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.
“Ben, I’m already late. My friend’s probably waiting outside my apartment right now, cursing me for catching hypothermia…”
“This is 28th Street.” The automatic announcement crackled through the train’s speakers as it slowed to a creaky stop.
“Your friend can come, too. We can talk about California, you can tell me about New York, making TV programs…ice hockey…”
“I appreciate the offer, but I really have stuff to do, sorry.”
“So, you’re gonna leave me to fend for myself?”
Riley rolled her case closer to her boots. “You’ll be fine. Americans love British accents. Go into any bar and you’ll have lots of female company. You don’t want me cramping your style.”
“I do! You’re my only friend in New York.”
“We’ve only just met!” She laughed. “You’ll make new ones.”
Ben’s stomach sank. They sat quietly for a few minutes.
“This is 23rd Street.” The doors opened, allowing the train and platform to exchange passengers.
He shifted his backpack on top of his case so an old woman could sit down. “You know, it’s okay. I’ll find my way in the big city. I’m sure I’ll pick up friends before long.”
Riley bit her cheek and checked her texts.
She looks like she just kicked a puppy. Ben’s gaze darted out the window at the mosaic tiles on the station wall. “What’s with all those floating hats?”
Riley looked up. “Apparently, they’re hats worn by famous people who passed through this area: Oscar Wilde, Eleanor Roosevelt—the actor, Ben Fagan…” She grinned, returning to her phone as the train began to move.
Ben smiled as he adjusted his Boston Bruins cap. “Maybe one day, eh?”
“Oh, shit.”
“What?”
“Piper wants me to pick up”—her finger slid up the screen—“Cookie Butter…and Cheddar Rocket Crackers from Trader Joe’s. With what? Magic beans?”
“Where’s that, then?”
“14th Street.”
Ben’s eyes shot to the subway map near the doors. “Oh—next stop?”
“Yeah, sorry Ben.”
So, I guess that drink really is out of the question…along with any hope for a snog ever, I reckon. Bollocks. The twinkle left his eyes.
With a tight half-smile, she quickly looped her scarf around her neck and zipped up her parka. “Make sure you get off at Canal Street. It’s three stops after 14th Street, got it?”
“Yeah…” Pulling out his phone, he deflated in his seat.
Riley packed away her phone and tugged on yellow mittens with TAXI stitched down the hands. Eyes darting to Ben, she pressed her lips together. “Ben, you’ll be fi…” A heavy exhale left her lips. “Look, I know New York can be overwhelming, so I’ll give you my number—for emergencies only, ’kay?”
Result! “Really? That’s brilliant! Cheers, Riley!”
She rattled it off and Ben typed it into his phone, a smile lighting up his face. “When I’m back on street level, I’ll text you so you’ll have mine.”
“Sure.” She nodded, standing up to corral her suitcase. “On Canal, I think you need to head toward Mercer Street. If you pass McDonald’s, you’re going the wrong way. You want to head toward Dunkin’ Donuts.”
“So, burgers—bad. Donuts—good. Got it.”
“It’s been nice meeting you, Benjamin. Welcome to New York.” She joined the cluster of people waiting by the doors.
“It’s been awesome meeting you, Riley. Welcome home.”
With a quick wave, she was gone.