Chapter Two
Lyric Adair reposted
RAIN OR SHINE, HOME OR AWAY, YOU KNOW THE @portlandpathfinders ALWAYS COME TO PLAY, BABY! ONE MORE SLEEP TIL WE SHOW UP AND
SHOW OFF #PDXvsLAC ?????#PathfindersNation
um is no one going to talk about the fact that @lyricadair is now following @cashcurran?!?
PaigeLA @infrontofmysalad · 16h
besties who wants to bet lyric adair is gonna be at the #PDXvsLAC game?
Cherry ?? @polinlover96 · 16h
replying to @infrontofmysalad
unhinged behavior ?? who tf am i kidding, unhinged is practically that girl’s middle name. she’s totally gonna be there.
Maya @cantevenparallelpark · 4h
The camera just panned to the VIP box. I don’t see Lyric ?? #PDXvsLAC
Portland Pathfinders @portlandpathfinders · 1h
27–19 FINAL SCORE! ANOTHER WIN FOR THE #PathfindersNation ??????? SEE YOU NEXT WEEK, MIAMI.
Los Angeles was weird.
There was a whole boulevard of stars and not a single one in the sky. None that Poppy could see. It was eerie that there was
this great, big, black blanket of nothingness over their heads, visible through the sunroof of the Ranger Rover they were
currently cruising in down Nightingale Drive.
“We’re just about there, Miss Peterson,” their driver said, eyes meeting hers in the rearview mirror.
She pressed a hand to her stomach, the quasi-queasiness she’d been experiencing since she’d touched down at LAX yesterday
increasing exponentially. “Thank you.”
Cash squeezed her knee and rocked his shoulder into hers. “I’m starting to think you’re more nervous for my date than I am.”
Cash’s call-slash-interview-slash–chemistry test with Lyric had earned him her phone number. Almost three weeks of nonstop
texting later, they were now en route to the first date.
“I’m not nervous,” she denied, perhaps a touch too vehemently to be believed. “I just . . . want to make a good impression.
Is that so bad?”
“Let me get this straight. You,” he pointed at Poppy, “are worried about making a good impression during my,” he pointed at himself, “date.”
“When you put it like that, it sounds silly,” she groused.
Cash let out a curt snicker that had her wishing they were kids again so she could reach out and tweak his nipple through his ridiculously garish silk Gucci shirt. “Because it is silly. You’re hopeless, Pop-Tart.”
She sputtered out an indignant laugh and swiveled in her seat to face him. “Me? Hopeless? Have you met me? I am a fucking ray of sunshine. I am the opposite of hopeless. I am—I am full of hope.”
He grinned, teeth glinting in the dim light of the back seat. “Full of something.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Do not test me. I will turn this car around.”
From the front, the driver snorted, quickly covering the sound with a cough. Poppy’s face warmed.
“I will have the driver turn this car around,” she amended.
“No, you won’t. Because you want to make a good impression on Rosaline Sinclair,” Cash teased, voice annoyingly singsongy.
“Cash,” she warned, far from in the mood to be teased.
“Relax. It’ll be great. Lyric and I’ll . . .” He trailed off with a vague sweep of his hand that had her wrinkling her nose.
She hadn’t asked about their plans and quite frankly the less she knew the better. “And you’ll, what? Make small talk for
a few hours?” He stretched out his big, dumb hands and gave her even dumber spirit fingers. “Oooh, so scary.”
She smacked his chest. “Shut up.”
“I wouldn’t bet against me if I were you,” he said. “My gut’s telling me tonight’s going to be a total success.”
Of course it was. He was going to get to spend the evening charming a pretty girl. Poppy, on the other hand, was going to spend the evening—actually,
she didn’t know how she was going to spend the evening.
She and Rosaline hadn’t discussed the specifics, only the logistics.
Location (Rosaline’s house as it was private and secure), time (here Rosaline had offered a little grace given the chance of the game going into overtime and the knowledge that LA traffic was notoriously a bitch), and a warning not to breathe a word to a single soul.
A touch overkill considering the brand spankin’ new NDA Poppy and Cash had signed, but Poppy wasn’t about to begrudge Rosaline her precautions if they provided her and Lyric with peace of mind.
The car briefly idled in front of a wrought iron gate that looked as elaborate as it did secure before passing through, stopping
in front of a two-story Spanish colonial with a windowless half-round carriage-house-style front door surrounded by a half
arch of bright pink bougainvillea.
Cash whistled as he opened his car door. “Nice place.”
The butterflies in her stomach transformed into bees and her pulse pounded painfully in her throat. Go time. “Before we head
in—”
“It’s a date. My date, not a press conference or some public appearance. I don’t need a briefing and I definitely don’t need my hand held.”
Cash stepped out of the car, turned, and ducked, green eyes full of mirth. “I love you, I do, but I’ve got this.”
“I’m sure you think you’ve got this, but—”
The door shut in her face.
Poppy scrambled out after him, moving slower, her pleated A-line skirt bunching awkwardly around her hips as she slid across
the leather, tossing a quick thanks at the driver before shutting the door and hurrying after Cash, hoping to corral him before—
Too late. The door swung upon and suddenly Cash had his arms full of pop star.
All perfect, light brown skin and warm brown eyes, springy coils of hair held back from her face with a tangerine knotted headband, Lyric Adair was even prettier in person.
The gold bangles on her dainty wrist clanged noisily as she threw her arms around Cash and buried her face in his neck, her laughter bright and airy as Cash crushed her against his chest with a deep, booming laugh and swung her in a wide circle.
