Four Day Fling(28)

It lasted only the briefest of seconds before he returned his attention right to the glass.

His expression could only be described as one thing.

Regret.

“Are you all right?” I asked him.

“Yeah. I’m just considering how I’d never live it down if any of my teammates ever saw me drinking pink cocktails.” He frowned. “I don’t think I will, even they don’t see me.”

“You’re doing it for the greater good,” I told him chirpily. “And a lunch date might stop random teen girls screaming at you.”

“That happened one time,” he reminded me, holding up a finger. “And it was not my fault.”

“Teen girls screamed at you?” Mom asked, picking up the cocktail before quickly putting it down. “Do we need to send out a note asking people to control their children?”

I choked on my own saliva. “What is this? A freaking zoo? Mom, you can’t do that!”

“Well, if you hadn’t had brought a famous sports star as your date…”

And this was why my mother and I did not do lunch dates.

“I didn’t do it deliberately.” I shifted in my seat. Oh, if only she knew how true that was! “It’s not like I set out to sabotage a wedding or anything. Hell, I didn’t even know who he was when we met.”

That’s right. I was going to toe the line of truth as closely as I could. The fewer lies I told, the less chance I had of being caught with my pants on fire.

And nobody wanted their pants to be on fire. If my pants were on fire, my vagina would be at risk, and man was that a useful thing to have around and fully functioning.

Especially if the person who could, you know, do something with the vagina was Adam Winters.

Luckily for me, right at that point, the server saved my ginger ass once again.

“Here’s the bread basket you requested, Mrs. Dunn.” He put a wicker basket full of sliced bread in the center of the table, along with three small plates, knives, and a small dish full of butter. “Did you look at your menus or taste your drinks?”

“Yes, I know what I’d like to order,” I lied, opening my menu for the first time. Skimming it with my eyes and pretending like I knew what I was looking for, I ran my finger across the menu. “I’ll have the salmon with sweet potato fries. Thank you.” I folded it and handed it to him.

Adam’s eyes widened like I’d told him a puck was coming at his nose. “I’ll uh, I’ll have the steak.”

“Which steak, sir?” the server asked.

“Rump. Rare.” He snapped the menu shut and handed it to the server.

Mom, however, looked marginally amused. “I’ll have a Caesar salad with chicken, thank you. Dressing on the side.”

With that, he was dismissed. Even if he did open his mouth to ask about something else—probably our cocktails. I didn’t blame him. Mom was terrifying at the best of times. Horrific at the worst.

“So,” Mom said, taking a napkin from the table. Without looking at us, she folded it and set it on her lap. “Where did you meet?”

“In a bar,” Adam answered honestly. “She was the only woman in the general vicinity who didn’t look at me like I was a meal ticket. Turned out, she had no idea who I was.” He peered over at me, lips twitching into a smile.

Okay, wow. We really were going to skirt the truth here.

I picked up my drink and looked at Mom. “It’s true. He could have been that guy who plays for that Spanish team and I still wouldn’t have recognized him.”

“Which guy?” Mom asked, frowning.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “If I knew, I’d have said his name.”

“Ronaldo?” Adam jumped in, saving my ass.

“That guy. Isn’t he in Portugal? Why did I think he played in Spain?”

“He does play in Spain.” He was visibly trying not to laugh at me at this point. “He’s Portuguese, so he plays for Portugal, but his club team is Real Madrid.”

I looked at Mom again and shrugged. “There you go. All I knew was that he was hot with his shirt off.”

Mom sighed. “You really didn’t know who he was?” She motioned to Adam. “Even I knew who he was when I saw him.”

“When have you ever seen me watch sports?”

“You were awfully interested in baseball as a teenager.”

“Yes. They wear tight pants. Every teenage girl is interested in baseball, and it’s not for the sport.” I rolled my eyes and took a sip from the drink.

I didn’t know if it was the gin, the rhubarb, or the ginger, but this drink needed to die in a fucking house fire.

“Eh! Ack! Oh no!” I sputtered and put the drink on the table, wincing as a shiver took hold of my entire body. “Oh no. Make it go away.”

Adam burst out laughing, while Mom simply sighed at my theatrics.

“Poppy, it cannot be that bad,” she said, picking up her glass and bringing it to her face. She swilled it in the glass, sniffing it.

Good lord. It was a cocktail, not a vintage wine.

Mom took a sip. Instantly, her face contorted into the picture of absolute disgust, and when she set the glass down, I swear, she almost looked mildly offended that she’d dared put it in her mouth.