Page 88 of Triple Play

“Room’s yours if you want it—Shira’s okay with it.”

Felix’s eyebrows go up but he’s grinning. “You sure?”

She laughs and taps a determined finger against the table. “I’m more than okay with it.”

“So,” Felix asks, his smile not fading, “what’s the rent situation?”

“It’s not, uh, necessary.” It’s not like I would charge Shira rent if we lived together. It’s not like it’s entirely the same, even if it’s starting to feel that way.

“Then no.” Felix says it matter-of-factly—says it and picks up the syrup bottle he’s been disparaging since we sat down and pours another few glugs onto his waffles, then uses the bottle to motion to the resort around us. “In fact, let me get you back for some of this.”

“I already paid for the room.”

Felix’s shoulders rise toward his ears like I’ve managed to make a mess of this in less than a minute. “Venmo exists.”

I don’t want to argue. Not when we’re about to get into a car together for ten hours. Not when Brayden’s coming. One fight at a time seems like a reasonable number. “Sure, if you want to grab breakfast.” I text him my Venmo handle. A notification comes through. Felix Paquette has sent you a payment of…

I click accept, send back a friend request. A second later, Felix confirms. Transactions appear on his profile—they must have been set to friends-only. Various dollar amounts sent for various emojis: golf, food, maple leaves. I’m just about to start teasing him about that when I notice another set of transactions from last year, all marked with music notes. That girl he was in love with. What was her name? Melody.

Shira’s name also means song. A funny coincidence.

Or so I think.

Until I tap on Melody’s profile picture and one of Shira appears.

It takes a second to recognize her: her hair is longer, her face more made up. She’s smiling as she holds her long manicured nails up to the camera. But that’s Shira. There’s no mistaking it.

My heart kicks up in my throat. Events begin to replay—Shira and Felix’s familiarity with each other. How she seemed to know things about him that she shouldn’t have. How a few times, he caught himself calling her by a different name.

I hold up my phone and point to the transactions. “What the fuck?” I spit. “You two knew each other?”

This time, there’s no teasing. No ribbing that perfect Blake Forsyth swore. Just a matching pair of guilty expressions that are all the answer I need.

“Is this some kind of scam?” I ask.

Shira speaks first. “Blake?—”

She stops when I start shaking my head. By now my blood is up, pulse angry at my temple. A hot wave of embarrassment rushes through me. Words rise: that they must think I’m a dupe for not seeing this earlier, that they were doing this right in front of my face. When I caught them laughing with one another, I assumed it was because they liked one another and didn’t want to admit it.

But now I know it’s because they were laughing at me. Perfect Blake Forsyth makes the perfect mark. Of all people, I should know that things that seem too good to be true probably are. “How do you know each other?” I grit out. “Start talking.”

Shira glances at Felix, then says, “I danced in Worcester, where the Monsters’ triple-A team plays. Felix was a customer. I swear it wasn’t more than that.” Even if her face says it was.

“Why are you still lying to me?” I’m being loud. Other diners could overhear, could be getting out their phones to record us. For once, I don’t really care. If I’m gonna be a mess, might as well make it public.

Shira chews her lip. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not mad that he was a customer.”

Her forehead wrinkles in confusion. “You’re not?”

“I’m mad you didn’t tell me, that you had a secret you kept from me. I’m mad you assumed I wouldn’t understand—even when I did. And I’m mad he’s very clearly in love with you—or Melody, or whoever—and you’re pretending like he isn’t. Is it because you’re in love with him too?”

Shira gasps sharply. Felix sits as still as a mountain.

Neither of them says anything. An admission. An unspoken yes. Yes, they’re in love with each other. Yes, they were hiding it from me. Yes, they weren’t planning to tell me: now or ever.

Fine, if that’s how they want to be, then that’s how we’ll be. It’s only ten hours to Florida. I’ve gone through worse for longer. This hot anger should settle by then—that this thing we built together carefully is already crumbling like sand. That, despite everything, we’re still strangers to one another.

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