“He might be here to be your fake boyfriend, but you don’t need to be a genius to see that you both developed very real feelings by the end of the weekend. Christ, Avery took one look at you and needed a hot shower.”
I bit back a laugh and buried my face in my hands. “God, Ro. This was supposed to be easy. He wasn’t supposed to make me laugh or anything like that. He was just supposed to be…there.”
“Well, him being just “there” bombed the second you brought a hockey player into a hockey-mad family.”
“All right, fine, I get it. Next time, I’ll check that my fake date isn’t famous in any way.”
She shook her head slowly. “Admit it. You like him. A lot.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” I said softly, looking at her. “If I say it out loud, then I can’t deny it anymore, can I?”
She smiled, but it was full of sadness.
Instead of arguing with me like I thought she would, she pulled me into her, and I rested my head on her shoulder.
I knew two things for sure.
I needed to get back to my real life, but there was one glaring problem with that.
My life would never be the same after Adam Winters.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE – POPPY
Flowers and Fuck This
Last night, I’d stumbled through the door—quite literally, thanks to my foot—and beelined for the freezer. Avery had texted me that she’d bought ice cream and wine and that it was all mine.
That was true friendship.
I’d allowed myself to whine at Netflix and get lost in a documentary while I ate my weight in ice cream, then went to bed. All right, so I fell asleep on the sofa with the empty carton in my hand and Avery had dragged me to bed, but don’t judge me.
I was sad.
Now, I was feeling human again. A hot shower, a half-assed run, and a shift at work had pulled me out of the magic of my sister’s wedding and into my real life. Even if work had put me behind the bar because I had no business running food when I could barely walk, according to my manager.
I wasn’t going to argue with her. I liked serving drunk people drinks to get them even more drunk. If I could write a book, I’d have some real stories to tell.
Diary of a Cocktail Waitress. I’d nail it. With some elaboration, of course. I was no glamor puss serving cocktails in fancy restaurants, after all.
I closed the apartment door behind me and tossed my purse on the sofa. “Aves, I’m home!”
“Hey!” She poked her head out of her bedroom door. “How are you feeling today?”
“Human. I figured I’d get changed, order pizza, and paint.” I stood by my door. “Do you have work?”
Yawning, she covered her mouth and nodded. “’Til eleven. I’m so freakin’ tired.”
“You have time to eat before you go?”
She looked over her shoulder. “If you order pizza now, probably.”
“’Kay. I’ll do it on the app.” I ran back into the living room to get my phone, then went into my room to change. In seconds, I’d ordered the pizza and had tossed my phone onto the bed.
The knock at our door came when I was half naked with my head stuck in my closet.
“Want me to get that?” Avery yelled.
“Please! I’m half-naked!”
“Thanks for that!”
She was welcome.
I pulled out some yoga pants and a tank top emblazoned with, “I like to party, and by party, I mean read books.” The click of the front door came right as I pulled up my pants and grabbed my shirt.
“Pops? There’s something here for you.”
Frowning, I tugged the shirt down over my boobs and walked into the main room. On our small dining table that was currently covered in my paints, was a massive bouquet of poppies. The blood-red color was a bright pop in our kitchen, and I stopped dead as reality hit me.
Only one person I knew would have the balls to send me my namesake flowers.
Avery picked at the card. “He’s brave. The last boy who tried to give you a poppy got a punch in the nose.”
“I was eight, and he was a dick.” I took the card from her, fingering the edge of one of the petals. I didn’t think I wanted to read this, but I didn’t have a choice, so I opened the small card.
Thank you for reminding me how to have fun this weekend, Red.
Don’t kill me for this.
I smiled, closing the card. The flowers were even in a red vase that matched the poppies perfectly. I trailed my finger over one of the flowers and down the side of the shiny vase, my stomach flipping as I put the card down next to it.
Avery sighed and shook her head. “I don’t get you.”
“Don’t start, Aves.” I slid into my chair and pushed the tabletop easel to the side. “I don’t want to hear it, okay?”
She slammed her hands on the table. “You hate poppies.”
“I don’t hate poppies. I think they’re an easy cop-out and only an idiot would assume they’re my favorite flower just because of my name.”
With attitude, she motioned to the flowers.
“They’re not—” I stopped and sighed. “Red. His nickname for me. It started the morning after we, you know.”
“Fucked.”
“Slept together,” I said dryly. “I asked him why he called me red, and he said it was partly because of my hair, and partly because my name is Poppy, and poppies are red. I think this is him throwing back to that conversation.”
“That’s a ridiculous reason for a nickname.”
“I know. Why do you think he told me not to kill him?”
Avery pinched the bridge of her nose and laughed. “You two so obviously have feelings for each other.”
I held up my finger. “I told you not to start.”
“I’m doing this because I’m your best friend and I care about you. You’re so damn stubborn you can’t see that you’re hurting yourself because you’re too afraid of telling him how you feel.”
“No, Aves, you’re wrong. I know I’m hurting myself, but it’s not so simple. He’s not here most of the time. He travels for most of the season. He admitted that relationships are a struggle because of it. Would you rather I get over this little crush now, or try a relationship that I already know isn’t going to work just because we spent one weekend together?”
She went to say something, then stopped.
“If I spend more time with Adam, I can tell you right now, one hundred percent, I’m going to fall in love with him.”
“Oh,” she said in a small voice.
“And if I fall in love with him, that’ll be it for me. I’m not afraid to tell him how I feel. I’m afraid to fall in love and get my heart broken.”
“So is everyone else, but it doesn’t mean it stops them from doing it.” She smiled at me sadly and put her phone in her purse. “I’m gonna get to work. I think you need to be alone to think about this.”
I agreed with her. As much as I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to think about this. My mind was made up, and he’d all but agreed. He hadn’t exactly told me we should take it further.
Sure, he’d said that a part of him wished we’d never said it was just the weekend, but that didn’t equal “Let’s see each other in real life.”
Maybe I was beating a dead horse to make myself feel better, but whatever. I had to do what I had to do to convince myself this was the right choice.
No, you know what? I didn’t need to convince myself because I already knew it was, and I didn’t need to justify myself to anyone else either.
There.
I pulled my sketchbook over in front of me and pulled out a pencil.
I couldn’t keep Adam, but I could keep one of his poppies.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO – POPPY
Time Heals Cuts, Not Hearts
THREE WEEKS LATER
“Will you please turn that off?”
Avery looked over her shoulder at me. “What?” she asked, eyes fluttering innocently.
I looked at the screen. Adam Winters sat on my TV in all his handsome glory, doing a press conference for some sponsorship deal he’d just signed.
It was cool. It was fine. It’d been three weeks. I was so over it.
“You know exactly what,” I said to her, sitting at the table. “Do you have to watch him?”
“I like hockey.”