Chapter Eleven
The world’s largest fan-voted awards show is tonight! Tune in on @CBS or @paramountplus to see your favorite stars perform
including the long-awaited return to the stage of @lyricadair! #WMAs
The secret’s out! I can’t wait to hit the stage at tonight’s #WMAs! The support you all have shown for my first single off
the new album has been truly mind-blowing. Your enthusiasm and excitement for Santa Ana has been amazing and the support you’ve
shown me this last year has touched me in ways I can’t put into words. Maybe I’ll just express my gratitude by playing you
all a new song tonight instead
in my santa ana era @omgahdaaaaavid · 4h
replying to @lyricadair
a new song?! screaming crying throwing up ??
Victoria @pdxprincess · 3h
replying to @lyricadair
but is @cashcurran going to be there?!?!?!
liliana @evanbuckleystan98 · 1h
replying to @pdxprincess
oh my god imagine the red carpet photos ??
Victoria @pdxprincess · 1h
replying to @ evanbuckleystan98
praying mother and father keep us fed ??
“I’m just saying. I don’t kiss my friends on the mouth, and I sure as hell don’t have sex with them in dressing rooms.”
“Dressing room, singular.” She glared weakly at Cash from across the back seat of the limo en route to the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel, where
Lyric had been getting red-carpet ready with Vogue. “And for the record, Rosaline and I don’t kiss on the mouth, either.”
He stared blankly at her. “You don’t kiss.”
Poppy wasn’t sure why, but something about the way Cash said it rubbed her the wrong way, putting her on edge. “I told you.
What we’re doing is casual and kissing is . . . kissing isn’t. Kissing is personal.”
“And sex isn’t?” Cash made an obvious effort to collect himself, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “You can’t seriously
tell me you’re okay with this. Poppy, I know you and I know you like her more than you’re letting on.”
She shrugged. “I’ll get over it.”
“It” being the ever-growing, decidedly not shrinking crush she was harboring for Rosaline that her four days in Los Angeles had done nothing to squash.
“You’re going to get over it,” Cash spoke slowly, “by continuing to fuck her?”
She was done talking about this. Done thinking about it too. “Thank you for your concern, but I knew what I was getting myself
into when I agreed to it.”
“Have you thought about talking to Rosaline? Maybe you’re not the only one who—”
“Nope.” Poppy shook her head, hair she’d spent too long trying to curl tickling her bare shoulders. “She was very clear about
what she wanted.”
The limo pulled to a stop in front of the back entrance of the hotel.
“What about what you want, Poppy?”
“Please, please don’t say anything in front of Rosaline,” she begged. “No mentioning what I told you about the dressing room or making pointed
comments about kissing or innuendos or—”
“I get to make one innuendo.” He stared at her with narrowed eyes over steepled fingers. “One.”
“We’re not haggling.”
“Two innuendos.”
She glared. “I like Rosaline, okay? And maybe you think what I’m doing is stupid, and maybe you’re right. Maybe this is all going to come back
and bite me in the ass, but for tonight, I’m just asking you to be cool, okay? Be cool and don’t say anything that’s going
to send her running for the hills.”
“Okay.” He shrugged and she was about to breathe a sigh of relief when he added, “Three innuendos.” He grinned when she scoffed and threw up her hands. “Hey, I am your boss, remember? Technically, I call the shots.”
At that moment, the back door opened and in slipped Lyric, radiant in her yellow, off-the-shoulder dress with its full tulle
skirt. Someone, presumably security, shut the door behind her, leaving it slightly ajar.
Cash’s face lit up like he was a kid on Christmas morning and his girlfriend was a pretty wrapped present waiting for him
under the tree. “I am one lucky son of a bitch,” he said, sounding awed.
Lyric laughed. “Better not let your mother hear that.” She greeted him with a kiss and immediately started in on fixing his
shirt to her liking, undoing the top button and smoothing down the collar. “You dress up nice.” As if remembering they weren’t
the only two people in the limo, the only two people on the planet, she turned, spotted Poppy, and threw her a blinding smile.
“Poppy! You look beautiful. That dress?” Lyric fanned her face.
Poppy tucked her hair behind her ear. “Please, look who’s talking. Are you excited for tonight?”
Lyric blew out a breath and laughed softly, waffling her head from side to side. “It’s been a hot second since I performed
so—”
Once more, the door opened, stealing Poppy’s attention. Rosaline slipped into the back seat, shutting the door fully behind
her, breathtaking in a black two-piece, single-breasted suit tailored to perfection. The neckline plunged, dipping nearly
to her belly button revealing a deep strip of suntanned skin, shimmering delicately from whatever body lotion she’d chosen
to wear this evening. Maybe it was the heels, or the cut of the pants, but even though Rosaline wasn’t tall, her legs looked
miles long.
