Now That I've Found You - Kristina Forest Page 0,30

untouched in the kitchen sink. No wonder Milo prefers staying at Gigi’s. This place is a pigsty, and it’s not nearly big enough for three people, let alone a fourth occasional roommate.

“Hi, Evie,” Ben shouts over the music. He’s sitting at the foldout kitchen table in the corner near the drums, holding the same thick dragon book from last night. He’s wearing a T-shirt that says GREENLIGHT BOOKSTORE. I guess that must be where he works. I don’t know how he can read with all this noise.

Raf spins around to face us and pauses the music video. Sweaty and out of breath, he says, “Evie Jones! Again! In our fucking apartment! I don’t believe it.”

“Shut up,” Milo hisses. “Do you want the whole building to know she’s here?”

“Yes, I actually do. Imagine how much clout that would give us.”

“Who cares about clout in this building?” Ben asks. “Mrs. Carson next door, who sits inside and sews all day, or the tech bros below us, who stay up all night playing video games?”

Raf rolls his eyes. “I don’t remember asking your opinion, Benjamin.”

“Hi,” I finally say, in hopes that they will stop talking about me as if I’m not standing here.

“So this is the apartment,” Milo says to me, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s usually a little cleaner.”

“How would you know?” Raf says. “You’re never here to clean. Anyway, I’m glad you’re here now, because I’ve decided to call a last-minute meeting before tonight’s show.”

Ben puts down his paperback and groans.

“Sorry, I don’t have time,” Milo says. “Where’s Vinny? He said he’d meet me here.”

“What do you mean you don’t have time?” Raf asks, incredulous.

“He’s in the room,” Ben says. “Why do you need his performance suit?”

“Performance suit?” I repeat, turning to Milo. “I thought you said it was a tux?”

Milo looks like he might pull his dreads clean out of his head. “It is a tux—just wait here, okay?”

He spins on his heels and walks down the short hallway into the bedroom. Vinny pops his head out of the room, waves at me, and then closes the door behind them.

Raf glances at Ben. “Why does Milo need Vinny’s tux?”

Ben shrugs, nose deep in his book once again. “No clue.”

Raf looks at me, slowly taking in my fancy gown. “Wait a minute. What’s going on here? Where are you taking Milo?”

“I’m not taking him anywhere,” I say. “He insisted on coming with me.”

“To where?”

“A fundraiser.”

“A fundraiser?” Raf glances at Ben again, who simply shrugs again. “What kind of fundraiser?”

“A fundraiser gala.” I slowly make my way over to the black leather couch. “Okay if I sit down?”

“Of course,” Ben says.

I gently push someone’s sweatshirt aside and sit. Raf immediately slides next to me. “This is my bed. It pulls out into a king-size. Ben and Milo can have their little twins in their room. I’ve got all the space I need here.” He spreads his arms wide and winks at me.

“Yeah, okay,” Ben says. “You hate sleeping out here during the winter when the heat starts acting up. Evie, can I get you anything to drink? Water? Soda?”

“Oh shit. I just drank the last bit of soda,” Raf says.

Ben frowns at him, and I quickly say, “I’m fine. Thank you, though.”

“So is this fundraiser gala a date?” Raf asks.

“No!”

Like I said, I don’t have anything against musicians as people, but that doesn’t mean I want to date one, or anyone in the entertainment industry for that matter. I learned from Gigi and James’s three failed marriages that relationships between entertainers just don’t work. And I’ve learned from my own experience too. My first and only serious boyfriend was a boy named Devon, who I dated during my sophomore year at McKibben. That relationship lasted only two months. Turns out he just wanted to be introduced to Gigi and broke up with me once he found out she never visited.

But that’s not any of Raf’s business.

“Milo and I are not going on a date,” I state plainly.

“Good.” Raf looks visibly relieved. “I think you’re great. I mean, truly, I do, but the band is about to take off, and we can’t afford to have Milo mixed up in any gossip before that happens.”

I wince. Of course. They don’t want an attachment to my name bringing them down. “Got it,” I mumble.

“Plus,” he continues, “it would be long-distance, and we all know that never works out. You’d break up, and he’d be stuck writing sad, mopey songs for weeks, just like