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“Well, surprise him at the market.”
Now THAT would be amazing. Riley sat back, the tension from earlier in the day melting away as a big grin lit up her face.
Sixty-Six
Riley had no time to spill the beans. For the next two weeks, her hours were filled with packing her apartment, training her replacement at the BBC, and spending time with Maggie. Casey helped her move back to Staten Island and, along with Piper, continued a social media guise supporting Riley’s ‘Can’t wait for spring in NYC’ charade. To seal the deal, she had told Ben the morning after their awkward Dairy Queen FaceTime call that the Elstree placement had sadly gone to someone else. He commiserated with her and promised to book his June NYC flights the next month. Operation Fool Fagan was moving along without a hitch.
On the morning of St. Patrick’s Day, their one-year ‘airport’ anniversary, Riley planned to call Ben early before he became ensconced in Irish shenanigans. Maggie was out at a Sunday market, so Riley had plenty of privacy for a FaceTime chat.
“Ben!”
“Happy Paddy’s, love.” Weaving and slurring, Ben held his phone in one hand and a pint of Guinness in the other. It was 6 P.M. UK time and he was already sloppily pissed.
Riley laughed. “Benjamin Fagan, have you been pre-gaming?”
Ben’s arm swayed, so Riley’s view of him did, too. “Yup. Got buzz on at home…” The purple dress shirt he was wearing was crispy ironed, but it had a large wet stain on the front and was unbuttoned mid-chest, showing off a few wisps of dark hair—not Ben’s go-to style at all.
He’s a bit of a mess, but he’s allowed to have some fun. “Who’s out with you?”
Ben wobbled and tripped into someone, spilling most of his pint. “Oh! Sorry, mate, soz.” He leaned to hug his victim, but the guy pushed Ben away and he stumbled backward, fighting to keep his balance. “Oh, well, bollocks to you, ya wanker!”
Yikes. “Ben…?”
He jerked his phone close to his face, blinking wildly like he was trying to clear the fog and focus. “So—hic—ahhh, Riles, where…where are…?” He bumped into another guy and slumped against a wall, staring into the phone. “Whatcha wearin’?”
“Uh, a tank and sweats.” He’s so drunk, he can’t tell. I should’ve lied. “I’m at home. I wish I could be with you, today of all days. Happy Airport Anniversary, Brit boy.”
“Aww. Sweet, sexy Riley. My Ri…” His words spilled out in a slow, thick mumble as he slid down the wall to the floor, landing with a thud on his ass. “I miss kissing you…it hurts, not holding you.” He abandoned his glass on the floor, his chin trembling.
He looks like he might cry. “Ben, are you okay?”
“Everything’s SHITE, Riles.” He pulled his knees to his chest. “The course was shite, the—”
“The course? But yesterday you said it went well.”
“Nope. Was pissin’ awful. My dyslex-ya fucked me…”
Oh, shit. Her brow wrinkled. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad. What did they say?”
Eyes glazed over, he silently drummed his fingers on his knee, the phone’s camera shaking.
Is he alone? “Ben, who’s there with you? Is Mark there?”
“Somewhere…” He waved the hand holding his phone, giving Riley a woozy view of the wall behind him. “With Alex. I’m sick of lovey-dovey couples, sick of being on my own. It’s BOLLOCKS. Work’s bollocks, Spence’s fuckin’ rat-cat bit me…I don’t blame him…” He winced.
“The cat bit you?”
“It was a bad idea, moving back there…hic…everything’s fuckered. I’m so lonely…”
I’ve never seen him like this. Damn. Should I tell him? It’ll still be a surprise… “Babe, look, everything’s going to be okay. We’ll see each other soon! I’m—”
“I’m a fuckin’ stupid arse who doesn’t deserve anythin’ good, ’specially you…”
Where’s that coming from? She narrowed her eyes. “That’s not true—”
“No, nooo, it is. Riles, I…” His hand pawed through his hair, pulling it off his forehead. “I didn’t mean…it just happened. I didn’t think…” His face crumpled. “Maggie’s gonna hate me.”
Why would Mom hate you? “Ben—?”
