“Most twenty-six-year-olds wouldn’t help a sixteen-year-old stranger file for emancipation from their shitty parents, famous pop star or not. They wouldn’t move said sixteen-year-old in with them and practically adopt them,” Poppy said. “It’s so clear that you’d do anything for Lyric. Most people aren’t that selfless, and I don’t think most people love like that. Not really. Not unconditionally.” People might say they did, but when it really came down to it, when their backs were pressed against a wall, the truth would come out, and most people would falter in their affections. Even parents, in Poppy’s experience, didn’t always love the way they were supposed to. “Fuck talent. I think that makes you special. I think that makes you exceptional.”
Rosaline sniffed hard and let out a wet-sounding laugh as she blinked fast, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Jesus, Poppy. You’re going to make me cry.”
“Sorry.” She wasn’t really. Not for saying what Rosaline so clearly needed to hear.
“Don’t be.” Rosaline shook her head. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re exceptional too.”
Poppy snorted. Exceptionally talented at fucking up and falling short, maybe. “Thanks.”
Rosaline scowled. “I’m serious. Haven’t you learned by now that I’m not in the habit of saying things I don’t mean?”
She squirmed a little. “I guess that’s true.”
“Youguess.” Rosaline rolled her eyes but there was a smile playing at the corners of her mouth that belied her irritation. “I see how you are with Curran. The way you’d do anything for him. It’s no different than how I am with Lyric. And it doesn’t stop there. Screw what your mother thinks, what you did on that carpet was nothing short of amazing. You have such a big heart, and if your parents have their heads buried so far up their asses that they can’t see what’s right in front of them, screw them. So what if you weren’t a part of their plan? I didn’t see you coming, but I’m so glad you did, Poppy.”
She pinched her eyes shut. “I’m glad too.”
Rosaline squeezed her hand. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“I’m not crying.” She was definitely crying. “You’re crying.”
Rosaline laughed. “Yeah. Little bit.”
Poppy dragged in a ragged breath and opened her eyes. “You’re staying with your parents, right?”
Her lips twisted and she nodded. “I thought about renting a place, but it seemed silly. But they turned my old room into storage for my mom’s art supplies, so I have to crash with Helen in her room. It’s only been a day and I’m beginning to regret my choice.”
“You could just stay here. Spare me from playing third wheel to Lyric and Cash.”
“I don’t know, Poppy.” Rosaline gave her a sly, sidelong look. “Where would I sleep?”
Poppy wiggled closer and tossed a leg over Rosaline’s. “In here, with me. Obviously.”
“Presumptuous.” Her lips twitched. “Curran won’t mind?”
“It’s a little late for him to try to protect my long-gone virtue, I think.”
She pinched Poppy’s side, making her squeal. “You know what I meant.”
Poppy laughed. “No, he won’t care. Promise.”
“Hm, I suppose it would be nice not having to make the drive over here every day,” she mused. “Would save me money on gas, at least.”
“Mm, frugality.” Poppy sighed dreamily. “Soromantic.”
Rosaline’s fingers traced the line of Poppy’s jaw, her hand snaking into Poppy’s hair, gripping the back of her head and tilting her just so, their mouths slotting together perfectly. After a moment, Rosaline’s lips curved against hers, smiling into the kiss.
“Is that a yes?” Poppy asked, fingers curling into the hem of Rosaline’s sweater.
“Yeah, Poppy.” She beamed. “It’s a yes.”
Chapter Eighteen
November 30
Sent via form submission from Deuxmoi
Pseudonyms, Please: Anon, please
