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“Want to tell me? I’m a great listener. I won’t tell anyone.”

Like I’m going to tell someone I just met.

“Or we could get pissed and forget? C’mon, it’ll be a laugh, once we get out of this…tin can on wheels.” He pulled out the tissue she had given him, dabbing his nose. “This bus reeks of wet dog and piss—it’s totes stuffing me up.” Ben nudged her arm with his non-bandaged hand. “Hey, not only will I buy you a drink, I’ll also buy you more of those peanut butter things.”

Oh, I’m SO done with those peanut butter things.

“Earth to Riley?”

“Thanks, but I’m meeting my friend.”

“Cool, bring her—or him—too. Look, I think you’ve got the wrong end of… I’m not auditioning girlfriends, I just want some fun, you know? A proper night out in the Big Apple, see what all the fuss is about. You up for it?”

Riley looked up from her phone. Ben tilted his head, beckoning. His wide smile consumed his face, his eyes almost disappearing into happy-go-lucky crescents. There was something about him that held a promise, a challenge, his adorable grin offering an unspoken invitation: I’ll bring fun and mischief—come hang out with me.

But Riley didn’t have time for fun, not anymore, and mischief was a luxury she couldn’t afford. No, Ben’s persuasive smile wouldn’t work its magic on her. It would have to charm another partner in crime. Riley wasn’t that girl.

The bus came to a sudden stop, lurching the two of them forward and breaking Ben’s smile.

“This is it—the subway.” Riley grinned, stuffing her belongings in her bag as she stood up and collected her parka, letting the woman seated beside her exit first. “Do you know where you’re going?”

Ben stared out the steamy window into the darkness crowding the Roosevelt Avenue-Jackson Heights subway station. “Um, not sure—downtown somewhere, an Airbnb.” The man beside him stood quickly, forcing Ben to vacate his seat for the aisle. His hand dipped into one of his many jackets’ pockets, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper stained with God knows what. “Canal Street?”

“That’s two stops past mine. C’mon.”

Ben stood up and smiled, following Riley toward the luggage rack.

Three

The R train shuddered and screeched, arriving at the Times Square-42nd Street station. Twenty-five minutes into their subterranean journey, Ben and Riley had barely shared more than ten words. Two overwhelmed tourists from Munich had glommed onto Riley, who surprised Ben with her rusty high school German. For the past eleven stops, the couple had sat beside her, asking questions with hand gestures, a little English, and a lot of German, seeking reassurance that New York was safe. Riley answered carefully and calmly, but the tourists didn’t seem satisfied, volleying question after question back at her.

Swaying with the train’s vibrations, Ben kept a tight grip on their twin suitcases, preventing a rolling getaway. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from the leggy student; specifically, he couldn’t pull his eyes away from Riley’s pale pink lips. His thoughts tunneled into a single focus. They were soft, slightly pouty—perfect. They’re just asking to be kissed. A surging warmth started to harden underneath the zipper of his jeans. He glanced down at his crotch. Now?! Seriously? Er…down boy! Don’t be THAT guy! He fidgeted on the hard orange seat next to her, crossing his legs.

Answering question #124, Riley licked her bottom lip and glanced back at him. What if she notices! Worst timing ever. He picked up his backpack from the floor and set it on his lap, hiding his embarrassment.

She turned again, her green eyes squinting quickly, which Ben took to mean, I’d much rather be talking to you, though maybe that was wishful thinking. Her willingness to help these strangers, her taking him under her wing at the airport made her even more attractive. She was kind, self-assured—so damn hot. Shame she won’t flirt with me. I blame the boyfriend. She’s the loyal type, lucky bastard. He hugged his backpack, his eyes darting down the subway car, desperately searching for something—anything—to short-circuit the throbbing ache in his boxer briefs. C’mon, think of something else! There—that dirty bloke with the pineapple. Wait…a pineapple? Is he actually…talking to it? Ben pulled down his cap, so the strange dude didn’t catch him staring.

A few minutes later, the train arrived at the next station, and Ben’s discomfort had eased.

“Und diese Haltestelle ist der 34th Street-Herald Square—Macy’s department store.” Playing impromptu tour guide, Riley pointed out the window, and the tourists leapt to their feet, rushing through the closing metal doors with barely a “danke” leaving their tongues.

“Is this their stop?” Ben moved his backpack off his lap onto the empty seat beside him.

“Err, no…” Riley scratched her head. “They had ten to go. They were headed to Whitehall Street—the Statue of Liberty.”

Ben chuckled as the momentum of the train pushed him sideways into Riley’s right shoulder. He didn’t pull away and she didn’t either. Result: physical contact—my own miracle on 34th Street. “I’m sure they’ll find their way. How many more stops for us?”

“I have four, you have six.”

Ben’s stomach tightened. It was now or never. “You know, Riley, I’d probably still be standing outside the airport wondering what to do if you hadn’t helped me out.”

“You would’ve figured it out eventually.”

“I know you have somewhere to be, but…please come for a drink—just one? Just so I can say thank you.”

“Benjamin—”

“Riley.” He smirked.