He grins crookedly. “Just trying to do the right thing. I can’t change the past or fix all that I’ve broken, but I can try to be better now. If it’s not too late.”
I have no idea if he’s talking about DeDe, or me so I reply, “It’s never too late to try.”
He doesn’t respond, and I can’t think of anything else to say to fill the space, so we just stand there, looking at each other, our eyes communicating all the things we shouldn’t and couldn’t say. Even in the open air, I can feel the electricity between our bodies, crackling with years of unspoken apologies and whispered regrets. And in this moment, I just want to kiss them all away.
I step forward at the same moment Riot does. His head dips towards me and he licks his lips. I lift my chin and press my palms against his abs, the feel of rigid muscle tensing under my fingertips intensifying the seduction. Breath shallow, eyes low, tongue skating across my teeth…
The buzz of Riot’s vibrating phone might as well be an air horn sounding directly in our ears. Riot curses, fishing it out of his pocket, and I don’t miss how he angles his body away to check the message. I step back, putting a good two feet between us to allow my good sense to return. Was I just about to kiss him? Just because I’ve chosen to finally be honest with myself, that doesn’t erase all that’s been done. And it certainly doesn’t change the fact that Riot has chosen Poppy. Not me. No, I’m good for all the hard conversations and the real life struggles while Poppy gets fun Riot, sexy Riot, superstar Riot. I get the friend Riot—the Riot who doesn’t have to try so hard. And maybe that correlates to how much he cares.
“We should get back before P sends a search party,” he mutters, stuffing his phone back into his pocket.
“Yeah,” I nod. “Probably for the best.”
We go to our respective sides of the car and climb in. Somehow the luxurious vehicle seems much smaller.
“I want to thank you for coming,” he says, starting up the engine.
“No problem.”
“It really meant a lot to DeDe. And to me.”
“Uh huh.”
Riot spares me a glance. “Something wrong?”
I look away, watching the daunting shadows of pine and hemlock rush past. “Nah. All good.”
“You sure? You know, you can talk to me about anything. I’m here for you, just like you were here for me.”
“Sure. But really, I’m fine. I just need to get back and go over my notes.”
“Your notes? Wait, you’re not…”
“Of course not, I’d never do that to DeDe. But I need to produce something. My editor is breathing down my neck,” I lie. Bari has checked in a couple times, but he knows you can’t rush a story like this. His last email even encouraged me to take as long as I needed.
Get to know his friends. Become besties with the gf. Earn his trust. Then, watch as the secrets begin to pour out.
He could kiss any hope of Poppy and me braiding each other’s hair goodbye, that’s for damn sure. And it’s safe to say I’ve gotten to know a good bit of Kaz. As far as earning Riot’s trust? Well, I’d call that a success too. But some secrets aren’t mine to tell.
We ride for a few more miles towards the city when Riot asks, “Mind if I play something for you?”
“A song off your new album?” I perk up. This is something I can use for the story.
“Not quite.”
He presses a button as if he already has the song cued up. As soon as the first drum sequence begins, I turn to him and make a face.
“Seriously?”
“You remember,” he smiles.
“Duh. You won the talent show with this song. Had every girl from Redmond to Spokane trying to get with you.” I roll my eyes.
“Well, I did audition for you first. So maybe that was your fault.”
“Oh, don’t put that on me,” I reply with a shake of my head with a touch of neck roll. “I was young and impressionable. I, too, was a victim. Plus, no one told you to get on stage and unbutton your shirt mid-song.”
“Yeah, yeah. But you gotta admit, it’s still a dope song. And I only unbuttoned it halfway.”
“Humph,” I snort. “That was enough for every female over fourteen years old needing to repent for their sins the next morning for throwing their panties at you.”
“You make me wanna leave the one I’m with…,” he teases.
“Oh, you need to quit. My panties will stay right where they are, thank you very much.”
The song flows into the next verse, and without even realizing it, I’m singing softly to myself. Riot turns down the volume.
“Damn, girl. I really missed your voice. Earlier when we were singing for DeDe, it got me thinking. How would you feel about collabing on a song?”
