“That can’t be. It’s just too much of a coincidence.”
“My thoughts exactly. So you want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Me? How would I know?” Her eyes got round with denial. “You’re not going to pin this on me.Facelifts to Flipshas been my show since I was nineteen. I don’t need some D-list athlete to help me grow my audience.”
“First off, I’m a three-time Stanley Cup winner and Hall of Famer. Far from D-list. As for my career, it’s been covered on every network and cable channel for nearly a decade.”
“You’re forgetting TMZ.”
“I’ll keep that in mind the next time I’m watching YouTube.”
He’d meant it as a joke, but he could tell the comment hit a sore spot, which had not been his intention.
He was about to apologize when she said, “I had no idea who you were when I met you. I just thought you were some guy my aunt set me up with. I was told to find the guy in the blue ball cap and you were the only blue ball cap in the bar.”
There was an honesty there that he believed. Or maybe it was that he wanted to believe. He’d been screwed over so many times by the people around him it was hard to give his trust blindly, but there was something about Poppy that made him want to go back to a time when people didn’t want a piece of him. Even Asher, one of his most trusted friends, their relationship was based on financial transactions.
“I believe you.”
She blinked up at him. “You do?”
“Against everything I’ve come to believe, yeah, I do. But that still doesn’t absolve the part where your aunt set us up and now here we are.”
She pressed her thumbs to her forehead and massaged it in little circles. Decker knew a lot about women. How to tell when they were faking it. Take sex, for instance, he was the king of the real O. He knew when they were lying, and when they were genuinely at a loss. Poppy was as confused as he was.
“Auntie,” she hollered as she marched into the house, those hips swaying with intent. Decker found himself blindly following, his eyes tracking every hypnotic sway of her ass. And what an ass it was. Lush and heart-shaped and more than a handful. An ass made for cupping.
“Auntie,” she repeated. When she was met with only deafening silence, she said, “I know you’re in here. I can smell your scheming.”
He smirked as she stormed through the sunroom and into the kitchen where Jack and an older woman sat on an authentic late ’50s lounge, box couch with an extra low back that gave minimalistic vibes. Dressed in a white linen pantsuit, gold jewelry, and matching kitten heel—and draped across the furniture like she was part of the décor—was Opal Hart, Hollywood’s famous matchmaker to the stars and the host ofCelebrity’s Cupid.
When she saw her niece, her eyes lit with a youthful excitement that made her look not a day over fifty. The love for her niece was palpable. So was the underlying excitement.
Hands on hips, water dripping on the floor, she looked from Opal to Jack. “Someone want to clarify what’s going on?”
Opal clapped her hands in delight. “You’ve met. How wonderful.”
“We met a few weeks ago. But you already knew that,”Poppy volleyed. “Now would you like to explain why Decker is here at your house?”
“He’s your co-host,” Jack said, and she choked so hard on air Decker thought he’d have to give her the Heimlich. Or mouth to mouth.
Hmm… wouldn’t that be nice.
“Not happening,” she said at the same time as he said, “Is that the same as co-mingling?”
“Do you ever stop?”
He leaned in and whispered, “Not until you beg me to.”
She went chin up and glared at Jack. “This can’t happen. I dated this man.”
Decker leaned in and whispered in her ear, “I thought it wasn’t a date? At least we’re coming around to the same page on that one.”
She flapped a hand at him like a pesky fly. God, she was pretty when riled. “Do you see what I’m dealing with here?”
The director just smiled and nodded as if this moment was a trailblazer in cinematic excellence. “I can already smell the Emmy.”
“It wasn’t a date, dear,” Opal said. “It was a chemistry test.”
