Representatives for the World Music Awards and Executive Prevention Protection, the group that provides security for the event and others like it, have yet to respond to requests for comment from theLos Angeles Times.
Chapter Thirteen
Traffic on I-10 W at this time of night was mercifully light.
Rosaline spent the majority of the drive staring out the window and Poppy spent most of the drive staring at Rosaline.
She’d said maybe fifty words to Poppy since leaving the theater, Cash and Lyric taking a separate car to her house, skipping the after-parties in favor of a quiet night in, savoring their time together before he’d have to leave at the ass crack of dawn to fly back to Portland.
Three blocks down from Poppy’s hotel, AKA Beverly Hills was hosting the iHeartRadio after-party. The entire Golden Triangle district would be teeming with paparazzi and rather than deal with that, Rosaline had suggested she stay with her, an invitation Poppy had been all too eager to take her up on.
Only now, sitting and stewing in the silent back seat of the limo, Poppy was beginning to rethink the plan.
“Are you sure you aren’t mad?”
“I’m not mad. I’m—” Rosaline pressed her fingertips to the space between her brows and sighed. “When we first met, you told me that people were always going to be more important to you than good publicity. You aren’t the only one who feels that way. Maybe I don’t alwayssayit, but... most people—people who don’t know me—think I’m Rosaline Sinclair, Machiavellianbitch pulling strings behind the scenes who doesn’t care about anything but the narrative.” She stared down at her lap. “I don’t want you to be most people.”
Poppy didn’t want to bemostpeople, either. She wanted to be more than that. So much more. “I know that. I guess I just hadn’t realized that you...”
She didn’t know how to finish that sentence in a way that wouldn’t give her own growing feelings away.
Rosaline’s face softened. “I like you, Poppy.”
The profession was bittersweet. She liked her, but she didn’t like her the way Poppy was growing to like Rosaline. It wasn’t the same. But it was good. It was—it was good enough. Close enough.
Not that it needed to be said, but... “I like you too.”
A wrinkle appeared between her brows. “Do you?”
She looked at Rosaline sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She shrugged a shoulder, eyes fixed on the seat in front of her. “Earlier, in the limo, you seemed uncomfortable with Curran and Lyric knowing about us. If you didn’t want me to say anything to Lyric, I’m sorry. She and I, we don’t really keep secrets from each other, and considering you told Curran—”
“Technically,I didn’t tell him. The gigantic love bite you left on my neck did the talking for me.”
Rosaline pressed her lips together, eyes dancing with mirth. “Sorry?”
“No, you’re not.” Poppy laughed.
Rosaline smirked. “No, I’m really not. Lyric had a lot of questions about what you and I were doing together alone after midnight. A lot of extremely pointed questions. So, I suppose I was put in a similar situation.”
The car made a left onto Nightingale Drive, the street Rosaline lived on.
“I wasn’t uncomfortable earlier. Or, yeah, I was, but only because Cash is, well—I love him, but he’s Cash. His sense of humor is, well, you heard him today. And I didn’t know if this”—she pointed between them—“was supposed to be like, you know,Fight Club.”
A laugh burst from between her lips. “Fight Club? When I was teasing you earlier about needing a firm hand, I certainly didn’t have anything quite that brutal in mind.”
“No!” Poppy snickered. “The first rule ofFight Clubis you don’t talk aboutFight Club?”
Rosaline bit her bottom lip, clearly stifling a laugh. “No, it’s not likeFight Club.At least not to me. I mean, unlike Lyric—who, for the record, is a big fat liar because she does, in fact, go into specifics, meaning I know entirely too much about your best friend’s sex life—I’m a firm believer thatsomethings should remain private. That being said”—Rosaline reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Poppy’s ear—“a part of me wants to brag to everyone I know that I get to have you like this.”
Rosaline’s touch lingered, fingers grazing the shell of Poppy’s ear, the lobe, the sensitive spot behind it, before she trailed the back of her knuckles along her neck.
Poppy shivered. “Get to have me like what?”
The wrought iron gate outside of Rosaline’s house opened, allowing the car to pass.
Rosaline took her hand away, lips quirking when Poppy arched her neck, chasing Rosaline’s touch. “Come inside with me and find out.”
