Chapter 7
Poppy Davies was doing her best to focus on the conversation at hand as she stood beneath a crystal chandelier hung from a rustic wood beam in the reception with Frankie, Zion, pop star Karina Black, and host of Home Sweet Home Lauren Harrison-Stevens.
Which, to be clear, was not a scenario teenage Poppy ever expected to think about, let alone experience in real life.
Poppy grew up in Pine Ridge, only thirty miles from Hope Falls, Karina and Lauren’s hometown, but their orbits had never once crossed.
She was a huge fan of both women, who were discussing the behind-the-scenes production secrets of Poppy’s favorite real estate reality show, and she should be sipping all the gossip tea as she enjoyed the last of her prosecco.
Instead, Poppy’s attention kept tunneling away from the conversation, returning like a homing pigeon to one man, Adonis Josiah Costas.
She’d learned his full name from his aunt Joanna. Adonis, he actually was a Greek god.
Over the course of the evening, she’d heard people describe him as anti-social, but the man had been the bell of the freaking ball.
Every time she’d turned around, he was speaking to a new group of people, he’d been on the dance floor with two aunts, one cousin, and his grandma.
After hours of being coy, Poppy had marched herself over to get some answers from Frankie for herself and her brother Liam, who had been sulking all night.
She’d asked Frankie what AJ’s deal was while also questioning her in regard to why Liam was walking around with a dark cloud over his head.
Before she got any answers, Karina and Lauren joined their group, and she’d been left with curiosity blue balls.
Poppy discovered something about herself during the reception, her brother wasn’t the only Pinocchio in the family. At the beginning of the night, she’d told herself she’d be fine with a one-sided, unrequited crush. Well, she lied. That standard for happiness was way too low. She wanted more.
Every second that passed without an AJ encounter sent her deeper into the pit of disappointment. She’d pulled out every single tool in her flirting toolbox and failed miserably.
All night they’d been playing eye-contact tag from across the room.
She’d gone with the modern twist on the old faithful drop-the-handkerchief technique: catch his gaze, hold it for three seconds, smile, and then look away.
Textbook, baby. She couldn’t count how many times that silent mating ritual had taken place.
If the handkerchiefs had been literal, the entire room would have been littered with them.
People would be slipping and falling on their asses.
Like now, she sensed him staring at her.
The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood, and she lifted her eyes in his direction, and sure enough, there he was, his gaze locked on hers from across the room.
He stood next to his brother, both identically handsome, but he was about a half-inch taller than his twin, with a face that could sell high-end cologne or inspire bad poetry or ruin a person’s life.
His athletic frame was draped in a suit that fit his broad shoulders like it had been tailored by God himself.
He stood with a kind of contained authority in the way he held his posture, like he knew the secrets of the universe. With his IQ…maybe he did.
That was the thing about AJ, it wasn’t just his appearance, it was the aura. He had a way of looking at people like he saw them, like he saw her. And Poppy wanted—needed—that gaze focused solely on her, preferably naked.
Three, two, one. She tore her eyes away and forced them to return back to base, which consisted of Frankie, Zion, Lauren, and Karina.
Part of her just wanted to walk up and introduce herself, but something was holding her back.
She knew that men wanted a chase. But maybe he didn’t.
But if he were interested in her, he would have made that interest known.
It was the whole he’s-just-not-that-into-you because if-he-wanted-to-he-would.
The voice she’d named Darla Delusion in her head was telling her that he was making his interest known. That the stolen glances were a game of seduction. That she could feel his attraction, but he just hadn’t made a move.
During Girl’s Night Out, Frankie mentioned that the twin who played professional baseball dated actresses, pop stars, and international models, and somehow the other twin pulled even hotter women than him.
She’d said that women had always gone crazy for the strong, silent thing that he had going on.
They thought he was mysterious, and they loved the challenge of being that special one to make him open up.
Upon reflection of that discussion, AJ’s actions this evening made more sense.
She was not in the upper echelon baddie category of women.
It’s not that she’d ever had low self-esteem.
