Page 19 of Rinkmates

Priya takes my phone, reading all the messages Nina has sent me over the past few days. She totally outdid herself, texting me more than Mom ever does. And that’s practically a miracle, because I swear Mom has a PhD in texting.

Priya squeals. “Jeez! You’ll get your own furniture! His PR firm is paying for everything you want, girl. Why don’t you just say yes? You’ll live your dream, and I can crash at your place when my shoe box is killing me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

I give her a wary glance. “He’s, he’s…he’s awful.”

“He’s not.”

“Did we watch the same videos about him?”

“Probably not.”

“He’s got problems.”

“He’s a hockey player, Liora. They all fight. It’s hot.”

“It’s not.”

Priya nudges me. “Come on, give him a chance. I’ll be your backup plan. You can call me anytime, and I’ll come get you, or call the police if needed.”

I roll my eyes. “You don’t know him. You just have a celeb crush.”

“Yes, that might be true,” Priya admits with a slight blush, “but just think about the offer. Did you see his apartment? It’s in a safe neighborhood, unlike the areas we’ve been looking at. I think it’s your safest option to live with him.”

“No, I don’t have the time to do whatever his PR people want me to do. I need to focus on the show, Priya.”

“Okay, okay,” she says. “I’m just not sure if we can find something in this short time, but I’ll do everything I can.”

“Thank you.”

“Always.”

I scroll through a terrible one-room listing on Craigslist. One thousand dollars a month for a room shared with another guy, located over an hour away from set. Yep. Not gonna happen.

I’m on the verge of launching into a tirade when Priya’s doorbell rings.

She jumps up. “Oh, I think that’s the new dress I ordered for the next casting round. Yay!”

My stomach drops. I can’t afford a new dress. They’ll get what I can afford. My old dress. I just hope it won’t fall off.

As I scroll through various Facebook groups, I hear a sharp gasp from Priya.

My body tenses in response.

“What’s wrong?” I yell, but she doesn’t respond.

Panic rising, I grab the closest object within reach—a long, metal shoehorn—and sprint out of the room, my heart pounding in my ears.

When I reach the living room, I freeze at the sight before me: Priya is standing motionless in front of…Riley.

She’s as still as a statue, not even flinching until she lets out an ear-splitting shriek and covers her mouth. And then he looks at me like I’m the one causing all the commotion.

I can feel the tension in my body loosening, but my grip on the shoehorn remains tight as I watch him. Every inch of his muscular form fills the door frame, making it seem like we’re living in a dollhouse. His black hair is pulled back with a blue sweatband and his hands casually rest in his gray sweatpants, which match perfectly with his Falcons hoodie.

I lift my chin with defiance, refusing to let him unravel me completely.

---