“Weeks ago?”
“Yep.” He downed the shot and slammed the empty glass on the bar.
“But you were celebrating in LA. You said—”
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, still refusing to look at her. “Yeah, celebrating the end of my dream of being an actor. Why just celebrate our successes? I reckon we should celebrate our failures, too, send ’em on their way with a bottle of whiskey and a cheeky middle finger.”
“So, why did you tell m—”
“I lied, all right? Because no bloke tells a pretty girl he’s just met that he’s a fucking failure.”
Pretty? A slight smile raised her lips but quickly dissolved.
He shoved the empty glass away. “The audition was a disaster. They handed me a script I hadn’t seen before, not the one my agent gave me to rehearse. I got nervous, couldn’t even read the lines…”
“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad. Maybe that role just wasn’t right for you.”
“No, I mean literally—I couldn’t read the script. I’m dyslexic, okay?!”
“Dyslexic—really?”
“Yeah, really. I don’t see things properly. Letters move around, words get jumbled up when I read, and it gets worse when I’m stressed out.”
Her heart dipped. Poor guy. “You should’ve told them.”
He shook his head. “They showed me the door in less than a minute. I was gutted, and furious. I smashed a mirror in the gents’ toilets with my fist.”
Riley glanced at his healed hand. “The bandage.”
“Yeah. Smart, eh? Every time I saw it—a reminder of the truth.” Ben made eye contact for the first time.
Riley felt an immediate wave of concern; he looked sad and defeated.
He gave her a tired smile, placing a finger to his lips like he was letting her in on a secret. “Want to know the truth, Ms. Hope?” Without waiting for a response, he leaned closer. “I’m just not good enough, and I’m done knocking my head against a brick wall. That’s why I'm in New York—’cause I can’t face going home…not yet. I can’t be a fucking disappointment.” He stuffed his fingers into one of the front pockets of his dark jeans, pulling out some folded cash. He opened the small stack, fanning the bills out on the bar. Riley counted one, two—two fifties, maybe three or four twenty-dollar bills, and a couple of crinkled ones.
“Ben—”
“Have a drink with me.” He waved a fifty at the bartender. “Four more, please.”
“Thanks, but I’m not drinking.”
“Why?”
“I need to keep a clear head.”
“Why?” He leaned on the bar, looking at her with a squint.
“Ben, more booze isn’t going to help you.”
He sat back, shaking his head again, his fingers digging through the bowl of peanuts. “You have no business telling me what to do! ’Specially not after giving me the wrong bloody number.” He threw a hard glare her way, his hand flying from the bowl and scattering nuts across the bar. “Why didn’t you just say, ‘Ben, piss off you loser’? Bish bosh, message received loud and clear.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t give you the wrong number.” She held out her hand. “Give me your phone.”
Ben slapped an ancient smartphone with a cracked screen into her palm. He returned to the bowl, grabbing a fistful of peanuts and shoveling them into his mouth, chewing quickly and scowling at the rows of liquor bottles lined up behind the bar.
He’s got the same old phone as me. No security code necessary, Riley skimmed through the few contacts he had, all listed by first names, no last names to go with them. She spotted ‘Rilee’, but the number was off by one digit. He punched it in wrong. “You tried to text me?”
He shrugged.
Riley didn’t make a huge deal of it. “See the six at the end? It should be a four. I’ll fix it and send a text to my phone so I have your number, too, okay?”
He turned his head slightly, barely looking at her. “Hope, go back to your friends and leave me alone. I’m gonna stay here and get pissed and blot out every little bit of my shite life.”
She set his phone on the bar. “Ben—”
“I’ve got nothing: no career, no home, no—” He hiccupped, his eyes locked on the approaching bartender. “Let me have something…and right now, it’s waiting for me in these wee glasses.” The bartender lined up four full shots. “Cheers, mate.” Ben raised one to his lips, the liquid gone in a gulp.