It felt a little like Poppy was watching a rom-com play out before her eyes. She wasn’t sure she believed in anything as fickle
as fate or soulmates, but maybe, just maybe, Cash had been on to something when he’d talked about that feeling of surety,
that he and Lyric were meant to meet. That maybe this time was different.
“Hi,” Lyric breathed when her feet were finally back on the ground, her face tipped up, staring at Cash, still clinging close,
her hands holding tight to his biceps.
Cash sounded equally as breathless as he stared down at her, cheeks pink and throat working hard with each swallow. No nerves,
her ass. “Hi. I, uh, got these for you.” He thrust a bouquet of slightly smushed four-leaf clovers he had special ordered
from a fancy florist shop they’d had to detour to after the game.
“Are these—oh my god, you got me a bouquet of four-leaf clovers? I didn’t even know they sold those,” Lyric gushed, eyes full
of hearts.
Cash ducked his head and gripped the back of his neck, which had turned red. “I might’ve read in an old interview that they’re
your favorite. And they’re supposed to bring good luck, so I made it happen.”
“You did your homework, huh?” Lyric teased.
The moment was ridiculous and cheesy and Poppy didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or roll her eyes, maybe do some combination
of all three as Lyric and Cash continued to stare at each other like they were the only two people in the world, like Poppy
didn’t even exist.
“You played your ass off tonight,” Lyric praised and Cash’s flush deepened, the tips of his ears going crimson, clashing with his lavender shirt.
“You watched?”
“You’re not the only one willing to do their homework.” Lyric cuffed him playfully on the shoulder. “That play where you threw
the ball, ran, and caught it in the end zone? That was—insane.”
“Insane might be a bit of an overstatement.” Rosaline leaned against the front doorjamb, watching the scene play out with wary eyes
at odds with her inviting smile. “But it was a decent game.”
She was shorter than Poppy expected. Which was probably a weird thing to think upon first meeting someone in person, but she’d
always exuded such confidence on the red carpet that Poppy had figured she’d be taller than the five-foot-two, maybe five-foot-three inches she stood. Short compared to Poppy’s flatfooted five-seven inches, even shorter considering her special
game day sneakers had platforms.
With cheekbones that could cut glass and a soft, generous mouth, Rosaline Sinclair was a mix of one contradiction after another.
Her dark brown hair had begun to escape the fishtail braid that hung over her right shoulder, loose strands framing her face
and softening her features, drawing Poppy’s gaze to her eyes, piercing shards of green bottle glass lined with black in the
inner and outer corners. Glints of metal ran up her ears and a small stud in her nose sparkled in the warm glow of the porch
light. She was Disney-princess gorgeous and covered in tattoos, like an alternative pinup girl.
“Decent?” Lyric lobbed a disbelieving look at her publicist. “Don’t act like you weren’t screaming at the television during the last
quarter. Cash, don’t listen to her. You were amazing.”
“I was all right.” He ran a hand over the top of his head, a nervous tick he’d had since they were kids. “I mean, there were ten other guys with me on the field. It was a team effort.”
Rosaline sighed and pushed off the doorjamb. Her gray, acid-washed, oversize shirt had some band Poppy had never heard of
on the front, a band she was absolutely going to google the second she got back to the hotel. The cotton looked worn and soft,
the hem raw and ragged, and the neckline hung off one of Rosaline’s slender shoulders, elaborate grayscale floral ink creeping
up her toned arms. “You were the recipient of the Davey O’Brien Award, Walter Camp Award, Maxwell Award, Manning Award, Heisman
Trophy, named Associated Press Player of the Year, Pac-12 Offensive Player of the Year, and that’s just your college career.
False modesty doesn’t suit you, Curran.”
Cash chuckled awkwardly and threw a wide-eyed look at Poppy that screamed save me. “Poppy warned me you’d, uh, do your research, but hell, that’s thorough.”
Rosaline’s eyes flitted past Cash, her gaze landing on Poppy, who, for a moment, forgot how to breathe. It was patently unfair
to be that attractive. Save some good looks for the rest of the planet. “I require a warning, do I?”
As if she didn’t already know she was terrifying, as if she didn’t relish the fact, as if she hadn’t constructed a fearsome
reputation with intention.
“To be honest?” Poppy’s heart could outpace a hummingbird and only half the reason was because Rosaline terrified her, the
other half because it had been a minute since Poppy had been around someone so beautiful and it was throwing her off her game.
“I think we both know you do.”
“Poppy,” Cash hissed through his teeth. “The fuck?”
What? She shrugged. She was just being truthful, something she hoped Rosaline would appreciate.
Rosaline gave her an incredibly amused look before turning back to Cash.
“I’m thorough, don’t get me wrong, but digging up the highlight reel of your college career was hardly necessary considering you’ve been a hometown favorite for over a decade.
Be glad you were a Duck, Curran, and not a Beaver, otherwise I might’ve decided not to let you darken my door. ”
Poppy frowned. “Hometown favorite?”
“Rosaline’s from Portland,” Lyric said as if it were common knowledge. She reached around Cash and held out her hand to Poppy.
“It’s really great to meet you, by the way. Cash has told me so much about you.”
Poppy shook Lyric’s hand. “Likewise.”
“It’s such a nice night that I was thinking we could spend some time out on the patio.” Lyric wrapped her hand around Cash’s
elbow with a casual sort of comfort most couples didn’t exhibit after three dates, let alone the one they had yet to actually
go on. “Did you two want to join us?”
Poppy opened her mouth to tell Lyric her offer was incredibly kind, but no way was she going to impose when Rosaline beat
her to the punch.
“You have fun.” Rosaline’s stare clashed with Poppy’s, the corners of her mouth twitching upward, not quite a smile but close.
“Poppy and I are going to spend a little time getting to know each other.”