Four Day Fling(23)

“See?” He held out his hands and shrugged. “It worked. You didn’t promise her anything, so you’re not obligated to anything except keeping your mom amused during the cocktail tasting session.”

“You…are a genius.”

“I captained a team of men to the Stanley Cup last season,” he said simply. “And I grew up with four sisters and didn’t die.”

“I have more respect for the latter. I grew up with one and we almost killed each other at least a dozen times.”

“In total? That’s pretty good.”

“No. A month. I almost started a fire when I left her curling iron on while she slept.”

“Why would you do that?”

“She stole my journal. I burned her favorite bear in the process.”

“How are you still best friends?”

I shrugged. “Hormones.”

“Fair enough.” He paused. “But I still got your ass out of jail. Now, you owe me.”

“You don’t have a lot of time to cash in whatever it is that I owe you. You’re on a timer, remember?”

“I know.” His lips quirked to the side, and he stole the water the same way my sister had and took a mouthful before he capped it and stuck the bottle back in the sand. “I figure you’ll make it up to me.”

I eyed him for a second, then moved onto my knees on the hot sand between our towels. My toes dug until they found the colder, wetter sand, and my hand cupped the back of his neck so I could kiss him.

My lips found his as if they had a radar. It was easy. Too easy. Too simple for my mouth to find his and kiss him. As if my lips were made to find his.

Adam gripped my hip, pulling me closer, sliding his other hand up my back. My left hand fell to his left leg, my nails digging into his tanned thigh.

I teased my tongue against his lips, teasing him, begging him to let me into his mouth. He did, answering my deep kiss with the same vigor I attacked him with.

Sparks danced across my skin, and maybe it was the hot sun beating down on us, or maybe it was the way his fingers spread across my bare back, but not a second of it felt wrong.

Not a second felt fake.

It felt real.

Very, very real.

I dragged my teeth across his lower lip and pulled back, moving to my towel.

“Good answer,” Adam muttered, adjusting his shorts as he lay back down.

“I know,” I said, making sure my sunglasses were in place. “If I can do that to your mouth with my tongue, imagine what I can do to your cock.”

His rough groan was all I needed.

So was the way he tugged at his waistband as he rolled onto his stomach.

I glanced at him, biting the inside of my cheek.

I guess he just learned a valuable lesson about fucking with a redhead.

Spoiler: You don’t fuck with a redhead.





CHAPTER EIGHT – POPPY


Redheads and Devilheads



I always wondered what I’d look like as a Funkopop. Random, I know, but I wondered if they’d ever accurately capture my boobs. I wasn’t exactly a Pamela Anderson, but if anything ever needed immortalizing, it was my boobs.

God only knew nobody wanted my attitude to be infinite.

Not even I wanted that.

However, my attitude was what was going to get me through this damn wedding. My grandpa had landed and was, at my dad’s last phone call, yelling at the airport workers to find out where his suitcase was.

Fifty bucks said it was on the baggage carousel.

In fact, I’d wager a hundred. I was just that sure. Mostly because I knew the drill. Last Christmas, I’d been the one tasked with getting him from the airport and delivering him safely to my parents’ house.

Guess what? He’d yelled at the airport people, and I’d found his baggage exactly where it should have been. On the carousel, making its way around.

Now, I sighed and brushed my curls around to one side, over my shoulder, and stared into the mirror. To braid or not to braid? That really was the question. To topknot or not to topknot? That was the other one.

Did I risk them getting uber frizzy at the hottest part of the day or did I get proactive and knot them up before my hair could decide for me?

I blew out another breath and flipped my head forward, then gathered my thick hair up. Straightening my back, I teased my bangs out of the mass and tied my hair up loosely. Another hair tie swept the ponytail into a topknot that was beautifully messy.

Huh.

I bet I couldn’t do that again if I tried.

“Ready?” Adam strolled out of the bedroom, playing with the button on his shorts.

“For lunch with my mother?” I turned and stared at him, expressionless. “I’m thrilled.”

He laughed and adjusted the short sleeve of his white shirt. “It’s what—an hour? Then she’ll be back snapping at your sister’s ankles. Surely you can give Rosie a break for sixty whole minutes.”

“Oh no. I’ve done that guilt trip my entire life. I’m not getting it from my fake boyfriend, too.” I waggled my finger at him before turning back to the mirror to finish my makeup. “And yes, I can give her a break, but it doesn’t mean I need to be happy about it.”

“Do you ever get along?”

“Yes. When I’m in Orlando and she’s in Key West.”