Don’t let him dwell. Cheer him up. Riley’s eyes settled on his wool coat. “Case, you’re looking very Harry Styl-ish today. That coat looks like the one he wears in the “Sign of the Times” video.” Her warm breath was snatched away by another blustery attack.
“You think? It’s secondhand, but that’s what I was going for. Cheers, mate!” Casey religiously followed Harry Styles online, copied his sartorial choices (the best he could with his student budget), and wore his brown hair exactly like him. Currently, it was short back and sides, and long and swept back at the front. “His clothes are pukka.”
“Case! I’d roll my eyes, but I think they’re frozen. You’re doing it again.”
“What?”
“Using British slang. It’s insulting to real British people.” Like Ben, I’d bet…wherever he is.
“Who? Piper?” The wind whipped up again, and Casey braced himself against Riley. They barged across the Astor Place-Broadway intersection, the traffic signal already flashing its red ‘stop’ hand. “She finds it endearing.”
“So endearing, she calls you Brit Twit—to your face. How would you like it if Piper pretended she was Mexican?”
“Wouldn’t bother me at all. Live and let live. I may have been born in the Bronx, but my soul belongs to Britain—and anyway, Mom thinks her granddad’s ancestors came from England, so I have some claim.”
Riley’s phone began to sing. She yanked off a mitten, a smile rising from her bundled scarf. “Hey, Mom! Were you in the shower when I called?” The snarling wind bit into her bare skin, sending searing throbs through her hand and twisting her grin into a clenched wince. “Whatever you do, don’t go out. My face feels like it’s about to shatter and fall off.”
“I just got in.” Contentment hugged Maggie’s voice.
Mom never goes out early unless… A twinge jabbed Riley’s stomach. Not again. “Were you at the hospital? Why didn’t you call me? You shouldn’t be on public transit!”
Casey leaned in. “Hospital?”
Riley offered a shivery frown.
“I didn’t call because you have early class this morning. Speaking of which, shouldn’t you be there now—?”
She stepped on her mother’s question. “Are you okay?!”
“I’m fine. I felt a little short of breath after dinner, so I went to the ER.”
“What? You were there overnight? If you went willingly, it had to be more than ‘a little’. I had to drag you in January.”
“Riley, stop worrying. Last night was like January. The symptoms were the same, the diagnosis was the same, and the treatment, same—a blood transfusion.”
“A blood transfusion isn’t like slapping on a Band-Aid, Mom.”
Casey popped above his scarf. “Transfusion? Again?” he mouthed.
“I feel much better.” A giddiness lifted her words. “Maybe I’m half-vampire—I do love Twilight!”
“Not funny!” Riley sniffed, her eyes and nose watering from the chill. “If you can’t breathe every time your red blood cell count drops after chemo, they’ll postpone your treatments again.”
“They’ll only postpone if my numbers don’t improve. As of 6:30 this morning, my count was climbing and I was breathing normally.”
“Yeah, after sitting there for hours—on your own.”
“I was fine, sweetheart! I had my book and chatted with a little girl who kept popping through the curtain. Her grandma apologized, but I didn’t mind. She was so cute, dragging around a stuffed dog by the ear, asking if she could be a blood donut.”
“A what?” Riley squinted, trying to hear her mom over the howling wind and an open-top tour bus—devoid of passengers—chugging south on Broadway.
“She was calling a blood donor a ‘blood donut’. She reminded me of you at that age—inquisitive, wanting to help, dragging Puffin everywhere. You loved that stuffed toy so much—still do!” A smile lifted her words. “Anyway, I feel much better now, so I’m going to enjoy my toast, binge-watch something happy, and cocoon under my blanket.”
“I wish you would’ve called me. I could’ve kept you company.” Riley blinked away the snowflakes collecting in her eyelashes and glanced around the fake fur on her hood.
Casey nodded.
“Riley, it would’ve been pointless to drag you out of bed. If it had been serious, I would’ve called you, promise—and before you ask, I didn’t take the bus. A neighbor drove me and a hospital volunteer brought me home. See? Nothing to worry about.”
“Still…” Riley sighed as they crossed Waverly Place, school only steps away.
“Sweetie, I’m fine. I’m home, and Netflix is calling.”
