Page 26 of Until the Last Star Fades

“What—?”

“Yeah! I had two weeks to prove myself. Apparently, I didn’t. How’s that for shite? I can’t even take my clothes off properly.” He patted his cash on the bar. “And this is all I have to show for it.” He downed another shot and chased it with a handful of nuts.

“So…”

Ben picked up the dish of peanuts and dumped the remainder into his open mouth.

“Take a breath, Ben. It’s like you were raised by wolves…”

He dragged another bowl across the bar. “I’m starving.”

“Slow down.”

“I have to take what I can get before the owner spies me and kicks me out. Can’t a guy have some dinner?”

“Free peanuts are your dinner?”

“Yep, so if you don’t mind, leave me to it. I’d rather dine alone.” Downing another shot, he gave her a quick glance, but his sad blue eyes belied his liquor-soaked swagger. “I don’t need anyone—never have.”

He has no one here. That fear of being alone, of having no one pinched Riley’s heart. She knew that fear well, that black cloud…looming, about to smother and suffocate, to blanket you with an unbearable ache that seeps into your bones. She blinked away the stinging suggestion of tears and picked up her coat then his. “C’mon.”

“Riley, just go, okay?” He snatched a handful of his jacket.

“Fine, I will”—she shifted, pulling his coat out of his grasp—“but you’re coming with me.”

“No, I’m not!” He propped his elbows on the bar like a kid, mid-temper tantrum. “You can keep my coat. I don’t need it. I don’t need you…don’t you get it?”

“Don’t you get it? I’m just trying to be a friend. Jesus, you’re being such a jerk!” Frowning, she dumped his coat back on the bar and turned away, stuffing one arm into her denim jacket, followed by the other.

Doing a double take, Ben peeked out from his cap, his eyes softening. He reached out, touching her back. “Riley! Shit…I’m sorry.” His shoulders relaxed. “You’re the last person I expected to see, and tonight hasn’t been…well, you know—my finest hour.” He winced. “And I’m a complete arse when I’m hungry.”

Riley fidgeted with her clutch, snapping it open and closed, then faced him again. “Who isn’t?” She breathed out slowly, her stomach snarling underneath her jacket. It had been twenty-four hours since her last meal. “I know a place with cheap 2-for-1 pizza slices…”

“I’m not a pizza fan.”

“Okay, well, how ’bout a diner? You know, milkshakes, dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets? Fries? You like fries, don’t you?”

“Is my name Ben Fagan?” A slight smile curved his mouth.

“I don’t know—is it?” Riley smirked and stood up straight, picking up his coat again. “Let’s go.”

“But…” He looked over his shoulder. Erika was waving Hunter’s purple G-string in the air. “Won’t your friends be pissed?”

She followed his stare. “Yeah, pissed drunk. They won’t notice I’m gone. They’ve only got eyes for Vlad the Impaler—” Argh, awk-ward! Her cheeks flushed red as her eyes shot back to Ben, a cheeky grin creeping across his stubble. “Never mind, Tragic Mike. Let’s get out of here.”

Fourteen

Crossing the intersection of Norfolk and East Houston Streets, Riley decreased her speed, letting Ben’s long, purposeful strides catch up. He had been walking a few steps behind, giving her privacy while she talked on her phone. “Sorry…”

“Everything okay? You barely said a word.” Ben yanked open the door to a twenty-four-hour diner called Remedy, its name in sizzling red neon above silver double doors accented with round porthole windows. The restaurant was bustling with club kids, smitten couples, and coffee-addled college students. Following Riley, his eyes locked on tiers of cakes and gooey desserts teasing him from inside a glass case.

“Yeah.” Riley fought a yawn and smiled at the harried hostess who waved them toward a vacant booth overlooking East Houston. “My boyfriend gets a bit hyper, can’t sleep.” Her phone lit up again—1:35 A.M. Saturday—a new text from Erika joining others she had sent during Riley’s one-sided phone conversation with Josh.

Wear’d u go? U missed the beast part.

Drunk misspelled texts from Erika were a rare sight. Riley chuckled and sat down, laying her clutch beside her. Beast—probably meant ‘best’…although that purple thong guy was a beast, and as for his ‘part’—

“Why’s he hyper?” Ben slid along his seat, promptly scooting out of his unbuttoned coat and unzipping his hoodie, a black and blue t-shirt for Sting’s old eighties band The Police tucked into the front of his dark jeans.