I wave a hand, dismissing the thought. “I’m not a professional singer, Riot. Don’t be silly.”
“Yeah, but you’re a professional writer who can sing. And Rox… you can really sing. And no bullshit, singing with you today was the most fun I’ve had in a long time. I keep trying to make these radio hits and these club bangers, falling into the trap of putting out what’s trending versus what moves me. And every single time, I feel like I’m betraying myself. For once, I want to do something that’s real, something that inspires me, even if no one hears it but us. Please?”
I refuse to look at him. I know he’s got his bottom lip poked out as if his puppy dog face is going to sway my decision. Totally unnecessary. I’ve already made up my mind.
“So just us, writing and performing. Full creative control?”
“Yup.”
“And no lame features by any rappers with Lil or Yung in their name. And no face tattoos, either.”
“Deal.”
“And if it sucks, you have to promise to delete every single copy.”
“Scouts honor.”
I take a beat to leave him stewing in suspense for. I can feel him getting antsy. That patience he showed DeDe? Yeah, that’s not reserved for anyone else.
“Fine. I’ll do it. But in exchange, you have to give me the interview of a lifetime. I’m not talking about the same old generic questions that every other journalist asks. I want the good shit. And I don’t want to hear any excuses either.”
He lifts his hand from the stick shift and holds it out to me. “We have a deal.”
We’re almost to the building on 2nd when Riot hits me with a question out of left field that blows away whatever positive vibes I was just feeling.
“So, what’s up with you and Kaz?”
I cough into my hand, choking over the words I can’t say. “Um, what?”
“You and Kaz. He said you two knew each other. I wanna know how well.”
Now, I know I shouldn’t feel one single stitch of guilt when he’s sleeping with Poppy and who knows who else when she’s off on photo shoots and fashion shows. We also haven’t been a thing since before I could vote. So yeah, I don’t owe him the courtesy of sparing his feelings and I should have nothing to hide.
Buuuuut, I don’t know how to explain how I met Kaz just days ago, slept with him on the first night, and only found that he was Riot’s friend when I came to conduct the interview.
Ok, I guess I do know how to explain it. But it sounds way less awful in my head than it will sound to Riot.
“Well, you’re not really around much and Kaz has been making sure I’m taken care of and not sitting around bored. He’s a nice guy. And he thinks the world of you.”
Riot lifts a skeptical brow. Shit. I’m laying it on a little too thick.
“He’s your friend, Riot. I wanted to be nice to the people who care about you.” Even Poppy. Gag.
We pull into the underground lot and park the car in its designated spot, yet neither one of us is too eager to return to reality, it seems. We sit for a while, enjoying the companionable silence. I don’t know what Riot is thinking, but I know I’m still going over the almost-kiss. And how we’re going to keep up a charade for DeDe’s sake.
B
ut all that’s interrupted by Riot’s ever-buzzing phone.
“We should get upstairs,” I say before Riot can. It feels a little less like rejection when I suggest it, although there’s nothing here to reject.
“Yeah,” he comments, reading the text. “Chef Dani is here. Apparently, Poppy planned a dinner party and it starts in half an hour. And she’s pissed. Great.” The look on Riot’s face says he’d rather be anywhere else than here.
“Maybe we can just back up and pretend we got lost or something?” I suggest. “Does anyone know we’re here?”
“Only about a dozen surveillance cameras.” He releases a heavy breath. “Let’s go get this over with.”
It’s crazy, and kind of scary, how Riot’s whole demeanor morphs on the elevator ride up to his home. His eyes go dark and hazy, his mouth relaxes into a flat line, and even his posture changes. I spent the day with Riot, my old friend and former lover. Now Riot the mega famous singer is back.
“Finally!” Poppy trills. “Oh, you two almost gave me a heart attack.”
Riot said Poppy was pissed, but to the untrained eye and all the cameras that focus on us, she appears perfectly poised and jovial. However, I notice the tightness around her eyes and her phony smile that looks more like a grimace. And Botox has nothing to do with it.
