Page 96 of Until the Last Star Fades

“Pip—”

“Don’t say it!” Squinting, Piper rubbed her forehead. “You’re ‘friends’!”

“We are! I don’t know why you have such a problem with that!”

Piper blew out her cheeks. “I don’t, but I don’t dance with friends like that.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway.” Riley kneeled, dusting crumbs off her hands. “Even if we weren’t friends, I’m not the type of girl Ben dates—if you can call what he does dating.”

“Hey, I went on a date with him.”

“You know what I mean.” Walking on her knees, Riley dragged the trash bag to the milk crate. “Hey, have you looked at Mom’s crowdfunding page? Erika shared it with Scott’s teammates and it’s up to two thousand dollars—”

“Don’t change the subject! I think you’re exactly Ben’s type! Cicely said he wouldn’t shut up about you.”

“Yeah, I threw him a party—”

“Nope, it’s more than that. He’s crazy about you. We all see it—even Erika, and you know how badly she wants you and Josh back together.”

“Ben’s a flirt.” Riley eyed his half-eaten bag of mini pretzels. “He’s like that with everyone.”

“But you’re not. C’mon, I’ve known you long enough that—”

“Yeah, so you should know when you’re crossing the line, Pip.”

“If I can’t cross it, who can? Rye, be honest—how would you feel if he started seeing someone, like seriously…as a girlfriend?”

“He’s not into relationships—”

“But if he was…how would you feel?”

A heaviness squeezed Riley’s chest. A familiar echo—How would you feel? She had banished that question to the cobwebs of her mind, dreading the day it demanded an answer. It was inevitable, wasn’t it? Ben would tire of pick-up lines in bars and one-night stands. He wouldn’t be on the market long; he’d meet a smart, pretty girl who loved books, new adventures, and eighties music, and she would do what everyone else had failed to—make Benjamin Fagan her own. He was too gorgeous, too fun, too beautiful inside to walk through life unattached. It was inevitable. One day, Ben would start seeing someone who wasn’t just a friend, someone who wasn’t…her, a sometimes-depressed girl with a sick mother and mounting debts. Definitely not Ben’s type.

“C’mon—how would you feel?”

A sour taste rose in Riley’s throat. So jealous I would scream.

“So?!” Piper stared, her annoyance at being kept waiting making her eyelid twitch.

So…now I feel even more stupid for thinking he liked me that way. Riley stared back. “I’d be happy for him, just like I am for you. That’s what friends do.” She grabbed the bag of pretzels and chucked it in the trash.

Forty-Two

Two weeks later

Laughter, heavy footfalls, and thumping bass from the Friday night rager upstairs drowned out the bathroom sink’s faucet. Alone on the sofa, Riley explored Hunter’s living room, AKA Ben’s bedroom, for the first time. His possessions were scattered across the room: his mom’s pink wheelie case flipped open opposite the sofa, a lone candy cane sock lying across his dress shoes, and a messy pile of concert tees tumbling from the gaping mouth of his backpack. The cherished a-ha record leaned against the black wall, safe from foot traffic beside two birthday cards: hers and one with a tartan heart announcing Happy Birthday, Son. A small, half-eaten cake sat on the crowded kitchen counter flanked by unwashed dishes, but the rest of the place was alpha-male central with Hunter’s bicycle paraphernalia, protein powder tubs, and muscle-shredding free weights dominating the space.

Riley tugged the sleeves of her sweater over her wrists and smoothed her skirt, a jumbled knit blanket separating her from a messenger bag lying upside down. She looked up. Red ceiling—not exactly calming. How does Ben sleep here? Eyes returning to the coffee table, she spotted his phone. Should I…? I want to know about Mark. Curiosity gnawed her stomach. Ben was still busy in the bathroom…

She snatched his phone and woke it up. Still no security code. Entering his contacts, she guiltily scrolled the brief list…a few guys’ names, Hunter, several girls—Riley paused, then kept going. Piper, his mom, but no ‘Mark’, no ‘Keegan’, no ‘Keegs. Hmm. Did they lose touch then…or were they never friends?

She returned to the home screen and it buzzed in her palm. Shit! She dropped it on the table as if it had tasered her hand. A text from Hunter appeared: Dude, hurry up! My night off means I need my wingman!

Scooting backward into the cushions, the messenger bag shifted and something slipped out, falling to the floor. Jeez! Such a klutz. She bent over to scoop up the mess. Oh! Unopened condoms—Hunter’s prepared. She chucked the handful back into the bag, returning it to an upright position against the armrest. A name tag flipped over on the handle—Benjamin Fagan. Her stomach pinched as the faucet drew silent in the bathroom. Condoms, wingman—wise up, Riley. He’s off to meet women—probably sexually adventurous women, women used to different things than you, things Ben probably enjoys. Riley’s heart ached. What ARE you doing? This crush needs to stop now—

“O-kay, all ready!” Ben swept into the room, the scent of soap and toothpaste following him. His face was smiley and his fluffy hair begged for attention, as did his ass, exquisitely displayed in dark jeans.

Ben’s hookup ready. He won’t be crawling into bed alone tonight.