“Yeah. Gross,” John said. “Can I have those onion rings?”
Lena kept her eyes on the table.
But Link ignored them. He kept his forehead pressed against Ridley’s, whispering something into her face.
A secret. Something private.
Something he should have told her a long time ago.
“You what?” She yanked away from him as if he’d lit her pink streak on fire.
Link felt like she’d thrown a bucket of water in his face. “I love you, Rid. You gotta know that by now.”
“Here we go,” Ethan said, pushing his way out of the booth.
“See ya,” John said, grabbing the onion rings. Liv and Lena followed him out the door. They knew better than to say a word.
All four of them ran for it.
Link might as well have lobbed a grenade at Ridley, instead of three little words. He didn’t know what all the fuss was about. But she stood there staring at him like he’d whipped off his pants in the middle of the Dar-ee Keen.
You could drive a monster truck through her mouth, Link thought. That’s how far it’s hanging open.
“Don’t be stupid,” Rid finally said, without looking at him.
Link shoved his hand through his spiky hair. “So, yeah. That’s not what you’re supposed to say when a guy tells you he loves you.” He wiped pink lipstick off his face.
Rid rolled her eyes. “What am I supposed to say? I love you, too? Do you know how ridiculous that is?”
“No. But I get the feelin’ you’re about to spell it out for me.” Link looked grim. In the distance, Charlotte, the Dar-ee Keen’s only full-time waitress, held up a pitcher of refill soda. He shook his head.
Not now. Not when all hell is about to break loose.
“Do you know how many guys have said those words to me? And do you know how many times I’ve said them back?” Ridley was losing it.
“I’m going to go with ‘all of them’ and ‘zero,’ based on this whole conversation.” Link exhaled. Keep it calm. Talk her down. You know how to do this, bro.
“Ding, ding, ding.” She was furious, and anger brought out her nasty side.
“You don’t have to be nasty about it. I get it.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah. I get it. I’m not as stupid as you think I am.” Link flicked a piece of melting ice across the table.
“Really?”
He looked up. “You don’t love me. You don’t love anybody. You’re a Siren. I’ve heard it all before.”
“Then, why—”
“The thing is, Rid, that’s not what it feels like when you’re with me.” He had to be honest. He had nothing left to lose.
“Please,” she snapped.
Link kept going. “I gotta be honest with you. I kinda feel like you—”
“Don’t say it.” She held up her finger. A threat.
“You love me.” He smiled because he knew it was true, whether or not Rid would ever admit she felt that way. He didn’t know why that didn’t seem to cut it anymore.
“I said not to say it.” Ridley was backing her way out of the booth.
“You don’t have to be so tough all the time. Not around me, Rid.” He got up after her.
Her hands were against the glass door of the restaurant. “I am tough. It’s everything else that I’m faking.”
“See that? You’re a liar. A big fat liar.” He leaned against the wall next to her.
“I’m none of those things. Not big. Not fat. Not a liar.” She was like a cornered polecat, and he’d never seen her so panicked.
“Yeah? Then what are you?” He raised an eyebrow, waiting. He could wait all night.
“Out of here. That’s what I am.”
True to her word, she wasn’t lying. Before Link could say anything, Ridley was gone.
AFTERMATH
Ridley
There were lots of ways to forget about a guy. Especially a mostly Mortal guy. Especially one who was only part Incubus, and not even the good part. Especially a dumb guy who kept trying to force you to be something you’re not. Something you couldn’t possibly live up to…
Ridley tried to forget every way she knew how.
She bounced her way through Europe with a broken heart, country hopping the way some guys go barhopping.
She met a handsome Italian football player on a train to Otranto and stayed in a castle for the next two weeks. The Florence of the South, Marco had said.
No more dinners with your mother, Ridley had said. Not even in a castle.
She had cruised down the Dalmatian coast with Bela, a handsome sailor in an even more handsome yacht, from Split to Brac to Hvar to the walled city of Dubrovnik. The orange-red tiles against the blue-blue sky had seemed romantic at first. Then they just reminded her of Link with his Lake Moultrie sunburn.
In Paris, she had grown tired of champagne and oysters, and of Etienne, who had come with them. There were only so many baguettes you could break at Ernest Hemingway’s former table or F. Scott Fitzgerald’s afternoon bar. And the café Les Deux Magots probably meant something about two maggots, so what was that about, anyway?
Berlin was arty; Ridley was not. Moscow liked salty; Ridley liked sweet.
By the time she finally felt like she had left Gatlin behind, it wasn’t just Gatlin that was over.
The whole summer was behind her.
Ridley didn’t know why she’d come back here—to New York or to Suffer. The Dark Caster club didn’t have enough alcohol or enough sugar to keep her mind off all the things she had spent the summer trying to forget.