Was this my life?
Why didn’t I know what was going on?
I sat at the table with my coffee mug. Adam presented me with a perfectly cooked omelet a-la our first morning together, and I stared at it.
I was so confused.
What was happening here?
Why would nobody tell me?
Adam kissed my cheek. “There you go. I have to get to training. Sorry Avery got hers first, but she was awake.” He kissed the top of my head and walked to Avery before flicking her hair. “Thanks for the advice, Aves.”
Aves?
Advice?
Had I slept through the fucking apocalypse?
I sat, dumbfounded, as Adam retreated into my room. Avery ignored me as she ate and read her books.
“Am I missing something?” I asked her.
Avery looked up at me. “I don’t know. Are you?”
“I’m asking you, dumbass.”
“Are you pissed he made me breakfast before you?”
“What? No.” I stabbed my fork into the omelet. “At least, no. No.”
“No biggie, then.” She scooped another forkful of omelet into her mouth as Adam left my room.
He was wearing exactly what he had been last night. The shirt, the pants, the stubble…
I was still half-asleep. I was in the point of consciousness where nothing made sense. I could feel the sleep in my eyes for the love of fucking God.
Adam rounded the table to me. His hand cupped the back of my neck, and he kissed me. “Hey,” he murmured. “I have a wedding to go to and I need a date. Call me.”
I blinked at him as he left.
Avery watched the door shut and snorted her omelet across the table.
“Yum.” I pushed mine away.
She laughed. “You don’t get it, do you?”
I stared at her.
“He doesn’t have a fucking wedding. He’s playing you at your game. It’s fun.”
“You know, for my best friend, you take a lot of pleasure in my pain.”
Aves shrugged, putting her plate in the sink. “Only when you’re dumb about it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX – POPPY
Truth and Tru Dat
I stared at my phone. It’d buzzed three times with Adam’s name. I’d ignored it until now, but I finally gave in.
Adam: What’s your zodiac sign?
Adam: When’s your birthday?
Adam: What would you rate yourself out of ten on blow jobs?
I laughed and tossed my phone.
Fucking hell. We’d reached a new low. I wasn’t going to reply to that. He was trying to push me into doing it. I wouldn’t give in.
No. No, sir. No, madam. No.
Avery glanced at me. “Adam?”
“No.” I went back to painting. I was so close to finishing the poppy. It was nothing more than details and accents.
I wanted to sit here in my corner, ignoring his texts, so I could add the last of my poppy seeds to the image.
“Ohhh-kay,” Avery said. “I’m going to work.”
“Have fun,” I said, focused on the image.
The seeds were everything. The focus of the poppy. The core. I had to get them right.
Seed after seed I painted. All I wanted was the accuracy.
Until my phone rang.
Adam’s name flashed on the screen.
I ignored it.
The text was immediate.
Adam: I know you’re in there.
I said nothing.
Adam: It’s like that, huh?
I finished my poppy seeds.
Adam: I have to talk to you.
I gave in.
Me: What?
His response was instant.
Adam: Open your door.
I wrinkled my face.
Me: No.
I put my phone to the side and wiped my paintbrush on my arm. I just wanted to get this painting done. Was it so hard? Was it too much to ask for?
There was a knock at the door.
Avery moved.
“Sit down!” I hissed.
She froze, eyes widening as she looked at me. “Why?”
“I don’t—it’s Adam,” I finished with a mutter.
“So why can’t I let him in?”
“He wants to talk to me.”
“Shock horror. A hot, rich guy wants to talk to you.”
I flipped her the bird. “It’s not that simple.”
“I think you’re a wimp,” she said, getting up.
“I told you not to open the door!”
“I’m getting water!”
My phone buzzed again.
Adam: I know you’re in there. I can hear you telling Avery not to answer the door.
Me: You could be guessing based on the fact I don’t like people.
Adam: But you like me.
Me: I never said that.
“Hi, Adam!” Avery said brightly, opening the door.
I gasped. “Traitor!”
Adam grinned. “Can I come in?”
“No,” I said.
“Sure!” Avery bounced to the side. “I was just on my way out.”
“No, you weren’t.” I glared at her.
Adam stepped inside and put his hands in his pockets. “Going anywhere nice?”
She grabbed her purse and patted it. “Taking my book to get some cake.”
“Do they do take-out?”
“You want cake?”
“Chocolate would be great. Thanks. Here. My treat.” He pulled out his wallet and looked at me. “You want some cake?”
I stared between them both. “What is happening here?”
“I’ll get her cake,” Avery said, plucking the twenty-dollar bill from his hand. “You’re not getting change on that, by the way.”
“Didn’t expect to.” He chuckled. “Enjoy your cake!”
Seriously.
What was happening?
The door swung shut behind Avery.
I was so confused.
Had they set me up?
“Is this a set-up?” I asked, peering at Adam over the top of my canvas.
He had the decency to look sheepish when he raised one hand and pinched his finger and thumb together. “Little bit.”
“Little bit? It’s either a set-up or it isn’t. I don’t like it either way.”
“I need to talk to you, and I know you won’t let me do that. So I had to be creative.”
“Creative? Seems like a blatant violation of my right to ignore you.” I sniffed.
“You’ve been ignoring me all day long, Red.”
“I haven’t been ignoring you. I’ve been busy. It’s my day off and I want to finish my painting.”
“Can I see it?”
I sighed. “You’re just gonna walk around the back of me if I say no, so you may as well.”
He laughed. “You know me so well.”
Scarily so, actually.
He walked around the back of me and gripped the back of the chair. “Whoa.”
I hated showing people my paintings.
“Is that a good whoa or a bad one?”
Adam leaned down. “You can’t see how amazing this is?”
“No. I’m an artist. I’m a self-deprecating disaster.”
He laughed, dropping his head down. “This is incredible. Is it…one of the ones I sent you?”
I swallowed, dipping the brush in the black. “Yes.”
“Why did you pick it?”
“Art has to come from the heart.” I swallowed again. “That’s what was in my heart that day.”
“Poppy…”
I dropped the brush and got up, walking around the table. “No. I—I can’t have this conversation with you, Adam.”
“Then don’t talk. I have no problem doing all that if you’ll just listen to me.”
“I don’t want to listen,” I said quietly, turning around and meeting his eyes. I hugged myself with my paint-streaked arms. “And it’s not because I don’t care. I do care. I care about what you want to say, but I also care that it’s going to hurt to hear it.”
“It doesn’t have to hurt to hear it.”
“It will, though. We both know—”
“Do you hear yourself?” He pushed off the chair and walked over to me. His hands framed my face, and he forced me to meet his eyes. “Do you hear how ridiculous you sound? No, Red. We don’t know anything.”
“I know that you could break my heart.”
“And I know that you could break mine.” He touched his forehead to mine for a second before his eyes locked on mine again. “And I don’t care, Poppy. Four days. We had four days together, and three weeks later, I’m still out of my fucking mind thinking about you. You know the last thing I thought about three weeks later? Food.”
I bit my bottom lip to stop myself smiling.
“Really great tacos by my mom’s house,” he went on. “Seriously. Give me all your reasons why we shouldn’t try and make us work and I bet I have an answer for every single one.”