I debate what to do for a moment. When I agreed to keep an eye on Poppy, I wasn’t thinking this kind of thing would be on the agenda. But if she has seen these pictures, she’s probably devastated. My throat feels strangely tight.
“Sorry, Chester—I have to go.”
Chapter 17
(The Best) Grilled Cheese
Jack
I find Poppy at Kiara’s place.
Tipsy.
Introducing Ki to what looks like one of the Real Housewives franchises.
When I texted her to ask where she was, I thought she’d give me the address of whatever place she’s renting around here. Instead, she sent a selfie of the two of them, faces smushed together, wine glasses in hand. Beaming like old friends. They even answered the door together, giggling at the sight of me like I was the funniest thing they’d ever seen.
Maybe the news about Ryan will go over easier like this.
I pinch the bridge of my nose as Kiara pauses the too-loud television and Poppy tries to foist a glass of wine on me. “No thanks. Can we talk?”
“Can’t we talk at the restaurant tomorrow?” She peers at me, swaying a little on her tiptoes. A light flush covers her cheeks, the tip of her nose. “You can’t work all the time, Jackie. It’s not healthy.”
I glower. Iknewshe would unload that nickname at the worst possible moment. “This isn’t about work.”
“What’s it about?” Kiara asks.
“Yeah,” Poppy echoes. “What’s worth interrupting Ki’s introduction to the greatest reality television franchise of all time?”
“One,Survivorexists.”
Poppy giggles. “Oh, that’s so you.”
“I still think you would winSurvivor,” Kiara says, no doubt remembering all the times we watched it in this very room with Sal.
“No way,” Poppy says, still messing with her braid. “It’s all about the social game now, and Jackie has about as much charisma as a block of wood.”
“Two,” I continue, undeterred, “it’s about Ryan.”
That stops her in her tracks, unfortunately. “What about him?”
I hesitate. I don’t want to ruin her night. It’s weird to see her and Ki hanging out, but it’s nice, too. I ignore the frisson of jealousy stabbing my chest. Of course they’re becoming close; Poppy could befriend anyone. Kiara’s definitely more fun than me to be around.
“I’m guessing you haven’t checked Instagram tonight?” I finally say.
“No.” She hurries to the couch, rescuing her phone from where it’s wedged between two cushions. “What happened?”
“Check his story.”
Poppy’s gaze narrows. She brings up his Instagram profile, going right to his stories, and flips through the sequence in a rush, phone angled so Kiara can see it too. Her mouth tightens, something diming in her expression, but otherwise, she doesn’t react.
“How did you even see this?” she asks.
I hadn’t thought of how it would look before I rushed over here. Shit. “What, I can’t scroll Instagram like everyone else?”
“That’s Courtney Biller,” Kiara says, with a little gasp.
At the sound of her name, I place her. She’s an actress. Hazel had a crush on her a while back; the guys in the kitchen loved to razz her about it. She’s beautiful, sure, but not my type.
