Page 21 of Friends with Benefits

“Their loss,” Pep says, wrapping an arm around Evie and giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Yours, too. I’m sorry, Sweets.”

She leans into her grandmother’s embrace, always appreciative that Pep has never pushed or gaslit her into believing that anything is possible. Some things are not possible for her. At eighteen, the metal in her reconstructed ankle took dance from her, a Broadway-bound future no longer possible. Now a dream fellowship isn’t possible. Not because of Crohn’s disease, but because of America and its fucked-up employer-based healthcare system.

“It’s bullshit.”

Pep nods. “It is.”

That validation is a loop in her head as she, her sister, and her best friend watch Pep and Mo drive away from the bungalow that meant home.It is. It is. It is.Evie feels the weight—the legacy—of Pep’s microphone in her hands. Itisbullshit, but turning down a fellowship is not giving up on a career. Determination blooms in the pit of her stomach, a desperateneedto be worthy of this gift that penetrates her jaded core.

Imogen blows a raspberry at the three missed call notifications that glow on her screen. “I need to hop on a few calls.”

“On a Saturday?”

“Don’t ask.” Imogen sighs, then turns toward Theo. “It’ll take an hour or so to get home right now. Can I take them from your place? My boss is overstimulated by café noise.”

“Course.”

His apartment is just ten minutes down the road. Once Imogen is settled on a beanbag at Theo’s and connected to Wi-Fi, a curious Puck looking over her shoulder, Theo’s eyes meet Evie’s and she locks in on his brown irises. “So. What now?”

What now?

Evie will keep apartment hunting.

Continue to freelance.

Diversify her portfolio.

Even—ugh—network.

But first?

“Afters.”

Their spot is open, a red metal picnic table and bench in the back corner of the parking lot of what used to be a gas station and is now the best place to get ice cream in Pasadena. Gas station ice cream isn’t something Evie knew she needed until it existed, though the vintage Texaco pumps exist solely to create an aesthetic. Afters—said gas station ice cream institution—opened their junior year and became a post-dance tradition of sorts for them, a reward after long Wednesday nights at Stella Hoffman’s Dance Academy.

“Afters after?” Theo asked during a break from learning new choreography, pushing back sweat-drenched curls that stuck to his forehead before kneeling to retie his tap shoes.

Evie focused on rolling out calves that screamed at her with a tennis ball. “Sure.”

“Sweet.”

He held out a hand. Evie took it and ignored the arm attached to it, the flex of his biceps as he pulled her to her feet. She let go, then turned her attention to Stella’s choreography. Or tried to. She kept starting early, on the down beat, and cursed under her breath with each false start. She looked over at her partner and caught him scratching the back of his neck, the hem of his shirt riding up to reveal a light trail of hair starting at the bottom of his belly button. Evie swallowed.Fuck.Theo was hot.

So what?

He was alsoTheo.

Fifteen attempts later, Stella instructed them to take off their tap shoes and run “Someone Like You,” because, as she so bluntly put it, Evie needed a win. Evie cursed under her breath. Sure, she could dance that routine in her sleep, but tap was safer. Less touching. Hand-holding at most. Contemporary was complicated lifts, his hands on her hips, their tangled limbs. Choreography that used to not faze Evie at all and now very much did. But she let the music take her to another place and in those 122 seconds, Evie could let herself love him like that. For the performance.

Obviously.

Because he wasTheo.

If he were anybody else, by then she would’ve leaned into the attraction, the impulsive feelings. Evielovedkissing—boys, girls, everyone. Loved the brief bliss of feeling wanted by boys, girls, everyone. But she didn’t love the complicated after, jumping ship as soon as the vibe shifted away from casual and toward the potential of something more, of getting hurt,of being left. Theo—their friendship—was too important to risk.

So she squashed the crush, the lust, the whatever she was beginning to feel, and four hours of dancing concluded with ice cream and sharing a pair of headphones to watch the newest episode ofSurvivoron Theo’s phone. The following week, Evie was the one who asked, “Afters after?” and it’s been their thing ever since. The chill of the dry Southern California air paired with the chill of dairy-free mint chip a necessary cooldown after hours in the studio, a necessary reminder that whatever was happening to Evie’s heart inside the studio would stay inside the studio.

In the decade since, Afters has become the space Evie goes to reset.

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