“Sorry, babe,” Riot drawls, kissing Poppy on her cheek. “Got caught up working. You know how it is.”
“Yes, yes. I swear, you get in the studio and just get lost in the music. I’m sure it’s another hit, but for now, I need you to go get dressed.”
Riot looks down at his designer destroyed denim, V-neck white tee and new Nikes that he’ll probably never wear after today. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”
“Nothing, if you’re going to a Seahawks game. But I bought you something special. It’s hanging up in your closet.”
Riot leans over to kiss her again, this time taking her mouth. “You always take such good care of me. Thanks, babe.”
Poppy cheeses like the Joker at the cringeworthy compliment. But it’s completely slapped off her face when Riot turns to me and says, “See you in 30, Rox?”
I nod stiffly. “I’ll be there.”
Riot is barely out of earshot when Poppy notices I actually exist and am not, in fact, a houseplant in the foyer.
“I didn’t realize you’d be joining us.” She’s smiling, her voice cheerful, but there’s a definite edge to her words.
“I guess so. Unless you don’t have room. I don’t want to impose.”
“Don’t be silly. Of course we have room, especially for you. You’re always welcome at our table.”
Such. Rehearsed. Bullshit. This lady forgets that I just saw her drunk, high, and whatever else, executing the most pathetic striptease of all time. But you know what? Two can play that game.
“I appreciate that, Poppy. Thank you.”
“It’s just too bad you and Vince didn’t hit it off. He could’ve been your date.”
I frown. Maybe Poppy has been hitting those powdery white slopes again… “Um, Vince? Who’s that?”
“Oh, you know Vince! The guy you had in your bedroom last night. I was so sure you two would be a match.”
Holy. Fuck.
Poppy sent that creep into my room in the middle of the night. She was behind it all. Who knows what she told him about me. Obviously, he thought I was DTF. Shit! He was drunk, and she manipulated him into thinking I had consented. And that got him two black eyes, a broken nose, and a busted lip, along with the gash I gave him with the lamp. Not to mention, I have no idea where Riot’s security team took him.
I step in close, and even though she’s almost a foot taller than me, my expression lets her know that I am not to be fucked with.
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” I fume.
Poppy plasters on her fake smile and shrugs her narrow shoulders. “Maybe next time. Would you prefer Kaz?”
She spins before I can respond and traipses over to the formal dining room. I resist the urge to snatch her by the back of her hair and throw her down the elevator shaft. No need. Soon enough everyone will see what a cruel, manipulative sociopath she is. Except…
Except that the camera crew thought Riot getting ready would make for more interesting TV. And since no one was around to collect those receipts, it would be my word against Poppy’s. Poppy is Riot’s girlfriend; of course, he’d believe her over me.
Dammit.
The only way to beat someone who plays dirty is to beat them at their own game.
And I know exactly the right person to help me throw a little mud and a whole lot of shade.
“NO, THAT BITCH DIDN’T.”
I hold my cell phone between my ear and my shoulder while trying to balance my flat iron in one hand and a lock of hair in the other, which proves to be almost impossible since my formerly dead phone is connected to a charger.
“Yup. How can a person be so pathetically insecure that they’d set another woman up to be raped? And act like the shit is no big deal?”
“Yo. That is some sociopathic shit. I saw something on TV where a woman legit chopped this chick up in little pieces, put her body parts in Ziploc bags, and stored them in the freezer. All because her husband spoke to her. And, bitch… she was their waitress!”
“Haze, you really gotta stop watching those murder shows. People are going to start thinking you’re taking notes.”
“Which is precisely why you called me. So what are we doing?”
“Well, we aren’t killing her. But I do need to send a message that I am not about to be bullied into submission.”
“Well, young Padawan, now it’s time for you to take notes. Have you unpacked yet?”
“Well, sorta.” I only felt the need to pull out the necessities, considering I didn’t plan to stay long.
“Did you see what I stashed all the way at the bottom of your suitcase?”