“I know losing out on the Netflix thing must be disappointing, but you know better than anyone that rejections are part of an actor’s life, right? Sure, it hurts now, but it will fade and you’ll get other auditions, other roles. You have to keep trying—”
“Oh, you think so, eh? Think it’s that easy? Since drama school, I’ve only had a few acting jobs: some voiceover work, an advert or two, a play in a pub, and a small part in an indie film in LA, so all that crap about other auditions, other roles—tell it to someone who gives a shit.”
Riley jerked her head back. “I get it, you’re upset, but getting wasted isn’t the answer, and what’s your boss here going to say—seeing you drinking the bar dry?”
“My boss?” He laughed. “He’d say, ‘Thanks for the wages back, loser.’ Besides, I got sacked tonight.”
“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 smirke
d 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.
“Sorry, just have to text Erika. She’s wondering where I am.” Mid-text, Riley did a double take as Ben removed his hat and pawed a hand through his thick dark hair. My God, that hair—slightly wavy permanent bedhead, sexy as hell…If I were a guy with hair like that, I’d never hide it under a cap. She finished her response to Erika, hitting send.
Friend emergency. Sorry! All OK. Chat tomorrow.
“So, your boyfriend…?”
“Josh, yeah. He was calling about the Frozen Four—the NCAA championship final. It’s tomorr—ah, it’s Saturday now, right?” She set her phone on the table. “It’s tonight, and I’m going.”
“You’re going? You’re flying to North Dakota—in a few hours?”
“No, it’s in Saint Paul, Minnesota.”
His eyes widened. “Mad!”
“Josh’s team won the semi-final on Thursday, so tonight’s the final. He’s paying for me to go. It’s definitely a flying visit. I’m back Sunday, so I won’t miss classes or anything.”
“Wow. You’re his number one fan, then.”
“Well, it’s the biggest game of Josh’s collegiate hockey career. Tons of media will be there, NHL scouts. It’s a big deal—over 18,000 tickets have been sold.”
Ben lifted his elbows off the table as the server swiped a damp cloth over its surface and set down two menus before toddling away to the kitchen. “All this for a college game?”
“Oh, college sports are massive here. Games are on TV, athletes get treated like celebrities—it’s kinda crazy. Anyway…” Riley removed her jacket and steered the conversation away from the minefield that was her relationship with Josh. “How do you like New York so far?”
“It’s bloody brilliant! Skyscrapers, yellow taxis—I feel like I’ve walked onto a movie set.”
“Are you settled in at your Airbnb?”
The server delivered two glasses of water to their table. Ben waited for her to leave before continuing. “Yeah, I’m staying at Hunter’s place. He’s the purple thong guy, the Aubergine?” He chuckled. “Fuck, sorry…British brain. He’s the Eggplant.”
The emoji sign from the club flashed through Riley’s mind. “Oh! Right.” The beast part. She giggled, lifting the bridesmaid sash over her head.
“I needed cash and Hunter hooked me up with the dancing gig. Being skint with zero connections, I didn’t have much choice. Desperate times and all that, right?”
Riley picked at the glitter on the sash. “Right…”
“I thought it would be easy, but it was hard and I hated it!” Ben’s attention followed a burger being whisked toward the next table. “Hunter said tips were amazing, but all I got were pity tips—one dollar here and there.” He exhaled. “So, now I’m back where I started—unemployed and broke.”
Riley checked out the menu. “Well, I couldn’t believe it when I saw you onstage. You don’t seem like the stripper type.”
“There’s a type?”
She laughed, hoping she could lighten his mood. Alone in New York without a job, without much money—she wouldn’t wish that on anyone. She peeked over the oversized menu. “You know what I mean.”
“So, what you’re saying is…” He scowled, but the playfulness in his eyes suggested it was for effect. “I’m not hot enough to be a stripper.”
“Oh, I don’t know, I’m sure you’re attractive enough under that hoodie, baseball cap, jumper…”
They both burst out laughing.
Ben stretched back in the booth, a smile growing. “They were desperate, someone quit…”
“You looked good up there…” Riley felt her cheeks heat up as Ben raised a cheeky eyebrow. “But no offense, Ben—those guys have muscles on top of muscles.”
