I was only twenty-one, fueled by dreams, ambitions, and desires. I wanted it all. I wanted him.
And then I didn’t have him.
And it hurt like hell.
When he finally appeared at my door and rattled off the events of that weekend, detail by painstaking detail—the guys came by, blindfolded us, took us camping; it was fun, but still—I’d wound myself up too far to simply let down my guard and say, Hey, it happens. Come on in and kiss me like crazy.
Besides, I needed him to apologize first, and when he didn’t lead with that, my walls went up again, brick by brick.
It was for the best, I told myself.
We were better off as friends.
I wasn’t interested in jocks anyway.
I told myself the universe had saved me from giving my heart to someone who didn’t deserve it.
If he couldn’t lead with I’m sorry, couldn’t weave that into the opening notes of his I’m back song, how could I let him know how much he meant to me?
Friendship was the only way out. The only path that didn’t lead to my becoming a fool in love like my mom and dad. I’d seen exactly where that kind of starry-eyed, us-against-the-world mentality led—to them ignoring their own children.
And he’d affirmed my decision when he made that callous comment—It was just one night anyway.
Exactly.
That was all it was.
And that’s all tonight is. One stupid night to get through.
And I’m here for Luna.
I’m about to tell him why I don’t believe Luna went to the comic shop when he continues about lacrosse.
“And yes, I still play,” he says. “I joined a league, and we play in Central Park on weekends, and nobody kidnaps me and takes my phone away.” There’s a note of contrition in that last bit, but it’s ten years too late.
“Glad to hear your phone is in your control.” I clip my reply and return to the task at hand. “My point is this—Luna is not a comic book fan. She doesn’t go to comic shops. She would never have been there on her own. Even if Rowan was doing research for his costume, and even if Luna went to a party as a schoolgirl, that doesn’t mean she was in the shop at the same time as he was. We don’t know for sure they met there.”
“No, we don’t. But it’s likely. She went to the button shop, then to the comic shop, because even if she’s not a fan of comic books, I bet she knows Baxter. He’s a fixture around here. She probably went there to say hi to him.”
I groan inside. Who the hell is this Baxter guy? “She’s friends with Baxter and went there to say hi to him? Doubtful.”
“Actually, it’s not doubtful at all. It’s perfectly logical. You know, logic,” he says slowly. “That thing that helps rational people make sense of events that have transpired? Like, say, when a guy can’t reasonably return in time from a trip?”
Forget burning. I am a volcano. I am about to spew red-hot lava that will eat him alive. “Yes. I am familiar with rational thought. Something I’ve been practicing for years, like a religion. But, by all means, please illuminate your rationale. Be my guest.”
I sweep out my arm and let the jackass take the lead, and as I do, I offer up ten million prayers to all the gods and goddesses, all saying . . .
Let him be wrong.
I don’t care where the freaking guitars are right now. I want this man to be wrong more than I want a sandwich, and I am famished.
When we enter the comic shop, the burly man behind the counter welcomes us with a jovial Santa Clausesque “Heya! Welcome to Baxter’s Comic Book Haven.”
Lucas heads to the counter. “Hey, Bax. How the hell are you?”
“Good to see you again, my man.” They do some guy-type fist bumping. What the hell? Lucas knows Baxter too?
“Been a while,” Lucas says. “How’s it going? How’s Annie? Is she still on the mend?”
The bearded man beams. “She’s great. Kicked that stage-two bitch like the badass she is. One full year in remission.”
Ohhhhh.
I get it now.
I understand his logic completely.
The comic shop is a real possibility now. Luna loves people. Loves the neighborhood. Luna wouldn’t have come in here for comics, but she definitely would have come in to check on this man and his wife. That’s my sweetheart of a sister.
Lucas’s smile is magnetic. “Awesome. Nothing better than that.”
“That’s fantastic. So wonderful,” I chime in, because the news this man is sharing is the kind that any human would be happy to hear.
“Thank you. Appreciate you saying that.” Baxter swings his eyes to Lucas. “And we appreciate you making that donation to research. Means the world to us.”
Okay, I am officially living in an alternate world. One where Lucas is kind and thoughtful and giving.
“Least I can do,” Lucas says with a deferential nod.
Baxter rubs his palms together. “Now, what can I do for you? Did you decide to finally get into Superman? Or did you want to buy the newest Star Wars collection for Ro’s birthday?”
“Definitely the new Star Wars. Why don’t you set it aside for him?” Lucas says, then fishes into his wallet and slaps down a credit card. “He will lose his mind with happiness. But I’m also here because I’m hoping you can help us out with something.”
“I’m always happy to give you a hand, and you know that, but”—Baxter tips his forehead to me and clears his throat exaggeratedly—“maybe first, you finally want to introduce me to your kind lady friend?”
“Ah, yes. Baxter, this is Lola. Lola, meet Baxter,” Lucas says, and I extend a hand.
“Nice to meet you,” I say.
“Likewise. And it’s about time,” Baxter says, his eyes drifting to Lucas. “I’ve heard so much about you from him.”
I flinch. I must be hearing things. Must be the hunger causing aural hallucinations. “All fabulous stuff, I’m sure,” I joke, since I’m sure it was nothing of the sort.
“Definitely all good,” Baxter says, dead serious.
And I’m thoroughly confused. Lucas appears flummoxed too. Except is that a hint of red coursing over his carved cheeks?
I do believe Lucas is blushing.
I rein in a smile. I shouldn’t feel so delighted over this little discovery, yet I do. Because maybe, just maybe, he didn’t entirely mean it when he said, It was only one night. Maybe I’ve haunted his dreams since then. I like that possibility, for more reasons than I care to unpack right now.
“Baxter, my man. Let’s not let the lady know all my secrets,” Lucas says, like he’s desperately trying to sweep something under the rug.
Baxter chuckles, then brings a finger to his lips. “Then I won’t tell her you thought she looked stunning in all black at that party a year ago. The same one that Rowan worked on the costume for.”
A gong clangs.
A bell rings.
And Lucas and I both look at each other. I suspect my expression mirrors his. Eureka.
“They went to that party? The same one we went to?” I ask, shock racing through me as I picture the new bowling alley in Chelsea, the retro-style place that’s all the rage now. “The one at Pin-Up Lanes?”
Lucas scrubs a hand across his stubbled jaw. “I never saw him there. That’s why I didn’t think they met at that party. But they must have.”