Page 50 of Game Plan

This is about us.

Poppy’s attention moves to the vase in my hand. “Those are gorgeous. That purple is stunning.”

“They’re for you.”

She takes them. “Did you know that ranunculus are my favorite flowers, or did you get lucky?”

“That would’ve been one hell of a coincidence.”

“How did you know?” she asks, admiring the blooms.

“Last year at the Christmas Bazaar. We were talking about mistletoe, and you said it was ugly, and that you’d rather hang ranunculus around the house.” I shrug. “I went home that night and googled it.”

Her cheeks turn the same color as her dress. “You don’t miss anything, do you?”

“Not when it matters to you.”

The flush deepens as she places the vase on the table in the doorway.

“Are you ready to go? We have reservations at Picante in forty-five minutes,” I say.

I expect her to make a play to stay home. Poppy’s answer is always sex, and it’s one I’ve never balked at until recently. But tonight, she surprises me by stepping outside and locking the door behind her.

She faces me with a contented smile that steals my breath.

I take her hand in mine. I’m the luckiest fuck in the world.

“Thanks.” I leave the driver’s side door open for the valet and round the front of the SUV. Another attendant heads for Poppy’s door, but I give him a small nod to hold up.

He steps away, and I reach for Poppy’s handle.

“Thank you,” she says, taking my hand before stepping onto the curb. The air around her is perfumed with citrus and warmth, and her palm is small and soft in mine. “Hey, look at that. No one with a camera.”

“Were you worried there would be?”

She smiles. “Worried? No. Curious? Yes.”

“It’s one of the reasons I chose Picante. Fenton Abbott’s restaurants have tight security. If you want a photo op, you better go elsewhere.”

“Oh, I get it,” she says, laughing. “You chose somewhere safe in case I bailed, huh?”

I shrug, because the thought did cross my mind. Bombarding her with cameras and questions on day one of our fake engagement seemed a little risky. That’s especially true, considering I’ve deemed her a flight risk for two years.

We step inside the restaurant with our fingers locked together.

“I’m disappointed,” she says as the hostess leads us to our table.

“Why?”

She angles her mouth toward me. “Because you should know me better than that.” She waits as I pull out her chair, then grins mischievously. “I’m not bailing until I get to fuck you at least once.”

My insides burn, my balls pulling tight while I get her situated, and then I take my seat beside her. We’ve gone to dinner so many times, but it feels different tonight.

“Have you said anything to Branch or Layla?” she asks, brushing a lock of hair over her shoulder.

I adjust my tie. “No. I talked to my sister briefly last night, but she was dealing with a cranky Sunny, and it didn’t seem like the right time. Besides, I didn’t want to say anything until I knew whether you would agree.”

Poppy sits back as a server appears and asks if we’d like still or sparkling water. We wait until he’s gone before we resume our conversation.