The lengths Poppy would go to have those legs wrapped around her head were, quite frankly, boundless.
“Evening, Curran,” she greeted absently, eyes focused on her phone, fingers swiping furiously at the screen. “Glad you made it to town safely.”
She slipped her phone into her clutch and raised her head, gaze sweeping Poppy up and down, eyes lingering on the square neckline
of her lilac-colored column dress. Her throat worked on a swallow, and she met Poppy’s eyes, her own lidded, looking like
she wanted to toss Cash and Lyric out of the car and drag Poppy into her lap. Like she wanted to eat her.
“Pretty dress,” she said, as if she hadn’t already seen it, hadn’t already unzipped it once and watched the silk puddle around
Poppy’s feet before she took Poppy apart with her mouth right in the fitting room. “You clean up nice.”
“This week on National Geographic Television, Los Angles Edition,” Cash said in a shitty Australian accent, “we explore the courting and mating habits of—ow, babe!” His lower lip jutted out as he rubbed his chest, soothing the nipple Lyric had just tweaked through his lace shirt. “That
hurt.”
Poppy glared at him.
One thing. She’d asked him for one damn thing.
“From what Lyric’s told me, you’re into that kind of thing.” Rosaline flashed him a wicked grin. “Let’s not get into a pissing
contest, Curran. I will always win.”
His jaw dropped and a vivid flush crept from his chest up to his eyebrows. Beside him, Lyric clapped a hand over her mouth,
muffling a snort.
“What the fuck, babe?” Cash turned to her in horror.
Things she did not need to know for one thousand, Alex.
“It’s not like I go into specifics,” Lyric argued, stroking his cheek with the backs of her fingers.
He leaned into her touch, a little like a great big puppy looking for pets. Which—no, her brain was not going there. “Wait. Did you tell her about the thing with—”
“Okaaay,” Rosaline interrupted, sparing Poppy from either having to plug her ears or experience the horror of learning more about
Cash’s apparently not-so-vanilla sex life. What she’d heard was already enough. “Here’s how tonight’s going to work.” She
paused, turning to look at Poppy. “Actually, why don’t you take point?”
She cleared her throat. “Sure. I’ll keep it brief—”
“You better, because I can see the theater across the street, Pop-Tart.” Cash craned his neck, peering through the tinted
window.
She scowled at him. “I said I’ll keep it brief. And please don’t call me that right now.” He’d temporarily lost the privilege of using her nickname for
his blatant disregard of her one request. “You said it before; you’re my boss, remember? We’re working tonight.”
Cash’s smile fell. “Pop—”
“A few reminders.” His hangdog expression wasn’t going to work on her, not now. “Lyric, this is far from your first rodeo,
so I’m sure you already know this. Feel free to ignore me. The show starts at five, we’re arriving at, um—”
She reached for her clutch, needing her phone to check the exact time.
“Just after four thirty,” Rosaline said, phone already in hand, beating her to the punch.
Poppy shot her a grateful, albeit tight smile.
“Thanks. We’ll pass through the security tent, Rosaline and I will pick up our publicity credentials, and we’ll hit the carpet.
You’re not doing the press line, but there will be a designated area for photos.
At this point, you hardly need an introduction, but I’ll be escorting you.
We want to move it along. Um.” Outside, the limo neared the theater, slowing behind a few other cars, and she paused, stealing a breath, heart racing, mind going a mile a minute.
This was fine. She was fine. She could do this.
“Even though we aren’t doing the press line, we’ll be passing through and media will likely try to persuade you, probably through Rosaline and me, for thirty seconds.
It’s a no. No exceptions. You have one exclusive with Out magazine, Cash.
I’ll stop you when we reach them. Then there will be escorts when we reach the doors to the theater. Rosaline
and I have all our tickets so you don’t have to worry about that; we’ll hand you yours when we reach the doors. After the
show, you’ll follow an escort to the back where security will have coordinated with the driver to take you to the after-party.”
She exhaled shakily. Had she missed anything? Press, photos, exclusive . . . no. She hadn’t and if she had—a possibility—Rosaline
was here. No way would she let anything slip through the cracks.
Lyric reached across the back seat, setting a hand on Poppy’s knee. “Thank you.”
“Yeah. Thanks, P—” Cash let out a shuddering breath, dug a knuckle into his right eye. “Thank you.”
Her heart crashed into her stomach, breath escaping in a punched-out whoosh that had Rosaline swiveling and studying her with