Page 19

Riley listens without interrupting, which is one of the things I love most about her.

When I'm done she's quiet for a moment.

"Quinn." She says my name like she's measuring it. "You kissed Wyatt Larkin. And then you told him off."

"I didn't tell him off. I was just establishing boundaries. You know how—"

"You established a boundary while his lips were still wet from yours."

I pause. "That's a very graphic way to put it."

Riley smiles, just a little. "I'm just saying. That's not nothing."

"It's not nothing," I admit. "But it's also not—" I stop, searching for the right words. "I've watched this world my whole life, Ri. I know how this goes. First you're flattered by the attention, then you get swept up in it, and then your feelings get involved and they move on. It’s a freaking soap opera and the boys here are all playing a part. I can’t do that to myself. I’m not going to be a—”

I don’t finish the sentence, but Riley is already nodding her understanding.

“I get it,” she says. “Really, I do.”

“Then you understand why I can’t just—”

“Let yourself want something?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Let myself want someone who’s going to treat me like a conquest. Like I’m nothing but—”

“A puck bunny,” Riley finishes for me. Her voice is gentle, but not teasing. “You’re afraid that’s what he’s doing. You don’t want to be just another girl to him.”

“I know I would be,” I return flatly. “I’ve seen it. You’ve seen it. These guys my dad coaches? They come in like Prince Charming. They know exactly what to say, and when it’s all over, they move on. I don’t think they’re mean, no. But it’s… it’s what they do. It’s who they are.

Riley is quiet for a moment. Then, softly: "Easton had a reputation too."

My eyes move from Molly to her.

"But you're different," I say immediately.

"Quinn." She gives me a knowing smile. "That's what I said."

I open my mouth to argue, to prove that it isn’t the same.

Riley’s relationship with Easton is categorically and fundamentally different. Way different. They’d been through things together. They’d fought each other and then they fought for each other.

And now there’s a sleeping baby beside us who has Easton’s dark hair and Riley’s nose, which really isn’t helping my argument.

But the words stop in my throat because I know Riley isn't making an argument. She's simply holding up a mirror, and now I know what I look like in it.

"He's not Easton," I say finally.

"No," Riley agrees. "He's not. But that's not really the point, is it?"

I look away, staring out the window at the street. A woman in oversized sunglasses glides past, her expression as smooth and unbothered as the mannequins lining the avenue.

It’s a beautiful day. The kind of day where nothing bad is supposed to happen. It’s the perfect day to pretend I don’t have a knot in my stomach the size of a billboard on the Sunset Strip.

Riley's words sit there between us and I let them. I don't agree, but I don’t argue, either. I just feel the weight of them for a moment.

"I have rules," I finally say. "For a reason."

Riley nods. "I know."