Page 42 of From Now On

Rylan rolls her eyes. “He’s so dramatic.”

But she’s smiling as she says it, a soft, secret one that reminds me I’m no longer a member of thehappily in loveclub. One that makes me question whether I was ever a member of that club, because I don’t think that’s an expression I’ve ever worn.

“It was sweet,” Harlow states. “He’s crazy about you.”

Rylan tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “He told me he loved me,” she says shyly.

“Really?” Harlow squeals.

Rylan nods. “Yeah. When we were at my parents’ for dinner last weekend. I was a little worried he was going to bolt after dinner with my dad. And he’s so unserious most of the time, I wasn’t expecting him to say it that soon. Or like, at all.” She laughs. “Caught me totally off guard.”

“Conor told me at SeaTac’s baggage claim,” Harlow says, smiling. “I had a coffee stain on my shirt and hadn’t slept in twenty-four hours. I thought I was hallucinating when I first saw him.” She smiles. “It was the best moment of my life.”

“Well, you guys sure are making single life soundfantastic,” I comment, spritzing my wrists with my favorite perfume.

Harlow walks up behind me and wraps her arms around my shoulders. “You’re going to find your right guy, E.”

I pat her arm. “I know. I’m kidding.”

Sort of.

Harlow didn’t love Ben. Shelikedhim, but my best friend and my ex-boyfriend never moved past the friendly politeness stage that normally passes after you’ve known someone for more than a few weeks. I tried to force it—setting Harlow up with some of Ben’s friends so we would all hang out together. Those double dates involved awkward pauses and no gains of common ground, so I gave up. And then Harlow started dating Conor, and theyfit. And, despite my assumption that most athletes at Holt are insensitive playboys, he’s a genuinely nice guy. Not just to Harlow, but welcoming to me too. I’m not sure what Ben’s reaction would have been if I’d asked if Harlow could tag along on a trip he’d planned with his friends, and I hate that I’m unsure.

“Don’t forget about the list,” she whispers before letting me go.

Very unlikely. About the same chance as me actuallycompletingthe list.

“We should wingwomen Hunter too,” Rylan comments, pulling her dark hair back into a ponytail. “I’m surprised he’s not dating anyone.”

I move my perfume bottle two inches to the right, just to look busy. “I think he is,” I say, in what is hopefully a casual way.

“What?” Harlow says. “Who?”

“Holly Johnson. They were at La Bella Napoli the night Ben and I broke up.”

“Oh.” Harlow’s curiosity has shifted to sympathy.

I shouldn’t have added that last part.

“Who is Holly Johnson?” Rylan asks.

“She’s a sorority girl,” I answer.

Harlow makes arawrnoise as she shuts off and unplugs the curling iron.

“Sheis,” I say, a little defensively. “I had a seminar with her freshman year, and Phi Beta Whatever was all she talked about. Stuck in my head, is all.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed that was Hunter’s type,” Rylan muses. “He’s not exactly Mr. Social.”

“He just takes a little longer to warm up to people,” Harlow says. “I was convinced he hated me when Conor and I first started hanging out. But I think it was more his way of looking out for his friend.”

I’m glad Harlow is defending Hunter. But I’m also weirdly…bothered by the realization my best friend knows him better than I do.

Rylan extracting a bottle of vodka from her giant suitcase is a welcome distraction from the strange reaction. She pulls shot glasses out next, neatly stacked and packed in a plastic bag.

“Wow, you came prepared,” Harlow comments.

Rylan smiles as she carefully pours out three shots. She passes a blue glass to Harlow, a green one to me, and keeps the pink for herself.

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