my mouth, I growl, “You’re not going to dinner tomorrow.”
“Yes,” Poppy declares evenly, “I am. Your mother is expecting me. Well . . . she’s expecting Scarlett, your fiancée. Why’d you lie about that?”
This is dangerous. I mean, it’s already dangerous to even let her know my name and not be on the road to the nearest Holiday Inn. I should just feed her a line of bullshit. Hell, I lie so often that sometimes the lies seem more real than the truth.
But somehow, there’s something about Poppy Woodstock that has me doing the totally wrong thing . . . and telling her the truth. “My family’s got lots of shit going on. And Mom is . . . a lot. She gets all up in my business, which I just can’t have. Honestly, she’s like you.”
“Cute and perky?” she suggests with a faux-innocent blink of her bare, pale lashes.
“You’re not cute,” I growl. “Either way, my sister’s getting married, and it’ll be this whole dog and pony show with the aunts and uncles and cousins. I’m not going.”
“To the wedding? Your sister’s wedding?” she asks, horrified.
“No wedding, and no dinner either.” I answer darkly. “Every family’s got a black sheep, right? Well, that’s me. In fact, I’m like a radioactive black sheep.”
“Doesn’t matter, we’re going.” Stubborn doesn’t begin to describe her, and that’s coming from someone who’s been described as stubborn as a mule more than once. “She wants you there!”
She doesn’t get it. I’m not going for their benefit, not mine. “Did you not hear me? I’m radioactive. My mom doesn’t know who I am, what I do. She thinks I’m a good guy, wants to show me off to her sister, my Aunt Audrey. And those two . . . they’ve had a pissing match for years. Their kids are just soldiers in their war, and I have zero interest in competing with my cousin, Ian.”
Poppy smiles, her teeth flashing white before she tries to cover it with her beer bottle.
“What?”
She shakes her head, taking a big gulp. But under my hot gaze, she melts and her laugh bubbles out. “I’m trying to imagine you” —she gestures from my head to toes— “competing with someone named Ian.” The insult hits me sharply, but then she says sadly, “Poor kid. With a name like Ian, he never had a chance.”
Wait, she thinks I’m better than Ian? She doesn’t know him, and all she knows of me is that I’m a lying, stealing thief, but somehow, that brings me ahead as the winner in this imaginary contest?
I grin cockily and agree. “He really didn’t.”
Somehow, it forges a little bond between us, and Poppy relaxes, taking another sip of beer. “So tell me about you, and tell me about Scarlett since I’ll be playing her tomorrow.”
Oh, God, Scarlett. That’s a whole other bundle of shit to deal with, and I’m glad when the doorbell rings before I can reply. Still, it makes me jump a little, and I chastise myself that I didn’t hear the car pull up outside. Don’t get distracted, Connor. It might not always be a pizza.
I take the pizza from the delivery guy and set it on the counter. Sliding a slice onto a plate, I hand it to Poppy and then plate one for myself. She sits at the table, and I realize that she moved the boxes while I was getting the pizza.
She’s helpful and willing to pitch in. I store that information away too.
I hope that’s true because in the scarce moment it took me to get the pizza, I’ve realized that she’s right. If I don’t show up for the dinner now, my mother will never quit calling me. And Caylee will never forgive me.
A little part of me that hopes for redemption at some point says I can’t let that happen. I have to try, at least.
“Okay,” I say as I sit down heavily in my chair, my appetite for sausage and jalapeños lost for now.
Poppy freezes, her mouth full of pizza. She mumbles, “M’kay, wut?”
“Dinner. You can go. Just that, though, not the wedding. One day. You’ll be my one-day fiancée.” I’m making it sound like I’m doing her a favor, but we both know the opposite is true. She’s the one giving me half a chance to try and have a future with my family . . . potentially.
She proves me right when she open-mouth grins, showing me the half-chewed pizza. “Cool.”