Poppy opened her mouth to say that was a relief, that bras were expensive, and this was one of her favorites, basic but pretty, so it was a good thing she wasn’t going to have to trash it or beg a vendor for a bag to stick it in, but instead a sob burst from her lips like a gunshot in the quiet of the restroom.
Under any other circumstance it might’ve been comical how fast Rosaline’s eyes widened, going as big as saucers, but there was nothing funny about any of this.
“Sorry.”She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, trying to stave off the tears burning the backs of her lids. “This is—God,this is so embarrassing. I’m so sorry.”
Mortifying, more like it. Never before had Poppy wanted so badly to just—disappear.
“Hey, no.” Rosaline gently tugged Poppy’s hands away from her face. “You’re fine.”
She shook her head and Rosaline sighed. She hadn’t let go, her thumbs sweeping against the back of Poppy’s knuckles where the skin was stretched taut over bone, Poppy’s fingers curled tight against her palms into fists. It took a moment for her fingers to unclench and when they did, her knuckles ached all the way to her wrists.
“Shit happens,” Rosaline said, the corner of her mouth quirking. “No use crying over spilled beer, right?”
When people talked about how even the most mundane places could feel holy, the sentiment had never resonated with Poppy. Communing with nature might’ve been one thing, but it wasn’t like Poppy had ever felt God in the middle of a Trader Joe’s cheese aisle.
But maybe she did get it, because standing here shirtless and shivering inside the handicap stall felt a lot like being tucked away inside a confessional. Which was the only logical explanation for why she opened her mouth, sins spilling out like soda from a can that had been shaken. “Maybe. But I don’t, uh, I don’t drink. Not—not anymore. Not since I...” She let the sentence hang, trailing off with a stiff shrug. “I smell like beer and Cash’s parents, they’d, um, they’d think I—” Poppy had to pause to swallow and catch her breath. “They might not say it, but they’d assume.”
Assume she’d fucked up. And they’d talk to her parents, who would assume the same, everyone except for Cash waiting for theinevitable moment when Poppy would drop the ball and prove them right. How could Cash think it was smart to trust Poppy with the responsibility of managing and maintaining his public image when she wasn’t even capable of keeping her own life on track?
“Well.” Rosaline’s voice was measured, careful in a way that Poppy hated. “You know what they say about assuming.”
Poppy scoffed and dragged the pad of her thumb under her eyes, flakes of mascara smearing against her skin. “It’s not even like they’d be wrong.”
Rosaline frowned and Poppy sighed.
“Not about—” She pressed her palms against the bare skin of her stomach, and it dawned on her with a dizzying rush of blood to her head that she was standing there, almost half naked. She quickly crossed her arms. “That.But look at me.” Who was she kidding? This wasn’t a confessional, it was a stadium bathroom that smelled like Fabuloso and that generic pink soap that was in all public restrooms. Rosaline was no priest, she was Lyric Adair’s publicist, and even though Poppy hadn’t said the word, she had basically just told Rosaline she was an alcoholic. Brilliant. Fuck flirting; Poppy was doing a stellar job of selling herselfprofessionally. “They didn’t want Cash to hire me. They didn’t think I was cut out for this.” And maybe they were right. Maybe she wasn’t. “I mean, here I am, having a panic attack in a bathroom stall because some asshole spilled beer on me, spilling my guts toyou, and—you didn’t sign on for this. Hell, you already think I’m a total hack so maybe they’re right. Maybe it is only a matter of time before I fuck up.”
Again, just like always, her capacity for screwing up and disappointing the people who mattered to her most knowing no bounds.
The longer she rambled, the more pinched Rosaline’s face became, her eyes flinty and her mouth drawn into a scowl. “I am looking at you.” Her chin rose. “And you want to know what I see?”
Not particularly and not now when it felt like she was made of spun sugar. Like with one wrong word she might shatter into hundreds of thousands of tiny shards like mirror ball glass. She swallowed hard and braced for impact. “What’s that?”
Rosaline’s scowl softened. “I see someone who cares a great deal about the people she loves. Someone who is tenacious and clearly isn’t afraid to speak her mind.” Her breath shuddered softly from between her lips, and she took a step closer to Poppy. “Someone who wantsdesperatelyto do a good job. And anyone who cares that much?” She shrugged. “Everyone stumbles sometimes, but you’re not going to fuck up, Poppy.”
Her eyes burned with a vengeance, and she hugged her arms around her body, fearing she might fracture, that Rosaline might actually kill her with kindness. She stared at the floor, at Rosaline’s black Adidas, and blinked fast. “You can’t know that.”
“Yes, I can.” She tipped Poppy’s chin up with two fingers that lingered against her skin even after she had met Rosaline’s startlingly green eyes. “You want to know how?”
She couldn’t find her voice, so she nodded instead.
“Because...” Rosaline said, her hand drifting down, curling to fit against the front of Poppy’s throat, thumb notched in the space between her clavicles. Not squeezing, just holding, presence not pressure. Poppy’s breath stuttered anyway, her heart rattling against the inside of her ribs. “I said so. Because Itoldyou so.” Rosaline’s thumb swept across the hollow of Poppy’s throat. “And you’re not going to make me wrong, are you, Poppy?”
Something inside her snapped. Her self-control, her sanity, anyguess was as good as any other. She sucked in a breath that felt like breaking the surface of a lake after spending too much time underwater and melted into Rosaline’s touch.
A slow, almost imperceptible smile spread across Rosaline’s face, a little hitch at the left corner of her mouth. Instantly, Poppy’s chest flooded with warmth, the feeling like she’d done something right, incomparable, second to none.
Several stalls away, a toilet flushed, and Rosaline jerked back, hand falling to her side, the little bubble they’d made burst. Poppy immediately mourned the loss of her touch.
“We’re, uh.” Rosaline shivered as she exhaled, dark lashes fluttering with each blink of her heavy lids, looking more discomposed than Poppy had ever seen her. “The game. We’re missing the game.”
“Right,” Poppy croaked. The reason they were here. “The game.”
“You can’t go out there wearing nothing but a bra.” Rosaline shrugged out of her plaid shacket. Her black bodysuit hugged her curves, fitting her like a second skin. “Not that anyone in their right mind would complain.”
Poppy goggled at her. “What?”
Rosaline blinked back. “Did I stutter?”