Above the entrance to Tisch, the purple NYU banner snapped and flailed, threatening to break free. Casey tugged the door open and gestured for Riley to enter first. “If anything changes, text me. I’m working later, but you can still call.”
“Will do. Now, I’m hanging up and you’re going to class. Bye!”
Riley tossed her hood off in frustration.
“Your mom’s always been super sweet to me. I hate that she’s going through this again.” Casey showed his NYU card to the security guard. “Is she doing okay?”
Riley dug out her ID and flashed it. “I guess, but I don’t think she’s telling me everything.”
“Being vague about bad stuff is in the parenting manual.”
“Don’t they realize that makes us worry more, not less? The unknown is scarier than reality. I’m not twelve—I can handle what’s really going on.”
Casey lowered his voice. “Remember when I told you my dad got laid off, a few years back?”
Riley nodded.
“I only found out because I caught him leaving a pawn shop—he’d sold an old watch, family bits and bobs. I remember his face. He looked shocked and angry, but I think more than anything he was ashamed. He said, ‘Casey, I don’t want your sisters worrying about any of this, so let’s keep it to ourselves.’ Maybe your mom’s the same?” He pressed the elevator button, still wearing his gloves. His obsession with Harry Styles was matched only by his obsession for dodging germs. “If she called all the time and told you about every bad day, you’d never make it through college, and you’d never see your friends or go out. She’s protecting you, Rye—”
“Yeah, but it’s hard to have a ‘normal life’ when I’m worrying she’s not being straight with me. Catch-22, right?”
“I know, but it’s what she wants.” He squeezed her arm. “You have to respect that.”
“Do I?” Riley sighed and followed Casey into the elevator.
Twelve
One week later
Swaying in time to The Weeknd’s “Earned It” to be polite, Riley stifled a yawn and gave Erika a thumbs-up, watching her float onto the stage, cheeks aglow above a megawatt smile that screamed, Fun like this should be illegal! The bride-to-be was in total banana hammock heaven, and it didn’t hurt that the male dancer leading her by the hand through the foggy haze was a dead ringer for Erika’s favorite actor, Zac Efron. Dressed in a sexy, casual combo of a muscle-hugging tank and beat-up Levi’s, his attire made a nice change from all the spandex short-shorts, trench coats, and cheesy fireman costumes (complete with big hoses) that had strutted across the blue-lit stage of the East Village club over the previous hour.
“You’re next, Rye!” Erika shouted with a wink, her enthusiasm for Riley’s just-delivered engagement news bordering on obsessive. She had already named herself Riley’s chief bridesmaid and forced her to endure two nearly naked lap dances. Male dancers weren’t Riley’s thing, but witnessing Erika’s overwhelming glee made her laugh, and the ear-pounding music meant she didn’t have to make small talk with Leia—a win-win.
Riley’s eyes flitted to the table behind them and the uncut penis cake that pointed at Leia’s butt. With a snicker, she adjusted her pink satin sash with ‘Hot Bridesmaid’ embellished in silver glitter and joined the crowd, clapping to the beat as it swerved into the whistling intro of Maroon
5’s “Moves Like Jagger”. Five more dancers wearing Ray-Bans appeared through the smoke, echoing the Efron lookalike’s uniform. They stalked the stage under the pulsing strobe lights, each slipping a hand under their tank tops, their faces feigning wonderment over their yet-to-be-revealed physiques. The scent of cologne and sweat hung in the air, a testosterone-charged calling card inviting the shrieking audience to pant and claw their way closer.
The six dancers circled around Erika’s chair on stage, their bodies rolling seductively to the bass. Squealing with a naughty twinkle in her eyes, she bounced up and down, barely able to keep her hands to herself. Her white ‘Sexy Bride’ sash slipped off a shoulder, and the Zac lookalike grabbed hold and used it like a lasso to pull her closer. Erika opened her knees slightly and the dancer went to work, grinding his hips and lifting the hem of his tank higher, higher, up over his head. He clutched her eager hands, sliding them down his hard pecs and jaw-dropping eight-pack to his impressive abdominal V-lines. Erika screamed in hilarity.
“Go lower—LOWER ERIKA!” Leia shouted.
