Four Day Fling(30)

“Are you worried about your privacy?” she asked, turning her sharp gaze on me.

“It just occurred to me that there are an awful lot of people here who know who I am,” I said slowly. “And all it takes is one social media post, and we could have a problem.”

“What? Your teammates will see photos of you drinking pink cocktails?” Poppy smirked. “Oh, the shame.”

I would be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. “That’ll be the least of my worries if they bring their long-lens cameras and your ass is plastered all over the internets.”

She paused, then shrugged. “I squat for this ass.”

“Poppy!” Her mom pressed her hand to her chest. “My goodness!”

“It’s true! And unless your name is Chris Hemsworth, my ass is all I’m gonna squat for.”

I made a mental note to change my name… Or buy a cardboard mask of his face, just to see if she’d make good on that promise.

Her mom cut her a dark look then turned to me, a hint of compassion in her eyes. “I can ask security to keep an extra eye out, if you’d like.”

“I don’t want a big deal made out of it, but I’d hate Rosie’s wedding to be ruined because of a few nosey bastards.”

She nodded sharply. “Let me see the bartender and see if I can call the manager and ask him to come down.” She picked up the margarita and sipped. “This is good. I like it.” She took another big mouthful and got up, leaving the glass almost a third empty on the table.

Poppy looked at the glass, back at her mom’s retreating back, then to me. “You said that on purpose, didn’t you? To get rid of her.”

I picked up the margarita glass. “What makes you say that?”

“Because she’s gone,” she said matter-of-factly, her gaze just as calculating as her mom’s had been.

She said her mom had the eyes of a hawk, but she had them, too. And the biggest problem with Poppy Dunn was that she didn’t miss a damn thing.

“Maybe it was to give us a break from interrogation,” I admitted, “But after I said what I did…” I put the glass down without touching it and ran my hand down my face.

Poppy frowned.

Reaching over, I pushed some hair from her face, letting my fingertips trail across her soft skin. She met my eyes, and uncertainty shone at me.

“It’s a thing, Red.” I sighed, dropping my head. “I wish it weren’t, but it is. There are a whole bunch of teens here, and if teens love anything, it’s fucking social media,” I finished on a mutter.

“I didn’t think of that.”

“Why would you? You had no reason to.” My lips tugged to the side. “I also don’t want anything to happen to your sister’s wedding. She seemed stressed enough this morning without me being an issue for her.”

I also don’t want you wrapped up in anything you don’t need to be.

Poppy’s lips pursed as if she knew there was something I wasn’t saying. Her gaze darted back and forth across my face. She was figuring out if I was hiding something from her—like I was—and I knew she’d figure it out.

She plucked a straw from the holder in the middle of the table and put it into her glass. Leaning forward, she made sure her hair was out of the way and took the straw between her lips.

My eyes dropped to her mouth.

Fuck. I’d never wanted to be a plastic straw so much in my life.

Her eyes slid to me as she released the straw. “You want a photograph so you can keep staring even when I’m not here?”

“Depends what the photo is of.”

“Me giving you the finger,” she muttered.

I laughed, leaning right back in my chair. “Probably the easiest photo to get of you.”

Proving me right, she flipped me the bird and took another big drink. “By the way, I know you stopped yourself from saying something a minute ago, and by the end of the weekend, I’ll get it out of you.”

I picked up my margarita and shrugged a shoulder. “You can try.”

“So you’re admitting it?”

“Lying doesn’t do me any good now, does it?”

“I don’t care,” she said. “You’ll tell me. I’ll annoy the hell out of you until you do.”

“Do what?” her mom said as she joined us again at the table. “What are you doing?”

“Admitting that he was more interested in me than I was in him when we first met,” Poppy said without batting an eyelid. “It’s a point of contention.”

“Even if it were true, I’d never admit it,” I said, picking it up immediately. “God knows what you’d do with that info.”

“Hire Banksy to put it on the wall on the side of your house,” she quipped.

“Can you do that? That’s on my property which would mean I’d own it. That’s money right there.”

Poppy opened her mouth, something flashing through her eyes. She kept that expression for a moment before she decided against arguing with me. Snapping her lips shut, she grasped hold of her glass and leaned back in her chair, eyeing me with annoyance.

I grinned at her. Then, to rub salt in the wound, lifted my glass to her.

Her mom looked between us both, eyes flitting back and forth for a good few seconds. Then, she picked up her own glass, looked at me, smiled, and raised hers.