Page 3 of Until the Last Star Fades

“Where are you coming back from?”

Is he gonna chat the whole way there? “Spring break.”

“Oh, I’ve heard about spring break. Love the sound of it.” He sniffed and started to unbutton his jacket. “Beaches, booze, shagging—my kind of holiday.”

“Try blizzards, hot chocolate, and skating.” Her brows furrowed as his light jacket opened to unveil an oversized purple hoodie and hints of a plaid flannel shirt, some sort of red zippy track jacket, and a t-shirt. One, two, three, four—five layers. Is he wearing everything he owns? He’s like Joey from that old Friends episode. She pulled a clean tissue from her bag and handed it to him.

“Ah, cheers!” He grinned behind the Kleenex.

“I was in North Dakota visiting my boyfriend.”

“Oh! North Dakota, eh? The beautiful rugged Midwest?”

“Oh, you’ve been?”

“No, but when I was little I loved atlases, dreaming of far-flung adventures.” He stuffed the tissue in a pocket and swiveled to face her head on, leaning into the aisle. “Long-distance relationship? That’s hot.”

Riley shimmied out of her parka, revealing a sweater and a pair of distressed secondhand jeans. She stood up, folding her coat into a small bundle as the luminous headlights from passing cars invaded the bus and swept over her. “You wouldn’t say that if you were in one.”

The guy dipped his head and his eyes discreetly checked her out underneath the brim of his cap. He cleared his throat and sat up. “What’s he doing so far away?”

She stuffed her coat on the seat, sitting on top of it. Her body swayed with the movement of the bus. “He’s a senior at the University of North Dakota, studying entrepreneurship.”

“Oh, so he’s from there?”

“No, Staten Island, same as me. He’s on a scholarship. The Minnesota Wild drafted him three years ago.”

“Minnesota what?”

“Wild.” She stuck her hand in her tote, feeling around for her library book.

He widened his eyes. “He was drafted…I don’t get it—by who…Wild?”

“They’re an NHL team.”

He shrugged and shook his head.

“The National Hockey League? Pro hockey—ice hockey?” She pointed at his hat. “You’re wearing a Boston Bruins cap…”

“Am I?” He chuckled. “I don’t know. I just liked the B on it!”

Riley giggled and pulled a well-thumbed novel from her tote. “Well, he’ll join the Wild next fall.”

“Holy hell, you’re a WAG?!” He laughed, smacking the metal handle on the seat back in front of him. The woman sitting there didn’t notice—her headphones were cranked, leaking Fleetwood Mac’s “Go Your Own Way”.

“Shh!” Riley glared and retreated into her seat. Her admonishment pulled him farther into the aisle.

“What?” he whispered back.

“I HATE that term!”

“Well, you’re dating the wrong guy, then.” He nudged his cap above his eyebrows, giving Riley a better view of his eyes, which were waking up with a sparkly playfulness. “‘Wives and girlfriends’ of athletes—”

“If the tables were turned and I was the athlete, he wouldn’t get labeled with such a dismissive nickname.”

“Do girls even play ice hockey?”

“Yes!” With a sneer, Riley nodded her head. “I do! Well, I did…”