Page 97 of Best Friends for Never

His legs are long and muscled, his abs—which I’ve memorized every ridge of—are perfectly sculpted, and his arms are completely jacked. His dark hair is untamed in a way that should look messy, yet it doesn’t. His blue-green eyes are bright and command my attention.

I can see why Hollywood loves to cast him as the leading man, because he truly does look like a movie star.

He quirks a single brow. “Enjoying yourself?”

I give myself a mental shake, then walk past him as if I wasn’t just checking him out and climb into his bed and under hisSpider-Mansheets.

He laughs, then goes into the bathroom, only to reappear moments later as my eyes drift shut.

The bed dips as he crawls in next to me. He slides his arm under me, tugging me closer, and I go willingly, mostly because I don’t have the energy to fight him on it.

He fits me against him like I was made to be there, then kisses my forehead.

“’Night, Peter.”

“Mm-hmm,” I mumble, and either he laughs so hard he shakes the bed, or I’m just that far gone.

Either way, it’s the last thing I remember before I drift off to sleep.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

I look up and find Noel standing at the edge of the Goodman Theater’s stage in his favorite faded Ramones T-shirt he found when we went thrifting over Christmas break.

“You aren’t either,” I tell him.

He shrugs, climbing the stairs, his Chuck Taylors that he let me doodle all over squeaking loudly against the floor. “Yeah, well, looks like we both broke the rules.”

He settles down next to me, his feet dangling off the edge like mine. The cologne I got him for Christmas wafts toward me, and I inhale the scent as best I can, committing it to memory, especially since I’m not sure when I will get to smell it again.

He sighs, then runs his hand through his hair, the same thing he’s been doing for as long as I can remember. “I can’t believe this place really got shut down.”

I look around the theater. It’s dark and quiet, save for the floodlights that are still on for some reason. “I know. But I guess that’s what happens when a tree falls through it and causes so much damage it’s ‘non-repairable.’”

“These big-ass trees around here ...” He shakes his head. “I’m not going to miss them, that’s for damn sure.”

I’m sure he won’t, given his history—losing his parents in an instant to a dark night, a slick road, and a tree.

“I still don’t think it needed to be shut down,” he says, changing the subject like he always does when we get too close to talking about his parents.

“Me neither. I bet anyone with the right skills could repair this place.”

“They could tear it down and rebuild it. Make it better.”

“No. There’s no need to tear it down. It has good bones. It just needs some ...”

“Magic?”

“Magic,” I agree. I let my eyes wander over the high ceilings and down to the old, worn-out chairs that desperately need replacing.

“Well, who knows? Maybe the right person will come along someday with the magic this place needs.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“So.” He grins down at me. “Are you going to miss me, Peter?”

“Of course I will.”

More than he knows.

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