"Cal's little slut," Erin says, emerging with mascara that has migrated significantly. "The sweetest, most polite man in Harbor Hill. The poster boy for safety and good manners."
"That man," I confirm.
"That man calls you his little slut?"
"With reverence, my friends. Like it's sacred. And I eat it up every time."
Some exchange happens between them that I'm not part of. When they turn back, they're both grinning in a way that can only be described as sisterly and unhinged.
"Well," Poppy announces, straightening up with the air of someone about to deliver a proclamation. "I guess it's official."
"What's official?"
She holds up her wine glass like a scepter.
"The holy trinity. Complete at last."
Erin groans immediately. "No, Pop, stop. I need a better name," she protests, but Poppy is not listening.
"Ramsey's breeding toy." Poppy points at herself, zero shame, the proudest woman alive. "Cal's little slut." She points at me. Then she turns to Erin with slow, delighted precision. "And Rome's anal girl."
Erin's face goes through about six colors in two seconds. She grabs the nearest pillow and holds it over her face and groans into it with the full force of her mortification.
"Take it back," she demands, muffled by the pillow.
"I will never take it back. That is your title and you earned it."
"I did not earn it, you bitch," Erin grunts, still hiding, still blushing so hard it creeps down her neck.
"You told the town and you told me how you both love a little D..."
Erin tackles her to the floor, pillow pressed firmly over Poppy's face.
"Don't finish that sentence or Lil will never speak to me," she hisses.
She lets her go after a moment, and Poppy surfaces from behind the pillow with her face crimson. But Erin blushes the most, her cheeks flaming, her eyes refusing to meet mine.
"I have nothing to say," Erin announces primly, choosing survival over honesty, "and you will not elaborate, Poppy, or I will kill you."
"You don't have to say anything," I assure her. "Your face said it all and I hate every word."
"I hate both of you," she mumbles.
"You love both of us," Poppy reminds her sweetly.
"That is unfortunately also true."
Poppy picks up her glass again and raises it higher.
"To us. The Holy Trinity. The best of Harbor Hill. God help anyone who crosses us."
Erin and I raise our glasses. We clink. We drink.
Poppy makes a sound of deep satisfaction and settles back against the couch.
"I'm so happy for you, Lil," she says, calmer now. The teasing has dropped away and underneath it is Poppy at her realest, warm and direct and completely sincere. "Cal is a good man. You deserve a good man."
"He's more than good," I tell her, and I mean it in a way I won't elaborate on. If I start talking about him properly, I will start crying on the spot, and we've had enough emotions for one afternoon.
