Poppy
I lead a double life. I have a secret identity and everything.
Actually, I have a pen name, which is almost the same thing.
By day, I am Ingrid Chase, author of erotically charged science-fiction romance novels. By night, I am Poppy Thorndyke, British socialite and heiress to the entertainment and transportation empire of Richard Thorndyke.
Wait … that’s not right.
I do most of my writing at night. Which means by day I’m an heiress and by night I’m a writer.
Either way, the point is, it’s exhausting being two people.
Especially since I fail so miserably at being Poppy Thorndyke. I am not thin enough or glamorous enough to suit my father. I’m not socially ambitious enough for my mother—who told me that if she’d had to fuck my father for four years and put up with his philandering, the least she should get out of it is a royal son-in-law. Since I have yet procured a title for her future grandchildren, alas I am a huge disappointment to both my parents.
In fact, I am arguably a huge disappointment to everyone (at least everyone I know) with one exception. My best friend, Samantha.
Is it a wee bit humiliating that she is my best friend and I had never met her in person until today?
Why, yes it is.
But we’re writers. By nature, we’re both solitary and until now, our weekly zoom calls to critique each other’s work were enough to sustain us.
“I can’t believe you’re really here.” My American friend smiles at me from across the sticky pub table.
She grabs my hands and together we squeeze.
“It was past time for a visit.” I feel a lump of unseemly emotion rising up to clog my throat, but I shove it down. I flew half way around the world for this trip because my friend needed me. She is balanced on the edge of heartbreak and she doesn’t need me to get all maudlin about my loneliness.
If she had wanted to spend the evening at my hotel watching period dramas and drowning her grief in ice cream, we would have done that. But instead she wanted to show off her little slice of Texas, so that’s what we’ve been doing. “I can’t believe how close you are to the ocean.”
“Yeah. Texas isn’t really known for our pretty beaches, but I still love it. It’s definitely home.”
“I’ve only been here for part of a day and I’ve had so much sun exposure I feel like a new woman.”
This is the first time I’ve ever been to America. I’ve traveled all over Europe, but my father never wanted me to come over here. He’d always wrinkle his nose and tell me I wouldn’t like it. That it was too loud and dirty and that Americans didn’t appreciate history or heritage. Which is absolutely ridiculous considering my father owns the largest tech company in England and has a forty-thousand square foot state-of-the-art building where he runs his kingdom. Nothing historic about that.
I’ve always wondered if what he actually meant was that my mother hadn’t liked it. Both of my parents have trouble seeing me as my own person and not just an extension of their former spouse, not just as another asset to fight over.
I’m distracted by a group of men coming in the front door. One after another they come in, laughing and cutting up. And each one is hotter than the last. It’s ridiculous. I’ve never seen so many attractive me in one spot.
“Oh my,” I say. “It’s like a fireman’s calendar on parade.”
Several of male models wave at my friend. She chuckles. “Those are my co-workers.”
“Bugger me. How do you work with that much hotness on a regular basis.” I lean closer and whisper. “Do you keep a vibrator in your desk?”
She laughs heartily, but shakes her head. “I know they’re all stupid hot. I recognize that. Several of them are married or have girlfriends.”
I scan the group of men who are now sitting at a huge round booth. While they’re all handsome, my eyes keeps going to the one in the back, cowboy hat riding low on his forehead. Just looking at him gives me the shivers. “Which one is Jason?” I ask her.
She’s half in love with one of her co-workers, and I want to make sure the man I’m eyeing isn’t her guy.
Not that I’m planning on doing more than admiring from afar, but even that would like a betrayal if the sexy cowboy is hers.
She holds her drink in front of her and rattles off the details. “Tall, unassuming boring clothes, black-rimmed glasses, perfect ass and the most attractive dick I’ve ever seen.”
Whew. Not the cowboy.
Again, I would never expect any of those men to even look at someone like me, not unless they knew my net worth.
But there are advantages to being a slightly dumpy, borderline plain woman. One of them is that most people don’t even notice me. Which means I get to do all the people watching I want without worrying about the awkwardness of having a man look back.
So that is exactly what we do while Sam gives me the highlight reel of her budding relationship with Jason. I flipflop between envy and despair as she describes her past several days.
The emotional gambit she’s been through is almost enough to make me thankful I’m not the kind of woman men even notice. At least, that's why I tell myself. Right up until the minute the sexy cowboy saunters up to our table and introduces himself.
Because the moment he winks at me and flashes that slow southern smile, all bets are off.
Buy Curves and Cowboys.