I ditch the flat iron, put my phone on speaker, and dash to the closet where my partially packed suitcase leans against a wall. When I all but rip it open and dig to the bottom, I find a package wrapped in tissue paper, like the kind they stuff into bags at department stores.
“What is this?” I call out, assessing its weight.
“You’re welcome, babe. Time to fight fire with fire. And your ass is going to be hot as fuck tonight.”
I almost get teary eyed. “I swear, as soon as I get home, Hazel Figaro, I’m taking you out for a night on the town.”
“Only if you wear that dress.”
In the time it takes for me do my hair, makeup, and slip into the downright sinful black lace body-con dress that Haze packed for me, we formulate a few scenarios to knock Poppy off her high horse. However, as long as it’s Riot that she’s riding, we’ll have to be stealthy our plans.
First phase: Make the model look like a fashion fail.
I step out into the living room space, the sexy lace number molded to my body as if it was made for me. While it boasts a high neckline, it is anything but modest. In many places, it’s see-through, including the bust, the waist, and the hem that hits just above mid-thigh. It’s more elegant than anything I’ve ever owned, yet it’s also more daring. The garment is a full-body seduction.
The conversation seems to cease as, one-by-one, heads turn my way. Heat floods my face but with shoulders back and chin tipped, I cross the room to the kitchen where everyone is gathered, including a dashing Riot, dressed in a black on black three piece suit, no tie. The top few buttons of his shirt are unbuttoned to accentuate his strong, angled jaw and masculine neck that dips into a defined chest. I’ve seen him dressed up before in red carpet photos, but up close and personal, it’s a different experience altogether. And the way his eyes seem to track my every step and sway of my hips, he may be just as affected. At least I hope he is.
“Excuse me,” Riot mutters thoughtlessly to the man he’s speaking to. He doesn’t even give him the courtesy of a sideways glance before he strolls over to me, s
moldering gaze heating as he draws nearer.
I spare a quick glance in Poppy’s direction. Her mouth is agape in shock and outrage, yet Riot doesn’t seem to notice. He sidles up to me, just stopping a foot away, and says, “Hi.”
I smile but try to contain the urge to cheese. “Hi.”
“You look…” He rakes his teeth over his bottom lip. “Incredible. Damn, girl.”
“Thank you. You too. Is it me, or does this kinda feel like prom?”
He nods, but something in his expression dims. “I never got the chance to take you.”
“Yeah. But I heard it wasn’t that great, anyway.”
He frowns. “You didn’t go?”
“No,” I shake my head.
Riot has the nerve to look put off by my clipped answer, but I don’t owe him an explanation. By spring break of our senior year, he was long gone. For months, I walked the halls of our high school like a zombie, barely speaking, barely eating. Just trying not to be buried under the weight of my misery and self-doubt. Senior trip, prom, graduation—the events I had been looking forward to years had become meaningless to me. The only reason I walked across that stage to grab my diploma was because Dr. and Dr. Lee would not allow me to blow off what they had envisioned for me.
Before Riot can pry further, Poppy strolls up, as predictable as ever. I’m surprised she let him wander off on his own for this long. Her face is screwed into an almost terrifying smile that could shatter teeth, a mask to hide the rage that simmers just under the surface of her facade. Her expression is born out of a sense of superiority and arrogance that’s suddenly been tested. To the outside world, she uber confident. To me, she reeks of insecurity.
“Don’t you clean up nice,” she trills. Translation: Oh, wow. You actually own something not fished out of a bargain bin.
“Thank you, Poppy. You look pretty great yourself. I could never pull off such a daring dress, and in that color too,” I comment of her couture. “I wish I had your confidence.”
Poppy looks down and smooths the flesh tone dress over her modest curves. She might as well be naked. “You like? It’s Valentino.”
“I do. From three seasons ago, right? And look at you, bringing it back. It’s almost vintage. Very cool.” I only know that little tidbit because Haze covered that very dress on her blog. I remember thinking it was reminiscent of the naked dress Carrie Bradshaw wore in Sex and the City. And also, that I wouldn’t dream of shelling out three G’s on what was virtually a slip.
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