Riley smiled. Okay, I admit it…this is hilarious! Erika, the immaculate hospitality coordinator at the ritzy Four Seasons Hotel, was shaking off the posh persona she wore Monday through Friday and owning her sexual fantasies without apology. For once, she wasn’t bothered about her image, who was watching, or what Scott would think, and was full-on enjoying herself.
Finishing her water, Riley set down her glass and caught the now shirtless men flexing their abs and rolling their denim-clad hips, whipping the women into a feral frenzy. With a well-timed pelvic thrust, they tossed their sunglasses into the audience, eliciting lustful howls and a surge of grabby hands lunging toward the airborne accessories. Most were out of luck as Riley, Leia, and two of Erika’s work friends captured four of the six shades.
Licking her lips, Riley put on the glasses. “I hope these things are 3-D!”
Leia burst into laughter, the two women united in a common goal—kissing goodbye to Erika’s bachelorette status, one pelvic thrust at a time.
Head bobbing, Riley’s eyes flitted from a handsy Erika getting carried away with Efron Junior to a dancer hanging back, seemingly playing catch-up. Out of sync with the music and choreography, his moves were not like Jagger—they were hesitant and off beat—and his chest and abs, while toned and sculpted, weren’t as over-the-top stripperlicious as the other guys’ muscles. Flicking his hair out of his eyes, he bumped into his fellow dancers and stumbled in the dark, almost falling off the back corner of the stage. What’s up with that guy? She removed the cheap sunglasses, trying to see through the dry ice. He’s hot and his hair—my God, what an irresistible mess, but…is he drunk?
He looked up and Riley’s heart tripped.
BEN?!
BOLLOCKS! Is that RILEY?!
Freezing on the spot, Ben’s stomach flipped. He gulped and spun clumsily behind Hunter, his arms wrapping around his bare chest. She didn’t see me, did she? Oh fuck!
“Dude!” Hunter growled over his shoulder. “Get it together. Go dance with the bridesmaids.”
“Uh, mate, I can’t. I’m…erm…”
Hunter dance-moved behind and elbowed him in the back, forcing Ben forward. Caught off guard, he tripped over his own feet, face planting beside Erika’s Jimmy Choos.
Great! Face down, center-fucking-stage. Nice one, you complete muppet.
Erika didn’t notice. Eyes closed, her hands were dedicated to Zach’s abs as he teased her neck with feathery, barely there kisses.
Ben pressed his forehead into the floor and held his breath, sweat gathering between his shoulder blades. Jesus, I can’t just lie here. FUCK. Improvise! Pretend this is part of the show. Within seconds, he rose up on his forearms, humping the stage. He flipped over and stood up, briefly catching Riley’s eyes before his gaze slipped to Leia, who arched an eyebrow and leaned into Riley’s ear. Peering through his hair, Ben couldn’t look away. What’s she saying? A laugh flew from Leia’s lips, but Riley didn’t join in. She stared, eyes narrowing, jaw slack.
What the fuck did she say? With a sweep of his hand across his stubble and a roll of his hips, Ben was almost caught up to the other dancers, but his mouth sank into a frown. I am such a loser. Kill me now.
Hunter nudged Ben toward Riley. “Buddy, c’mon—work the crowd.”
Ben obliged, each step off the stage pushing his heart higher and higher into his throat. He swallowed heavily, watching Hunter for guidance. His new roommate threw his arms triumphantly around Leia’s waist, yanking her willingly against his jeans into a dirty dance that drew lustful screeches from the crowd. Here goes nothing. Avoiding Riley’s eyes, Ben tentatively reached for her waist, his fingers sliding around her soft curves, the silkiness of her blue wrap dress conspiring to quicken his already rapid pulse. He fought the rush, inhaling slowly, closing his eyes as he released the breath with a shudder. Sassy, sexy Riley—but she leaned away, her wild stare tracing his bare chest. Shit, is that pity? Disgust? He glanced at Hunter, who was completely lost in Leia and their flirtatious bump and grind, and then caught the lascivious leers of several women mere inches away. You can’t hide. Everyone’s watching. Get it over with—just do it. A tortured half-grin floundered on Ben’s face as he pulled Riley in, the kind, gorgeous girl he had hoped to bump into again. Careful what you wish for…
Ben swayed to the beat. Riley stiffly followed his lead, keeping a safe distance from his sweaty chest and the belt buckle protruding over his jeans. Her hands skirted his shoulders, barely touching him, like a shy preteen at a junior high dance. He briefly looked at her face, expecting disappointment but…a warmth rose in her green eyes and a soft smile grew across her cheeks. Her fingers traveled along his skin, her hands meeting behind his neck, pulling him closer. Don’t read anything into this. She’s just being kind.
