Chapter Nineteen #2
Rosaline recovered swiftly. A little smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she stared fondly across the kitchen at Poppy.
“I can’t take credit for that one. That was all Poppy.” She toasted Poppy with her mug full of spiced apple cider.
“You two really are made for each other.” Lyric sighed softly. “Come on, enough with the jokes. I want to know how you feel
about each other. Give me something to work with here.”
“Are you so bored with Curran that you’re looking for fodder for your next album elsewhere?” Rosaline teased.
“Fodder.” Lyric jutted out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. “You’re so mean to me.”
“Okay, fine, fine!” Poppy held up her hands. “Honest answer to your earlier question.” Lyric sat up straight, eager, and Rosaline
cocked her head, long hair loose and spilling over her shoulder. Poppy smiled. “I would love nothing more than to continue
to be a pain in Rosaline’s ass for as long as she’ll have me.”
A warm smile crept across Rosaline’s face. “You’re not a pain in my ass, Poppy.”
Her heart swelled and she looped her arms around Rosaline’s waist. “I’m not?”
“What is she then?” Lyric asked, watching them wistfully from her perch at the counter.
“She’s . . .” Rosaline’s tongue swept over her bottom lip. If Lyric weren’t sitting there, Poppy would’ve closed the distance
between them and chased it with her own. Rosaline’s smile went a little mischievous, like she knew exactly what Poppy was
thinking. “She’s the best thing to happen to me since I met you.”
Poppy melted, insides going as gooey and warm as the brownies baking away inside the oven.
Lyric cooed. “Roz, you romantic.”
The security system chimed softly, a robotic voice alerting them that the front door had opened.
“Lovely ladies! I’m home!” Cash called out.
Lyric’s entire face lit up. “We’re in the kitchen!”
The oven timer dinged, and Poppy pressed a quick kiss to the corner of Rosaline’s mouth. “It’s mutual, you know.” She stepped
back reluctantly, needing to pull the brownies out of the oven before they burned. “You’re the best thing to happen to me
in a long time.”
Rosaline’s cheeks turned Poppy’s favorite shade of pink.
Cash poked his head inside the kitchen. “Something smells good.”
“Your favorite,” Lyric said, tipping her head back for a kiss Cash eagerly gave her. “How was practice?”
“Long. Brutal.” Cash sighed and reached inside the refrigerator, pulling out a premixed protein shake, the kind Poppy recognized as being heavy on glutamine for recovery.
They tasted like cardboard and overly ripe bananas, the texture gritty and reminiscent of the liquid Augmentin she had to take as a kid when she got ear infections.
How Cash stomached the stuff was a mystery.
“Coach was on our asses, but at the end he said we look like we’re in pretty good shape for Sunday.
” He reached for the pan of brownies resting on the stove and pulled his hand back with a hiss, licking the tips of his fingers.
“Ow, fuck. Why are those so fucking hot?”
“Poppy literally just pulled those out of the oven,” Rosaline said, shaking her head.
“You saw me do it, Cash.”
Another chime sounded, too soft to be from the security system.
“Could you pass me my phone?” Lyric asked, stretching across the counter, arm not long enough to reach her phone, which she’d
left beside the recipe for the brownies.
“Ew.” Rosaline handed it to her with a frown. “The case is sticky. I think you got batter on it.”
Lyric glanced at the screen. “Five four one. That’s an Oregon number, right?”
“Mhmm.” Poppy reached inside the drawer beside the stove for a toothpick so she could check that the brownies weren’t underbaked.
“Eugene, Bend, um, Springfield. Cash?”
He lowered his protein shake and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Medford, too, I think.”
“Corvallis,” Rosaline said, and all three of them shuddered.
“Weird,” Lyric murmured, frowning at her phone.
“Did someone from a four five one call you or something?” Rosaline asked. “Did they leave a message?”
An uneasy look had settled on Lyric’s face. “Text.”
“Cassidy’s got your number, right?” Cash twisted at the waist, cracking his back. “She probably just gave it to one of the
other girls.”
“I don’t think Cassidy would do that,” Poppy said. “Not without asking Lyric if she was okay with it first.”
In an effort to make her feel welcome, Cassidy had invited Lyric over for drinks with a few of the other WAGs. Over as opposed
to out because Cassidy wasn’t ready to leave her two-month-old with a sitter.
“No.” Lyric shook her head. “It’s—it’s not from Cassidy. It’s . . . really strange.”
“Probably spam or something then, babe. I wouldn’t worry about it.” Cash crushed the drink carton in his hand and tossed it
in the recycling can. He paused, brows drawing into a sharp frown. “Unless you mean strange as in threatening.”
