Page 17 of Hating On Riot

“Wait, what?”

“I kissed him, Coop.” The weight of guilt lifts from my shoulders. I hated keeping that from him. Cooper and Riot played basketball in high school, and the two top players from rival schools butted heads right away.

“When?”

“Um, remember that end-of-the-semester party at Galley’s?” Five months ago.

Cooper demanded to know where I was. He said something bad had happened with him and the girl he’s hung up on, but he refused to tell me more. He wants to know the details of my life, but when I asked about his, he clammed up? Hurt, I avoided him for a week. To win back my good graces, he took his love language of service to the extreme, spoiling me so rotten that I forgave him. We made up and celebrated with banana splits piled high with whipped cream at Gigi’s Diner.

“Yeah?”

“Well, I overheard a girl talking about meeting Riot in a closet in one of the bedrooms upstairs. I got her alone and let her know he changed his mind.”

It didn’t take much convincing. The girl merely shrugged, barged past me, grabbed another rugby player’s arm, and yanked him up the stairs.

“I took her place. Is that pathetic or what?” My face heats with embarrassment.

“Are you certain he didn’t guess it was you?”

“It was pitch black.”

“Do you remember your first kiss with him?”

“Of course. The first kiss is unforgettable. Did you forget yours?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

He didn’t. I can tell by the longing in his voice. An idea pops into my head. Why does Hope get to be the only on-the-down-low matchmaker on campus? I can take a stab at it too.

“You should mend whatever went wrong between you and that girl you’re hung up on.”

“She won’t give me the time of day.”

“I’m up for helping.”

“No go. You’ll want the backstory, and it’s shameful.”

I know all about backstory and shame. “No need for backstory.”

“I’m not ready. I’m sorry.”

I understand not being ready to talk about the difficult stuff. It’s the story of my life since my sister’s death.

“Hey, don’t be. If anyone should apologize, it’s me.” I look at my lap and toy with the hem of my shirt. “I betrayed you first and was too freaked out and scared of losing you to say anything. Then I made you feel like shit. I’m good for a favor anytime. Just say when, how, and where.”

“No worries, Arie.”

He might say that now, but I know he’s tucking that “I’m-good-for-a-favor” nugget of mine into his imaginary back pocket for later use.

“So, we’re good? We’re even?” I ask with hope.

He gives me a firm nod. “On equal ground.”

“Thank God. I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” He tucks his hands under my arms and pulls me to him. Happy, I sink into his warmth.

“Arie, can I ask a favor?”