Page 91 of Rinkmates

“If they fire you, I’ll kill them.”

“Great! And what do I do then? Huh?” I scream, leaning into the open window. “I don’t have a trust fund! I don’t have any money! I have what I came here with! That’s all! I need this show, Riley!”

He blinks. “I will give you the money.”

I throw my head back, laughing bitterly. “Oh, of course you will. The man with all the money in the world will just give me a million dollars. How generous of you. What am I to you, Riley? Your whore? I won’t take a cent from you.”

“Stop being so fucking stubborn!”

“Stop getting your nose in things you shouldn’t! You’re my FAKE boyfriend, not my real one. You have no right to act like this. Are you out of your mind?”

A heavy silence stretches between us. I think I see hurt in his eyes, but it’s quickly replaced by an angry frown.

“Fine,” he says, driving off.

I stomp my way to the subway.

After a long FaceTime session,I stand in front of the mirror in my bedroom, turning from side to side as I examine my reflection. The lingerie I’d bought on a whim some years ago hugs my curves, the cheap lace barely concealing my skin. It looks good. And that’s what I need for tonight. To feel good. The party is just perfect for this.

On my angry stomp home, Nina called and sent over a contract, stating that Riley would cover all my expenses if his interference got me fired.

I combed through the fine print, and it wasn’t a trap—no strings attached. Just a legal apology.

Nina managed to calm me down a bit, but I still believe Riley overstepped. I overstepped, too, when I talked to his coach, but Riley has a contract. His coach can’t fire him like that, and heknows it wasn’t Riley shouting but me. Grace will think I didn’t have the guts and sent Riley instead, like he’s my bulldog. That’s a huge difference. Or maybe it’s not. Shit. I don’t know anymore. I think Riley and I have lost track of where we stand. What we are. Maybe we need to cut it. Maybe we shouldn’t go to this party after all, even though I desperately need a distraction.

But I want to go to this party. I want to talk to other people. Talk about something other than Riley, the show, my past.

I just want to have fun for a couple of hours.

I bite my lip, suddenly unsure.

Is the lace too much? Does it look cheap?

I snap a photo, and it looks good, but it’s not like anyone’s going to see it tonight anyway. I put my outfit on, and I’m glad my bra doesn’t show, but I still have a weird feeling. I want to look good tonight.

I need a second opinion.

Before I can second-guess myself, I snap another quick photo and send it to Priya.

Liora: Is this okay?

I hit Send before I can change my mind. But as I stare down at my phone, my heart stops. The message didn’t go to Priya. It went to Riley. And I didn’t send the pic with the dress. It’s the pic of me in my lingerie.

Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God.

I frantically try to delete it, but my fingers are suddenly shaking as I tap at the screen. And it’s too late. He saw it.

My phone buzzes in my hand, startling me so badly I almost drop it.

With a sense of impending doom, I read the text.

Puckster: Lia.

That was all it said. Just my name. But somehow, I can feel the weight of unspoken words behind it.

Before I can respond, another message pops up.

Puckster: You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you? Because it’s working.

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