Page 33 of Break Me
But it isn’t Benji.
It’s the guy from her phone that night, when her fiancé called her.
It’s Caden.
He’s really tall, lean but muscular, wearing a crisp white shirt that hugs his frame, and black pants, sunglasses pushed up over his thick blonde hair. He has cutting blue eyes, I can see from here, at the top of the stairs, and he’s staring at Riley as if she’s the only girl in the world.
They face each other at the bottom of the stairs, and he has his arms around her, pulling her close to him. She ducks her head, looking almost embarrassed, but it’s clear she doesn’t want him to let go.
He presses a kiss to the top of her head.
I look around for Benji. There’re students rushing in and out of the building, giving Riley and Caden plenty of room, but no Benji. My heart sinks, and I chastise myself for it.
But I steel my spine and walk down the stairs.
“Oh, hi Ava!” Riley calls after me as I walk past her and her man, thinking to give them some privacy.
I stop, arrange my features into a smile, and spin around. “Hi,” I say, nodding toward her.
“This is my fiancé, Caden,” she says, his arm slung around her, tugging her close.
He extends his hand and I take it.
“Ava,” I say.
He arches a brow. “Ah,” he muses, “you’re the one my girl was dancing with all night last week.”
I drop his hand and feel myself blushing. I don’t even know why, but there’s something about this guy that is kind of intimidating. Kind of like Benji, but Caden’s energy seems more chaotic somehow. Wrapped in a prettier bow. Almost deceptive. Whereas Benji is clearly a little demented, Caden has the whole golden boy look going on.
“Guilty,” I say in response, meeting Riley’s eyes. She’s beaming. “Well, see ya around.” I force myself not to ask after Benji. I turn to go, but Riley calls after me.
“Benji told me to tell you he’ll see you soon,” she says as I glance over my shoulder. “He’s gone back to Toronto, but he’ll be back.” She smiles, as if that should make me feel better or something.
I get it. I’m sure she knows me and Benji fucked, and she was with us at the movies, but we aren’t, like, a thing. We’ve barely known each other a week. Still, the fact he told her to tell me and didn’t just text me himself kind of pisses me off.
“Thanks,” I say, nodding again to her and turning around, storming through the doors to go find Tess.
What a fucking asshole.
* * *
I can’t help myself.By the time I slide into a booth across from Tess, I’ve sent Benji a text that says Wtf?!
I get that there’s nothing between us, no commitment. But why would he have Riley tell me that? Why the hell wouldn’t he man up and tell me himself? But then again, he doesn’t tell me shit. I still have no idea why the fuck he had a gun the other morning, barging into Riley’s apartment and then kicking me out of his. Whatever. He can keep his secrets. I’ll keep mine.
“What’s wrong?” Tess asks as I stir my salad around with my fork.
She’s got a burger in her hand and she takes a bite, chewing with her mouth closed. I reach across the table and snatch a fry from her plate.
She smirks at me, swallowing down her food before she says, “You know, you could just get your own. It’s included in your mean plan,” she teases me, glancing forlornly at my salad.
I savor the carbs of the fry and then wipe my fingers on a napkin. “I know.” I shrug. “But if it comes from your plate and not mine, the calories don’t count.”
She takes a huge bite of her burger and says, food still in her mouth, “Fuck the calories.”
Hypothetically, I agree. As it is, though, I inherited my mother’s paranoia over gaining weight. I understood it, from her point of view. She was a ballerina—a talent I did not inherit, even though I do love to dance—and had to maintain a certain image. But I’m not a fucking ballerina and I still rarely indulge in anything with too many carbs. But if I want to work in fashion one day, it’s best I train myself now.
I wish I could be more like Tess.
