for the life of me I can’t figure out what comes next.
“I think dinner is getting cold,” Poppy offers, and both our mothers busy themselves ushering everyone to the table. And just like that, here we are, alone, just Poppy and me, a deception at the ready that involves the two of us in ways I used to dream about.
Poppy steps in close, her perfume pours over me like a fine wine, and I would give anything to drink this girl down right now.
Damn, she smells good, intoxicating. And those velvet eyes. How I’ve missed them. I thought I knew how much, but having her here next to me, the warmth of her body exuding toward mine makes me ache in the deepest part of my heart.
“So—are you still up for offering those two the scare of a lifetime?” She wrinkles her nose, and I fight the dirty grin dying to take over.
“I’ll say it again. I’m in.” I lean in, towering over her like some sexist oaf. “Where do we draw the line?” Everything in me wants to trace out her lips with my finger. I’d die happy just to trace out her body with my hands.
She swallows hard. Her breathing picks up, but her eyes are still secured to mine. “I’m in it to win it, Gordo. Do whatever you have to do to make this believable. It’s only the deep end that matters, right?”
A small laugh gets buried in my chest. That’s a saying we came up with shortly after we both mastered the fine art of swimming. An analogy for the hard part of things that we needed to conquer. It was only the deep end that mattered in most things. Poppy and I shared so many firsts together, it’s touching when you think about it. But we shared the bitter firsts, too, when things began to go south.
“This is the deep end, Pop. If you need a boost out of the pool—”
Her affect flattens from an opened mouthed smile to a stern, I-might-just-kick-your-ass frown. “I won’t need a boost, Stade.” The fact she just invoked my last name is not a good sign. Any invoking of the last name by either party was a clear signal someone was damn pissed. “I’m going to put on a show out there, and I suggest you do the same. This is no-holds-barred. Now, grow some hair on your balls and let’s have them eating out of our wicked palms by the end of this night, got it?”
A dark laugh rumbles in my chest, but I won’t give it. “I got it. You realize this might kill your brother.”
“You realize my brother might killyou.” There’s a touch of a smile when she says it, and now I’m wondering if that’s been the plan all along.
“Touché.” I touch my thumb to her cheek, just shy of her lips, and she twists into it as if begging me to touch her mouth. “We’re going to make this look like the real deal. You and I are going to date, Eight Ball—and you’re going to like it.”
And deep down, so the hell am I.
If Poppy wants a show, that’s exactly what she’ll get. I’ll deal with Conner later.
Dinner goes off without a hiccup with Poppy seated right next to me as if it were a natural occurrence and not something more along the lines of a solar eclipse, or a comet that shoots by Oak Grove for a hot L.A. minute.
Conner keeps me busy with talk of sports, the office, the girl he took home last night. Mom and Char yak up a storm about their favorite things, themselves, their friendship, their blog, their big sixtieth bash coming up in a few weeks, and, of course, their secretive announcement that has had us curious for over a month now. Most likely some new recipe that they believe will be groundbreaking in the culinary world that exists outside of Oak Grove, or some new stunt their sixty-year-old twisted minds think is pretty nifty and will most likely cause unending humiliation to whomever they’ve pegged as their victim.
“Speaking of announcements.” Mom tips her head my way, her blue eyes filled with curiosity. “You mentioned you had something very special you wanted to share with us this evening.” Her eyes enlarge without stopping, and for a minute I’m convinced they’ll take over her head.
“Oh?” Charlene is seemingly perplexed by this. “Poppy mentioned she had something she could hardly wait to get off her chest as well. Isn’t this an interesting turn of events?” She strums her apple red nails over the table.
“That’s right.” Poppy stands and smacks my arm for me to do the same. Her chest pulsates in and out as she pants up a storm, and for a brief moment I envision her on top of me, those sweet tits that have been staring me in the face all night dripping into my mouth like honey. The thought alone makes me feel guilty for carrying on an entire conversation with Conner while thinking about licking his sister’s body in all the right places. “There’s something I’ve been keeping from you.” She picks up my hand, and an audible gasp circles the room. My own mother’s jaw roots to the hardwood floor. “Something we’vebothbeen keeping from you.”
Mom sucks in a hard breath as does poor Charlene, the two of them with their hands pressed against their chests. If this goes over too well, we just might have a double funeral to plan.
Conner clears his throat, his arms crossed over his chest as if to protest whatever is about to fly from her mouth.
Jules slaps a hand down over the table in protest, and poor Jensen looks up from the kiddie table at me. My heart breaks because I never wanted to lie to any of them. But I’m here, and Poppy Montgomery is holding my hand, and for a moment, everything seems right with the world. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least to see Dalton Stade, my own dead father, walk right through those doors. This is a night of impossibilities, and surely that would be the biggest one of all—outside of this miracle taking place beside me. I want to pinch myself to see if it’s real. Every face that I’ve known all my life stares up at me in a mixture of horror and disbelief—utter delight in our mothers’ eyes, and yet a twinge of doubt there as well.
My mother tosses down her napkin with all of the drama she can drum up on this cold January night. “What in hell’s name is going on?”
I clear my throat as I look to Poppy. She’s frozen. Her breathing has gone from panting to hardly taking in enough oxygen to keep her on her feet.
“What we’re trying to say is”—I look into Poppy’s lime green eyes, and a swell of relief comes over me because I don’t want to pretend with her. I want to believe it’s so, that every bit of this is real—“the two of us are together now.”
An audible grunt comes from the motherload end of the table, followed by whimpers and the frantic flailing of limbs as they fan one another in an attempt to keep from passing out. Conner stands for a moment in protest, mumbling an indistinguishable threat before falling back into his seat.
“Okay.” Char holds out a hand. “You’ve got us. I don’t think I could take much more. The gig is up. It’s not funny.” She wags her finger our way as if to admonish us further.
Crap. I glance to Poppy, and her smile tightens as she squeezes the shit out of my hand, code for what I’m assuming meansdo something right fucking now.
“No joke.” I pull Poppy’s hand to my lips and linger over her velvet flesh a moment too long. “We’ve been secretly in touch for months now. We’re officially a couple.” Her eyes widen a notch when I say it. “And we wanted to let you in on our little secret.”
