No one was suggesting Cash couldn’t do what he wanted,datewho he wanted, definitely not Poppy. But his actions, well intentioned as they might have been, were going to have repercussions and it was her job as his publicist to consider them. She wasn’t just his best friend anymore. “I only wish you would’ve talked to me first or—or I don’t know, messaged her privately.” But what’s done was done. “There’s going to be a postgame press conference on Thursday. When someone asks about Lyric, and they’re going to, you should say—”
“Let me guess. No comment? Contrary to popular belief, I’m not a complete moron.”
“You’re not,” she agreed. “And screw anyone who says otherwise. But if you go withno comment, people are going to think you have something to hide. Instead, you should say...” What would Rosaline Sinclair have a client say? Something complimentary that couldn’t be misconstrued. Something like, “I admire her work ethic and I strive to embody the same dedication on the field.”
“Won’t be hard to remember considering it’s the truth.” He sighed and turned, finally meeting her eyes. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m not trying to be a dick or make your job harder.”
“I happen to like a challenge,” she said, ribbing him gently, relieved that he wasn’t still mad at her for implying he was some kind of playboy. “Makes me feel like I’m earning my keep around here.”
He rolled his eyes. “Now who’s being ridiculous?”
Not her. Not only had Cash taken a risk on her when he could’ve easily hired a more seasoned publicist—someone with more than just a college internship and a few measly years spent working at a midsize agency under their belt, followed by an embarrassing firing Poppy desperately didn’t want to think about—he was also letting her live in his guest room, rent free. There wasn’t anything ridiculous about wanting to square up, even the score.
Never would she let it be said that Poppy Peterson was a mooch.
“Honestly? I’m probably making this into a bigger deal than it is. Give it a week or two and I’m sure it’ll blow over.”
The news cycle was endless, attention spans short, and fresh gossip constantly emerging. Bored by the lack of drama, people would move on to the next celebrity spectacle, preferablynotinvolving Cash Curran.
He stared into the middle distance and sighed, shoulders slumping. “It was a long shot anyway.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
He slipped his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose and looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “What do you mean what do I mean? Lyric Adair probably gets hundreds, if not thousands, of DMs a day. What are the chances she reads any of ’em?” His laugh was all kinds of self-deprecating and it made Poppy’s chest ache. “Odds of her responding to a public tweet aren’t any better, but I just wanted her attention, you know?”
Far be it for her to judge when she’d acted far,fardumber for attention. At least Cash’s gaffe was harmless. “I get it.”
He slouched deeper into the love seat, letting his head loll against the back of the couch. “Have you ever—” He cut himself off, scrubbing a hand roughly over his face, skewing his sunglasses. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”
Poppy dug her toes into his thigh. “Tell me.”
His hand fell to his side with a heavy sigh. “Have you ever felt it down in your bones that you were meant to meet someone?”
What she wouldn’t give to feel that sure about anything, that confident. That a day could go by where she didn’t second-guess every decision she made. “This is one massive crush you have, huh?”
“Nah,” he said, breezy tone at odds with the set of his jaw. “I don’t even know her. I just wanted...” He trailed off with another of those resigned laughs. “Doesn’t matter what I wanted. She’s so far out of my league, it’s like we’re not even playing the same fucking sport.”
Outside of sports, leagues were stupid and juvenile and even if they weren’t... “Did you forget you’re CashfreakingCurran? Come on. They wanted you to be the next Bachelor.”
And he could’ve been had filming not conflicted with training camp.
“That shit’s not real and you know it.” He shook his head. “Have you seen the guys she dates? Half those dudes have Emmys. Or Oscars. Grammys? Fuck if I know.”
“And you’ve got a Heisman. Two National Championships. A Super Bowl ring.” She ticked off his accomplishments on her fingers. “You’re no slouch yourself.” She poked him in the chest, impressing upon him her sincerity. “In fact, you, Cash Anthony Curran, are a total catch, a determination I feel uniquely qualifiedto make as someone who knew you before you were a mega-famous football player. I knew you when you had gross neon-green rubber bands on your braces and went three weeks thinking Axe was a stand-in for deodorant.”
“Don’t remind me,” he muttered. “Also? I’m pretty sure you’re, like, contractually obligated to say that.”
They didn’thavea contract. “When have you ever known me to bullshit you?”
“Doesn’t matter. This whole thing was a dumb idea.” He lifted his hips and slipped his phone from his pocket, thumb flying across the screen. “There. I deleted the tweet. I know it’s not the same thing as never having put it out there in the first place, but it should help things blow over. Right?”
Now she felt bad. “Cash—”
“Poppy.” The look he shot her was of fond exasperation. “I’m good. Seriously.”
The bubbly, slightly breathy vocal stylings of Carly Rae Jepsen filled the air, putting the conversation on a pause. Poppy pulled her phone from her pocket and frowned at the screen.
Restricted.“Hello?”
