Page 101 of Until the Last Star Fades

Forty-Three

“RILEY! WAIT!”

A taxi screamed its disapproval as Ben stumbled into its path.

“Oh, fuck it!” The Brit went for it, darting north across West 39th Street, his sudden sprint unleashing a shrill chorus from the barrage of cars grinding to a halt.

Riley didn’t dare look back. Keep going, get to the subway—oww! Her boots pinched as she rushed toward the colorful pandemonium of Times Square.

“WAIT!” Skirting bumpers and rude hand gestures from passing car windows, Ben swerved around the curb, turning right and crossing Seventh Avenue before a red traffic signal had a chance to end his chase. Legs pumping, he fought with his jacket, stuffing his arms through the sleeves. “RILEY!”

The glow of her phone caught her eye. Mom? No, Erika. In a texting frenzy.

Everyone’s gossiping—I said no drama!

Srsly? Ben and Leia? WTF???

You OK?

Riley shook her head. NO! Turning it off, she began to run, jamming the phone in her purse. She frantically dug around inside, her fingers searching, the subway entrance half a block away. Shit! She flicked past her BBC security pass, Sephora name tag, and wallet. Stupid MetroCard! Where is it?! Boot heels scuffing the pavement, she looked over her shoulder. Ben was stomping to a halt, something on the ground grasped his attention.

He stooped, picking up her MetroCard.

FUCK! She turned away. With twenty dollars loaded on it, she couldn’t afford to leave it behind.

“Riley! We need…” Heavy breaths fought through his words as he ran, meeting her on the corner of Seventh and West 40th. “To talk…please.” His shaky hand grasped her elbow.

“Talk?” She whipped her arm away. “Why? We’ve talked for hours and it turns out I don’t know you at all.”

“Please, let me explain.”

“No, let me explain.” She leaned in, not backing down. “Your little secret with Leia embarrassed me in front of my friends, in front of my ex, and God knows who else! There were TV people there, Ben!”

“I’m sorry. I’d never hurt you on purpose, especially like this.” An ambulance stuck on Seventh raised its shrill siren, urging traffic to move and prompting Ben and Riley to cover their ears.

“You slept with Leia!” she shouted and spun around, racing quickly past the crowd crossing West 40th Street, the chaotic flashing billboards around them no match for the electrical storm inside her head.

Ben darted after her. “I didn’t even know her name was Leia until you told me. She said her name was Lisa!”

“Oh, spare me.” She crossed her arms and kept walking, her boots barely touching the Fashion Walk of Fame disks embedded in the sidewalk.

“It’s true! Look, I know you’re pissed—you have every right to be—but give me a minute and I’ll tell you everything.”

“A minute?” She huffed.

“There’s not much to tell. Please?”

She yanked her MetroCard from his hand. “One minute!”

“I met her my first night at the strip club, in the bar watching the guys. She introduced herself as Lisa and said she was checking out venues for a bachelorette.”

“And?” The pedestrian crossing blinked 05, 04, 03—Riley didn’t wait. She ran across West 41st with Ben’s long strides overtaking her. They reached the other side without a second to spare.

“She kept buying me drinks and flirted—a lot. I was flattered. A club full of fit blokes and she was giving me the eye.”

“You weren’t flattered, you were horny.”

He exhaled heavily and looked up. Airbrushed actors and models, all Hollywood smiles and picture-perfect lives, passed judgment from gigantic ads. “Hunter came over and asked if I could stay out for the night. He was bringing some girl home. I had told Lisa—Leia—I was sleeping on his couch. That’s when she offered.”