They stayed locked together for the final minute of the song, each roll of his hips into hers, each sway as one unleashing shivers up his spine. Eyes closed, Riley didn’t push him away or tell him to back off. I bet she can feel my heart pounding like I can feel hers. Is she enjoying this? Or is she wishing it would end soon? Oh God, what I wouldn’t give to kiss her…
The rising catcalls and heavy bass flooded his ears, derailing his longing, forcing him back to reality with a heavy blink. Fagan, stop! These feelings—you’re wasting your time! She’s taken. And anyway, commitment isn’t your thing, mate. He cleared his throat, his gaze drifting over her shoulder, avoiding the blur of female faces beyond.
Maroon 5’s big hit began to mix into the next song, signalling that Ben’s only performance was over. Riley opened her eyes and he loosened his hold, his hands falling from her waist as he stepped back. Self-preservation…save some face. Ben’s shoulders lifted in a casual shrug. “Cheers.”
Riley fumbled with her clutch, her lips opening to say something, but Ben fled into the shadows where excuses and explanations weren’t necessary.
Thirteen
Ben’s unexpected appearance and abrupt disappearance left Riley’s complexion flushed, her heart racing, and her mind flooded with questions: Why didn’t he text me? Holy crap, he’s hot! Has he been dancing long? Riley giggled. Actually, his ‘moves’ answered that question!
Squeezing through the rowdy throng of women during the intermission, she crossed paths with a few shirtless dancers serving drinks, but Ben wasn’t one of them. She craned her neck, looking over heads bobbing to the music and around arms waving colorful cocktails, but after a second loop of the club, there was still no sign of him. She gave up her search, slipping into the ladies’ room. After a lipstick re-application and a fluff of her hair, “Pony” began to throb through the club’s sound system. The midnight show—the dancers were on stage again.
Heading back, Riley’s eyes shot over the sea of women in front of the stage, landing on the muscled hunk who had been dancing with Leia earlier, slick with body oil, thrusting away, his jaw-aching bulge barely contained in a tiny purple G-string. A
woman to her right held up a sign with a huge purple emoji—the eggplant. Of course. Riley chuckled, veered to the left, and spotted a green baseball cap by the bar. Ben? She took a detour and a chance, weaving past several drunk women punching the air with large inflatable penises. Claiming a spot just shy of the guy’s left elbow and his coat, which were piled up on the wooden bar like a barrier, she leaned in: Boston Bruins hat—check, dark hair flicking out underneath—check, cheekbones to die for—check. He turned his head and quickly turned away again. Vibrant blue eyes—fleeting, but check. He hung his head and slouched over three empty shot glasses. His left hand was entertaining itself in a bowl of bar nuts.
Is he okay? “Ben?”
He stared at the bar, plunging a finger of his now healed right hand into an empty glass, spinning it round and round. The bartender returned with two full shots of a clear liquid. Ben mouthed, “Thanks.”
Vodka? Riley leaned in. The sleeve of his purple hoodie was torn, hinting at a tattoo of some sort lurking on the inside of his right forearm. She ducked slightly, trying to see under the peak of his cap. “Hey…again…”
He focused intently on the peanut bowl, not responding.
“I almost didn’t recognize you up there without your hat. Is this research?”
“Research?” Avoiding her eyes, his chin retreated into his hoodie.
“Yeah, for a role. Going all Channing Tatum?”
He snorted, his posture stiffening as his hand abandoned the empty glass for a full shot. “Like anyone would want to cast me.”
“What? Oh, jeez. The Netflix thing…you…?”
“Didn’t get it.” Ben tossed back the vodka and winced, promptly exchanging that glass for another.
“Oh, I'm sorry.” Riley set her jacket down on top of his. “Did you find out today?”
He laughed joylessly, the full glass teasing his wet lips. “I found out mid-audition.”
Until The Last Star Fades Page 7