“Ah.” Poppy winced. “Yeah, Eileen can be a bit of a, uh... mother hen.”
“That’s certainly one way of putting it.”
That sounded ominous. “What did she say?”
If Eileen said something truly egregious, Poppy would have to pass it on to Cash. He’d want to know.
Rosaline sighed and pressed her fingertips to the space between her brows. “She asked me if Lyric plans to retire after having children.”
Oof. That was—bad, putting the cartwayin front of the horse. “I wish I could say I’m surprised, but Cash’s parents are kind of—”
“Fossilized?”
“I was going to saytraditional, but yeah, that works.” Poppy rolled her eyes. “It took forever to convince them that there was nothing going on between me and Cash, that contrary to whatever old-fashioned notions they had, guys and girls could be just friends.”
Rosaline cast her a sidelong glance. “So you and Curran never...?”
Poppy shuddered so hard she almost crashed into the wall. “God, no. Cash is—he’s like mybrother. No offense to him or whatever, butdefinitelynot.”
Rosaline’s shoulders relaxed, rolling down and settling low, arms loose at her sides. “Jocks not your type?”
“Not really?” Poppy hedged as they stepped out onto the crowded concourse on the western side of the stadium. “To be fair, I don’t think I have a type.”
The only thing any of the people she’d dated—and she used that term loosely—had in common was that they’d all eventually dumped her, leaving Poppy for greener pastures.
“Maybe you just haven’t found what you’re looking for.”
“Maybe.” Though looking implied she was putting actual effort into trying to find someone and Poppy hadn’t been out on a date in over a year. “What about you?”
They joined the line outside PDX Grille, queuing up behind a guy who’d foregone a shirt, half his torso painted green, the other half black, the colors in the middle muddied by the sweat dripping down his back. Rosaline squinted up at the menu. “Football players aren’t really my type, either.”
“Darn,” Poppy joked. “And to think Cash wanted to introduce you to Goliath.”
Rosaline whipped her head toward Poppy, her eyes comically wide. “Goliath?”
She bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to smile. “Yeah. Robert Haverford. Number fifty-four, offensive tackle. They call him Goliath because he’s six eight and weighs, like, three hundred and eighty pounds. Cash thought you’d make a cute couple.”
Rosaline’s eyes narrowed. “See, I know you’re fucking with me, but in case Curran ever gets the bright idea to play Cupid? Tell him he can save his breath.”
“Oh? Are you, uh, seeing someone?”
It was a fair question, perfectly within the realm of polite get-to-know-you conversation.
“No.” She shot Poppy another sideways look. “But I don’t have any problems procuring my own dates.”
Somehow, Poppy had no trouble believing that. “That makes sense.”
The corner of Rosaline’s mouth dimpled. “Does it?”
Heat crept up Poppy’s throat and into her cheeks. “I mean, you’re... you know.”
Gorgeous. Confident. Sexy. Successful. Practically a celebrityin her own right. Rosaline could take her pick of adjectives and she wouldn’t be wrong.
“I don’t, actually.” She arched a brow. “Enlighten me.”
Poppy pretended to study the menu despite already knowing exactly what she planned to order. “You just... strike me as a person who knows what they want and isn’t afraid to go after it. That’s all.”
Rosaline hummed softly and their shoulders accidentally bumped together as the line moved forward. Poppy was ready to move away, worried she’d invaded Rosaline’s personal space when she swayed, seeming to purposefully bump into Poppy. “You’re not wrong. I am rather—”
