Page 182 of Pucking Wild

“They’ll need their Auntie Tess,” I tease. “Who else will teach them how to throw such a fabulous soirée?”

She just laughs.

I reach across the table, squeezing her hand. “I’m happy for you, Rach.”

Before she can respond, Poppy St. James comes breezing up to our table in a flouncy, strapless lilac dress, her hair up in a big, blonde bun. “Hey, y’all, what did I miss? Anything good?” She snatches up a carrot stick off my plate, taking a bite.

I take in her flushed cheeks, her squirrelly behavior, and her messy hair. Usually, Social Media Barbie doesn’t have a single hair out of place on her pretty blonde head. The only other time I’ve seen her looking like this was when…

My gaze snaps to Rachel, and I know she’s already gotten there too.

“Poppy…” she says, a glint in her eye. “Where did you just come from?”

“The bathroom,” she replies, but her eyes give her away. Has this woman ever told a lie in her life?

“Don’t you lie to me,” Rachel presses, seeing right through her too. “Were you just hooking up with someone?”

Poppy huffs, plopping her half-eaten carrot back onto my plate. “Why don’t you just scream your foul accusations to the high heavens?”

“You’re as bad as this one,” I say, jabbing a thumb at Rachel, relieved the secret is out.

“Hey, I’ve been good all night, I swear,” Rachel says, raising one hand in mock oath. “The gala host’s wife isn’t allowed to sneak off into coat closets, right?”

“I don’t know what you two are talking about,” Poppy replies. “I stepped out for five minutes to answer the phone and use the bathroom.”

As she speaks, Novy walks past our table, straightening his tie with a quick, “Evening, ladies.”

Hearing his voice, Poppy goes still, her back so ramrod straight, someone must have just shoved a telephone pole up her booty.

Rachel and I exchange another glance. She waits for Novy to clear our table before she descends. “Poppy,” she gasps. “You and Novy—”

“Shhhh.” Poppy waves a hand in her face. “Will you hush up?”

“You horny little horndog,” I tease. “In front of the turtles, Poppy?”

“Oh, please,” she says with a righteous huff. “If you two aren’t the pot calling the kettle black. First there’s you, Miss I MarriedThreeHockey Players,” she tosses at Rachel. “And don’t think we don’t see the way you look at Langley like you wanna climb him like a tree,” she adds at me.

“Actually, it’s the other way around,” I reply, wholly unashamed. It’s not like he’s my colleague or my patient. And Ryan and I agreed last night that we’re going public. “He was the one climbingmewhen we first got here. I may have given him a lil’ taste in the storage room.”

Poppy just huffs again, snatching a glass of wine off a passing tray.

Rachel leans in, elbow on the table. “So, uhh, how long have you two been...you know?”

“That is absolutely none of your business,” Poppy replies, taking a sip of her wine.

I glance from her to Rachel. “Did you—”

“Blegh.” Poppy spits the wine back into her glass. “Will someone take this away from me?” She slaps the glass down and slides it away.

Rachel’s eyes go big as saucers, and I’m sure I’m not any better.

“Wait—are you pregnant?” I say.

Color blooms in Poppy’s cheeks as tears fill her eyes.

“Oh…Pop.” Rachel closes a hand around Poppy’s, giving it a squeeze. “It’s Novy’s, isn’t it? Does he know?”

“I…” Poppy sniffles, her pink lips pursed as she tries not to cry.

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