“Uh, a soda would be nice. Any flavor.”
Rosaline retrieved a can of cherry vanilla Olipop from the fridge, which just so happened to be Poppy’s favorite. She cracked open the can and poured it into the empty wineglass before nodding to one of the tall barstools in front of the island. “Make yourself comfortable. I have a feeling we’re going to be here awhile.”
Poppy hauled herself onto the stool as smoothly as possible. “Your place is beautiful. Very midcentury Spanish eclectic. I love it.”
Set behind that grand carriage-style door was a veritable oasis. Bird-of-paradise sprouted proudly from the enormous terra-cotta planter by the door, magenta orchids and African violets dotting the long entry table. The floors were octagonal Saltillo tile overlaid with a colorful Moroccan rug, and the textured walls were painted a vibrant saffron from the foyer all the way down the hall leading to a kitchen even Nancy Meyers would covet with its ginormous island and emerald glass-front cabinets, peacock-colored backsplash, bevy of copper pots and pans hanging from the ceiling, and cream-colored, retro-style appliances.
The place was a cozy, colorful jewel box, so different from the austerity of Cash’s bachelor pad that Poppy could weep. Cash had given her free reign to redecorate as she pleased, but staying with him was only ever meant to be a pit stop, not permanent.
Rosaline looked at her curiously across the island. “Design buff?”
“Unless religiously watchingZillow Gone Wildcounts, hardly.” She gave a self-effacing laugh. “But I know what I like when I see it.”
Rosaline’s eyes raked down the length of Poppy’s body. “Something we have in common.”
Poppy blinked, startled, breath hitching. For a wild second, it almost seemed like...
Ha, no. No, Poppy was totally imagining things. Except, what if... no, no, she wasdefinitelyimagining things. Rosaline Sinclair hadnotjust checked her out. She’d probably just been... hell if Poppy knew, sizing her up?
Historically, Poppy had not always made the best choices, good ones even, but she was trying to turn over a new leaf. Flirting with Rosaline Sinclair would be stupid. Right?
Right. “So Portland, huh?”
“Lake Oswego, if you want to get specific.” Rosaline sipped her wine. “You seem surprised.”
“I mean, Portland is big but it’s notthatbig. I guess I just figured I would’ve, I don’t know, read it somewhere.”
Rosaline cocked her head, braid falling over shoulder, more of that dark, glossy hair slipping free from the loose plait. Poppy had the strangest impulse to tuck it behind Rosaline’s ear, maybe trace the plains of Rosaline’s face with her fingertips while she was at it. To follow the slope of her nose down to the curve of her cupid’s bow.
Poppy tucked her hands underneath her ass, sitting on them instead.
“Read about it?” Rosaline’s lips twitched. “So you’re admitting I’m not the only one who did her research?”
“I don’t think I need to tell you that you’re nearly as famous as Lyric.”
For crying out loud, the woman had her own Wikipedia page. A lengthy one at that.
Rosaline huffed out a soft laugh. “Infamouswould be the word most would use, but sure.”
Poppy tapped her socked toes against the bottom rung of the stool, hands still tucked under her. “Right. So, I watched thatE! True Hollywood Storyabout Lyric when I was in college, and you were featured in it.”
“You really haven’t been doing this for very long, have you?” Rosaline asked over the rim of her wineglass, bursting Poppy’s bubble, and bringing her back down to earth with a whopping case of imposter syndrome.
Poppy nibbled on the inside of her lip. “Is it that obvious?”
“You’re not much older than Lyric is what I meant.”
Oh. “Well, sure. But I’m guessing you already knew that.”
“Curran’s one thing; bold of you to assume I bothered to look you up beyond your contact info.”
“I think it would be bolder of me to assume you didn’t,” Poppy volleyed back.
Rosaline had a certain perspicacity that lent itself to an unparalleled competency that Poppy couldn’t help but admire. She might not be in possession of her own Wiki page, but she would have to be stupid to believe for a single second Rosaline Sinclair didn’t know more about her than she was letting on.
“I’m starting to think I’m not the only one who should come with a warning.” Rosaline gave her an appraising sidelong glance, her left brow rising sharply. “You’ve been Curran’s publicity manager for a little over a year.”
It wasn’t a question, but Poppy nodded anyway. “Mhmm. About a year and two months.” Since the recent expansion draft brought Cash home to Portland to play for the Pathfinders, the NFL’s newest enfranchised team.