Rosaline rounded the counter. “What’s it say?”
Lyric pressed her fingers to the notch at the base of her neck. “Hi, Lyric. You don’t know me, but you’re going to want to see this. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I would want to
know the truth. xx.” She shook her head. “It’s not signed.”
Poppy shivered and tossed the toothpick she’d used to check the brownies in the trash. Whoever it was knew who Lyric was and
somehow, they’d gotten ahold of the private number she kept closely guarded, only trusting it to her closest friends. “That’s
kind of creepy.”
Cash scrubbed a knuckle over his mouth, still frowning. “What bad news?”
Rosaline’s eyes were locked on the screen, her lips pursed, and her jaw tight. “There’s a link.”
“Is it smart to even click it?” Poppy asked. “It could be phishing.”
“Just what I need.” Lyric sighed. “Someone trying to hack my phone.”
Cash crossed the kitchen and stopped behind Lyric, wrapping his arms around her waist. He kissed the knob at the top of her spine. “We won’t let that happen.”
“You and what army, Curran?” Rosaline snorted. “It’ll be fine. You’ve got two-factor authentication set up, you’ve got a photo
vault, your software is up to date, and your passwords are all strong and unique. And we’ll change them after just in case.”
She took the phone from Lyric and tapped on the link.
Curious, Poppy crowded behind them, trying to get a glimpse of Lyric’s screen.
Lyric’s Google Drive app opened and after a few seconds of staring at the triangular emblem set against a back screen, a folder
loaded. There were only three files inside, one labeled tinder.png, another tinder2.png, and a final file called KasaNightClub.mp4. Two pictures and a video.
“This is really creeping me the hell out,” Lyric murmured, leaning back against Cash’s chest. “I don’t think I want to open
these.” She shivered and shook her head. “I don’t know. I just have a really bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.”
“You could have a stalker, Lyric.” Rosaline’s index finger hovered over the video file. “Another stalker, I mean.”
“Hence the really bad feeling in the pit of my stomach,” Lyric retorted.
“Rosaline’s right,” Poppy said gingerly. “Staying in the dark isn’t going to do us any good.”
They needed to know what they were dealing with, what the threat level was, if any, so they could respond accordingly. Increase
security presence at Pathfinders’ games, contact the police if need be.
Cash pressed his lips to the springy curls at the crown of Lyric’s head. “If worse comes to worst, we’ll handle it.”
With that, Rosaline double tapped on the file. A loading bar appeared, filling quickly.
The video footage was grainy, like it had been overly sharpened, and the camera was shaky. There was no sound, but the club
where the video had been filmed must’ve been noisy, the place packed with people drinking and dancing. The clip was only thirty-two
seconds and ten of them were wasted on—
Poppy’s heart dropped into her stomach.
The video quality was subpar but there was no mistaking the guy in the corner booth as anyone but Cash. Just like there was
no mistaking that the scantily clad woman draped across his lap wasn’t Lyric, but his ex, Ashley.
Cash’s jaw dropped. “What the fuck is this?”
What the fuck was right. On the screen, Cash fisted a hand in Ashley’s long, platinum blond hair and tugged hard. Her lips parted on a
silent gasp, a moan maybe, seconds before Cash’s mouth came crashing down on hers in a kiss that made Poppy’s face burn and
her stomach curdle.
She’d never liked Ashley—well, Ashley had never liked her. Poppy hadn’t had anything against her other than the fact that she didn’t much enjoy being looked at like she was a threat
all because she was a woman and friends with Ashley’s boyfriend.
The video played through twice, set to a loop. After it started to replay for the third time, Lyric set the phone down on
the counter with shaking hands and turned to Cash, her face disconcertingly blank.
“When was this?” she asked, voice flat.
Cash raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t—I don’t even know where this was taken.”
“The file says ‘Kasa Night Club,’” Rosaline replied coolly. “The place ring any bells, Curran?”
He shook his head. “I don’t—maybe? Before we started going to xport, the guys and I went to a bunch of different places for postgame parties.
But Ashley and I broke up in January. This video’s got to be at least a year, year-and-a-half old.
Why the hell would someone be sending it to Lyric? Let alone now?”
“It’s not,” Lyric whispered, shaking off Cash’s arms when she stood. She jerked her chin at her phone, the video still looping
repeatedly. “I bought you that shirt. And that tattoo?” She pointed a trembling finger at the dotted lines and tiny stars
on Cash’s forearm. “You told me you and Poppy got those on her birthday this year.”
Bile rose in her throat.
Lyric was right. She and Cash had gotten matching tattoos on her birthday in early June. Constellations, Gemini on Cash’s
arm for her, Pisces along her shoulder blade for him.