Four Day Fling

She was still drunk… Or so she said.

“That did brighten the morning up,” he said with a smirk. “I’m sorry I have to leave so early. I’d stay later if I could.”

I shrugged. “It’s fine. I won’t be here much longer. I have to work the lunch shift tomorrow and I don’t want to get in late.”

“Did Avery already lave?”

“Yeah. She has to work tonight, so she left right after breakfast.”

He nodded slowly. We stood for a moment, just looking at each other until I laughed and dipped my chin.

“What’s so funny?” He hooked two fingers beneath my chin, so our eyes met.

“This is ridiculous.” My hair came loose so I pushed it back again. “I mean—we’ll see each other again. We don’t live a million miles apart.”

“I know your favorite bar. And where you work,” he added.

“Exactly. This is dumb.”

“Come here.” He pulled me into his body, wrapping his arms around me tightly. I squeezed my eyes shut at the pang in my heart when he kissed the top of my head.

Jesus, I needed to pull myself together. We had feelings for each other, but we’d cleared it up last night. I wasn’t the girl who could deal with him being away as much as he would be. Relationships were hard for him because of hockey, and that was fine.

Adam pulled back and kissed me, one hand around the back of my neck. I felt it right down to the tips of my toes—and when he pulled away, I pressed my face into his chest.

I didn’t want him to see how deep that kiss had tugged at me.

I squeezed him tight then pulled back. “Thank you for saving my ass this weekend.”

“I’ll save your ass anytime, Red.” He smiled, then kissed me once more before he let me go.

I backed up, bumping into Rosie’s car next to his. My foot stung, so I put weight on my toes instead of my whole foot and watched as he got into his car. He rolled the window down, and the rumble of the engine as it started made me want to climb on the roof so he couldn’t go anywhere.

He winked, shooting me one of his sexy half-smiles before he backed up.

The last I saw of him was him raising his hand out of the window in a wave.

I held mine up lamely, swallowing back a thick lump in my throat.

It wasn’t supposed to hurt this much.

Rosie came up next to me and wrapped an arm around me. “Come on, Hopalong. Let’s sit.” She guided me over to the stairs and we sat down, staring out at the parking lot.

Well, I stared at it. At the road out of it, to be honest.

She was looking at me with the kind of understanding only a sister could feel—like she felt the very same ache, I did knowing that he was gone.

“Tell me if I’m wrong, but that plan backfired, huh?”

That was one way to put it.

I shrugged and looked down at my painted toes. “Doesn’t matter, does it? It was for one weekend only. I knew that. So did he.”

“That’s not the point, Pops,” she said gently, squeezing me into her side. “Does that really mean it has to be over?”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

“He might be here to be your fake boyfriend, but you don’t need to be a genius to see that you both developed very real feelings by the end of the weekend. Christ, Avery took one look at you and needed a hot shower.”

I bit back a laugh and buried my face in my hands. “God, Ro. This was supposed to be easy. He wasn’t supposed to make me laugh or anything like that. He was just supposed to be…there.”

“Well, him being just “there” bombed the second you brought a hockey player into a hockey-mad family.”

“All right, fine, I get it. Next time, I’ll check that my fake date isn’t famous in any way.”

She shook her head slowly. “Admit it. You like him. A lot.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” I said softly, looking at her. “If I say it out loud, then I can’t deny it anymore, can I?”

She smiled, but it was full of sadness.

Instead of arguing with me like I thought she would, she pulled me into her, and I rested my head on her shoulder.

I knew two things for sure.

I needed to get back to my real life, but there was one glaring problem with that.

My life would never be the same after Adam Winters.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE – POPPY

Flowers and Fuck This

Last night, I’d stumbled through the door—quite literally, thanks to my foot—and beelined for the freezer. Avery had texted me that she’d bought ice cream and wine and that it was all mine.

That was true friendship.

I’d allowed myself to whine at Netflix and get lost in a documentary while I ate my weight in ice cream, then went to bed. All right, so I fell asleep on the sofa with the empty carton in my hand and Avery had dragged me to bed, but don’t judge me.