Far from it. She knew what she was bringing to the table.
She was attractive, but more importantly, she was bright, funny, nurturing, loyal, hardworking, and honest.
She’d always prided herself on being “wifey material.” Every man she’d been with had said they saw her as the mother of their children. That was what her diagnosis had taken from her. It had stolen her identity.
Which is probably why she’d been in hibernation. Where she used to be confident, self-assured, and bold. Tonight she was second-guessing herself, she was insecure, and she was timid.
Holy shit. Was this what her mother felt like with her father? Was this how he’d been able to breadcrumb her for over two decades? She promised herself she would never become like her. Never allow a man to be the center of her world, her worth, her happiness.
Obviously, this was just one night, it wasn’t significant, but it had to start somewhere, and she feared it was a slippery slope.
That sobering thought caused her to wrangle back her mind from the dark side of AJ’s inattention just in time that she barely registered the DJ announcing, “Single ladies, assemble on the dance floor!”
Even hearing the words, she hadn’t computed what was happening until Zion pointed at her and said, “You’re up, chickadee!”
Right. The bouquet toss. Poppy wasn’t exactly in the mood to stand in the middle of women jockeying to catch flowers thrown in the air, but she knew if she sat this out, there would be more questions. Questions she did not want to answer.
Don’t you want to get married someday?
Why aren’t you out there?
Is there someone special we don’t know about?
So she marched herself into the fray, determined to look like she cared enough to keep up pretenses. The ballroom pulsed with anticipation, women adjusting their hair, pretending, at least for one night, that flowers thrown by a bride could alter the trajectory of their romantic destinies.
Poppy was flanked by support with Jenna, Hope Falls’ hairstyling goddess and microblading maven, side-eyeing the crowd like she was about to sprint the hundred-meter dash to her left. To her right, Tiana the yoga master was in the Zen-zone. Both women greeted her with hugs and knowing grins.
“These women look like they’ll play dirty,” Tiana whispered, eyes narrowed. “Watch for elbows. I’ve seen injuries from bouquet tosses that are worse than those from mosh pits.”
“Agree,” Jenna co-signed. “Head on a swivel, ladies. Head on a swivel.”
Poppy smiled, happy that her friends were making light of the tradition.
They lined up in the second row, and Poppy took a step back, just close enough to be seen participating but out of the risk of black eyes.
There were at least thirty women packed on the dance floor, all of them radiating a barely disguised competitive energy.
The ages ranged from early twenties to sixties. Most wore game faces, some laughing.
The air was electric with an anticipatory charge.
Dr. Sterling held his new bride’s hand as she stepped up onto an elevated surface.
The DJ started the obligatory countdown, and the crowd joined in, voices rising with the collective hope of women everywhere who’d ever been told their future was waiting right there, just above their heads.
Poppy had no intention of participating in the antiquated tradition.
When the countdown hit zero, Cora flung the floral arrangement high in the air.
Poppy kept her arms at her sides as she watched the flowers arc in a perfect rainbow.
The next second was a blur of pure instinct and reflexes honed from four years on the varsity volleyball team in high school.
Her hands left her sides as the bouquet fell into her arms with a soft thud, ending up with her cradling the arrangement like a baby.
She wasn’t sure how that had happened. Women had jumped over others, leapfrogging, reaching up, and attempting to snatch the coveted roses in a steal, but somehow, they’d landed directly in her arms. She stood there, momentarily stunned, as Tiana and Jenna shrieked and tackled her from both sides, enveloping her in a mutual-hug-sandwich that nearly sent all three to the ground.
Poppy barely heard the applause as she made her way off the dance floor because she met AJ’s gaze.
He was standing with Niko and another man who she thought was called Anthony.
Despite the distance, Poppy felt his focus like a hot spotlight.
She felt his stare shoot straight to her lady parts.
The look he gave her was complicated, half interest, half something darker, more curious, like he was trying to solve a riddle and she was the clue.
Whatever pheromone this man had, her body was very susceptible to it.
It was so potent, it had affected her through a 2D photo on social media.