“No offense taken.” He winced. “All those hours in the gym? I kept thinking of all the hours I’d miss in the pub.”
The server returned. “Ready to order?”
Riley looked at Ben, waiting for him to peruse the menu.
“Go for it.” He ran his hand through his hair, but it sprung back and flirted with his eyes again.
“Oh, okay. I’ll have…hmmm, I’ll have the California Wrap and…fries. I’m famous for eating my weight in potatoes, especially smiley ones…”
“What are smiley potatoes?” asked Ben.
“Oh, they’re these frozen potato thingies in the shape of a smiley face. You pop them in the oven, make ’em all crispy. Mom made them when I was little.” She hesitated, buying more time so Ben could read the menu. “Fries or onion rings…? Hmm, no, I’ll just have the wrap. Oh, and something to drink…” She glanced up at Ben, but he was staring at her. “Actually, water’s fine.”
Ben slid the menu to the server without looking at it. “Do you have chicken nuggets, but shaped like dinosaurs?”
Riley chuckled.
The server narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me?”
He stifled a laugh. “Never mind. A burger and fries, thanks. Ooh, do you have milkshakes here?”
“Vanilla, chocolate—”
“Chocolate! Cheers.” As the server turned, Ben winked at Riley. “I’m so going to have cake for dessert, too. Gotta put back all those calories I lost on stage tonight.”
“Yeah, about that…were you freestyling up there? Your moves, Ben—my God.”
“Oi, they weren’t that bad! I’ll have you know, I learned two routines.”
“Two? Wow. So…” She toyed with the fork lying on her paper napkin. “What have we learned in the short time we’ve known each other? I’m a crappy WAG and you’re a crappy stripper.”
“Ahh, I’m also a crappy actor, so I’m one up on you. Sometimes you don’t know until you try and fail miserably, right?”
Riley’s face softened. “Ben, I’m sure you can act.”
He scrunched his nose and scratched his stubble. “So, your friends at the club…WAGs?”
“Yeah. Did the huge rocks on their fingers give them away?”
“Kinda. They looked quite posh. You meet them through your boyfriend?”
“No. Erika, the future bride, was a year
ahead of me in high school. We worked together on the yearbook and became good friends. Leia, the redhead—”
“Her name’s Leia?”
“Yeah, like the Star Wars character. We don’t get along.”
“Oh.” Ben’s eyes lit up as his milkshake arrived.
“Nothing major happened, we just don’t gel.”
“Right. Well, it happens.”
“I’m only friends with her because of Erika.”
Ben tore the paper off his straw and plunged it into the bubbly chocolate froth crowning the tall glass of his shake. “So, three of you there tonight?”
“Some of Erika’s work friends came, too. I don’t really know them. When I hang with Eri, it’s usually just us, sometimes Leia and the guys, too.”
“All hockey players?”
“Yep.”
Ben took a long sip of his shake, his eyes rolling back in exaggerated bliss then returning to Riley. “So, you said your boyfriend got drafted—what does that mean for you?”
Riley hugged her waist. “I’m moving to Minnesota—next hockey season, this fall.”
“This fall? Why would you have to move?” His eyes fell to her arms wrapped around her stomach. “You weren’t drinking earlier…jeez, he knocked you up?”
“No!”
“Well, why move? It’s not like you’re married or any—oh!” His gaze roamed to her hands, but they were still hidden behind her waist. “Shit, are you engaged?”
Eyes glazing over, Riley opened her mouth. “Y-Yeah,” fell from her lips along with a soft exhale.
“Really?”
She answered with a business-like nod.
“Well, congratulations.” His raised eyebrows contorted with confusion and concern. “You don’t look very thrilled about—”
“I am thrilled!” Her face lit up with a defiant smile as she dragged her left hand through her hair.
Ben watched its progress through her locks and along her neck, where it paused to stroke her collarbone. “Where’s your ring? Didn’t he give you one? Is that why you’re not all sparkles and rainbows?”
“I don’t care about the ring.”
“Isn’t that what girls say when they receive a shite one?”
Until The Last Star Fades Page 8
