The Best Kind of Forever (Riverside Reapers, #1)(18)

After my roommate left me to fend for myself among upperclassmen, Lila found me like the unsuspecting mouse I was in a flock full of hungry hawks. She took me under her wing that night and introduced me to all of her friends, which was a welcome change from cowering in the corner and pretending to text on my phone.

I’m lucky to have found Lila. She’s helped me cope with my brother’s death and the estrangement from my parents. I don’t know where I’d be without her.

I’m used to Lila being able to ease my worries fairly quickly, but the more I think about Hayes’ curt departure and the fact that he hasn’t texted me back yet, the more it continues to nourish my unease.

She must’ve picked up on my tortured expression because her hands are on her hips and her head is tilted. “What’s up, Aer-Bear? You’ve been quiet this whole time,” she whines.

Anxiety beats like a second heart in my head, and my qualms express themselves through irregular breaths. “Remember that guy I mentioned to you?”

“The guy you tossed your cookies all over?”

“Yes…that guy…”

She minces over to her makeup vanity on wheels, picks up an eyeshadow palette, and lifts some of the charcoal powder onto my eyelids. “What about him, love?”

“I texted him, but I haven’t heard back from him yet.”

Once Lila gives me some room to breathe, I lean down and pick up Crunch, setting her in my lap. She chirps happily, then walks in a circle before burrowing into a little ball.

“Oh, sweetie.” Lila uses her thumb to tilt my chin up. “Guys are dogs. They lead girls on because they don’t know what they want, and then they let you down gently by claiming that ‘You’re a good girl, and I’m not ready for a relationship.’ Even though the entire time you were together, he treated you like you were his girlfriend. Even kissed you on the forehead!”

“Uh…”

She exhales abrasively, her makeup brush flittering in and out of my peripheral. “Sorry, unresolved trauma. Maybe he’s just been busy,” she supplies, her butterscotch ringlets bouncing against her shoulders. “Do you know what he does for work?”

“He said he’s a personal trainer,” I say, trying to tamp down the dose of anxiety suffusing through my veins.

“Maybe he got into a car accident on his way to work, broke all the bones in his body, had to be airlifted to the hospital, and hasn’t been able to use his phone?”

I laugh for what feels like the first time in forever, and the panic in my heart immediately thaws into a lukewarm splendor.

“Maybe it was something I said.”

Lila swats my arm, making me yelp. Crunch shoots straight up into the air, her needle-thin claws piercing my legs, and she zooms out of the room before I have time to pet her back into submission.

“Stop finding ways to blame yourself. This is on him. If he can’t see how incredible you are, then he doesn’t deserve a second of your time, okay?” she growls, practically flaying me alive with her stone-cold gaze.

Angry Lila is scary. She’s never unleashed her full wrath on me, but I did witness her tearing into a pledge during a frat party after he drunkenly poured his drink all over some girl. If I hadn’t stopped her, she probably would’ve harvested his balls and hung them over her rearview mirror like a pair of fuzzy dice.

“Okay.”

“Uh-huh. Say it once more, with feeling.”

“Okay?”

“Close enough,” she sighs, standing back to admire her work. “Perfect! You look beautiful as always.”

She hands me a mirror, bouncing on the balls of her feet excitedly.

She’s gone for a smoky eye—which seems a little intense for a hockey game, but looks gorgeous, nonetheless—a touch of blush on my cheeks, a brush of mascara on my lashes, and a shiny gloss that enhances my Cupid’s bow.

My hair has a slight wave to it as it cascades down my shoulders, ending at the hem of my cropped jersey top. The top was Lila’s idea. She’s gotten me to step out of my comfort zone and experiment more with outfits that don’t solely consist of oversized shirts and sweatpants. I’ve also tried my luck at a pair of bootcut jeans, ones that will hopefully slide off my legs without resistance. And no heels tonight. Or ever again.

Lila’s hair is curled into full corkscrews, and she’s donned a clean, natural makeup look. Her pink bodycon dress hugs her poised and elegant body, revealing tan, long legs. The neckline is low—a Lila Perkins special—and it accentuates every curve of her perky cleavage. Lila dresses up for every occasion. Nothing is ever plain and simple with her. She doesn’t mind the stares or the scandalized whispers. She’s confident in her body, and she doesn’t like to be relegated to stupid, sexist clothing etiquette.

I pick at the grime hugged to the underside of my fingernail. “Do you think I should text him again?”

“How about we forget about dumb boys and try to have fun tonight?” she proposes, yanking my arms and pulling me from my sulking.





Lila starts her parade of apologies as she ducks down in front of a row of people, snacks spilling out from the cradle of her arms.

“So that’s why it took you ten minutes to come back,” I snicker, snatching a kernel of popcorn from her and popping it in my mouth.