QUICK A/N: I changed the title of this book - it was formerly called CHASING CONSTELLATIONS. Sorry for the confusion! I was never crazy about the old title, and it was so hard to fit on the cover... lol.
08 | JUPITER
the fifth planet from the Sun and the largest in the Solar System.
☆
"GOD DAMN IT." I lean against the sandwich counter at Subway, my esophagus on fire from the catastrophic hangover. Acid reflux, nausea, a pounding headache—all the works. The smell of pickled vegetables and baking bread makes me want to throw up the coffee I had this morning.
"Are you okay, Aria?" my coworker asks timidly. Gina's only nineteen, and she reminds me of the typical Instagram influencer these days—a total babe online, but just like the rest of us IRL. My constant hangovers freak her out.
"I'll make it," I say, but my brain is swollen. The lights in the hospital's food court are way too bright.
"Maybe you should take a break," Gina says.
"You sure you're okay on your own?"
"Yeah, you look like you're going to throw up again."
"Good point."
I hurry to my purse in the back of the small, cramped store, and pop a Pepto Bismol tablet. It'll suppress the puke for at least a little bit. Gina's right—I can't be arranging cold cuts on bread in this state, so I head into the hospital and hope a walk will help. I've been wanting to visit Caroline (and maybe Ryan, if he's still here) all morning anyway.
It was easy to forget about Dad and Trudy last night—Luna and I went to a club, drowned ourselves in shots, and hung out with random drunk girls we'll never remember, dancing to whatever top 40s crap was on. Normally not a fan of Drake, but he sounds damn good when you're drunk. But now that the sun's up and the hangover has settled, everything reminds me of the words Dad said; how disappointed in me he is. I don't even care about Trudy anymore. It's my own fault she stole from me. But the older I get, the deeper Dad's scathing opinions cut.
I'm a loser. Sure. Whatever. Moving on.
To distract myself further, I head straight for the emergency ward. I pass a display of some of the hospital's founders—photos as old as the early 1900s—and catch my reflection in the glass. Hairnet, check. Dorky visor, check. But I can't be assed trying to hide the truth.
Just as I'm crossing through the hall that'll bridge to the ER, a tall dude in my peripherals catches my eye from down another hall, wearing a plaid shirt and jeans. It's Ryan, but he's nowhere near his room from yesterday. His back is facing me as he walks with a doctor who's probably in her thirties. Mature and kept together, but pretty. For a second, I wonder if they know each other—you know, personally—only because I don't get why Ryan's over here and not in the emergency ward. But the doctor's holding a clipboard, and they stop in front of a room together. Formally, she opens the door for Ryan and allows him to pass.
So, he's here on Official Business. Just as I'm getting the sense I shouldn't be lurking, unintentionally stalking this guy, my eyes flick to the colour-coded sign beside the hall. Before I can finish reading it—hema-somethingorother?—Caroline's voice sounds from down the hall.
"Aria! What're you doing over here?" She storms up to me in her usual scrubs.
"Jeez, am I in trouble?"
Caroline glances down the hallway, then turns me away. "No, I was just on my way to the cafeteria and expected you to be there."
"Well, here I am. I was on my way to see you, but I saw Ryan down there—"
"You shouldn't creep on people in the hospital."
"Dude, I know that. It wasn't on purpose. I figured he'd still be in the ER."
Caroline averts her eyes, acting sketchy. "You know I can't tell you things about patients, no matter how much you want to bang them."
"I wasn't asking you to!"
Taking a breath, Caroline crosses her arms over her lanyard. "Sorry, I'm having a rough morning."
"Girlfriend troubles?"
"Girlfriend troubles. Let's go get lunch?"
I hook my arm to hers, even though for GF Troubles, she's still acting weird. It's not 'out of character' for Caroline to jump down my throat, but something feels off. We leave anyway—but not before I catch a glimpse at the sign on the hallway. Hematology. Whatever that means.
***
A week later, I've managed to expel most of what Dad said from my head. We haven't talked at all, obviously. That's generally how it works for me—bury something for long enough, and you might even forget where you dug the hole. Must be genetic, because he hasn't reached out either.
On Friday, I adjust my jean shorts as I walk through the doors to The Black Inlet, the familiar smell of stagnant beer surrounding me as classic rock flows from the jukebox. Devin, Caroline, and Luna stumble in after—we already did our pre-drinking at home, so I'm a little buzzed.
My eyes scan the room—old dudes, waitresses, and then boom: Ryan. He's wearing the same blue and black flannel as last Friday, but now, faded bruises stamp the side of his face.
I don't know what my plan is. I admit, over the past week, I've wondered a lot about him; if he recovered well, if he quit working here, and what he was doing at the hospital. I didn't dig further into it—it's his business, and I'm not that much of a creep. Still, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious.
Luna and Caroline go grab our table while Devin and I stand in line at the bar. Ryan's eyes fall on me. The dim orange light of the bar creates a ring around his short, tousled black hair.
"Oh, hey," he says. "It's you guys."
"Hey, buddy." Devin slaps the counter. "Damn, Aria's right—you got beat up good."
I jab Devin with my elbow. "For a totally heroic reason," I add.
But Ryan just laughs and asks what we want, and Devin says a pitcher of Bud. When Ryan returns with the beer and four glasses, Devin pays before he glances at me with a devious smirk.
Oh God.
"By the way," Devin starts, reaching over the bar and placing a firm grip on Ryan's shoulder. The blood drains from my face. Ryan looks equal parts confused and uncomfortable, but doesn't flinch away. "This girl," Devin says, his green eyes flicking to me, "is fucking obsessed with you, man."
"Oookay," I drone out to hide how mortified I am.
Ryan's eyes go wide on mine. I'm going to murder Devin. But it's too late to do anything—I have to play this one out.
"Ha ha, very funny, Dev," I continue.
Devin throws his arm around my shoulder. "What can I say? I'm a good wingman."
"You're the worst wingman ever. Get out of here."
Cackling, Devin takes off into the bar with the pitcher. I meet Ryan's stare, feeling awkward as all hell, but try to play it off as a joke.
"I'm not obsessed with you. Devin just likes to embarrass me."
Ryan's still scarlet, but his lips quirk. "Wouldn't be so bad if you were."
Confidence rises in me, so I slip on the stool, the same one I was in the last time I leaned over this bar. "You look good, by the way. Your face, I mean. The rest of you looks good too, but you know." Fuck, I was supposed to cool it with the cringe-worthy flirting. Damn you, alcohol.
"Thanks," Ryan says. "I feel a lot better. Hope you're all right too."
I smile and nod, but images from this week flash in my mind. I'm not about to dump my problems on this guy. Even if things have been the opposite of fine.
"Well, I better leave you alone," I say. "Hey, if you're off early, maybe come play pool with us?" There's no way he'll say yes, but worth a shot.
"Sure, that'd be awesome."
My brows shoot up. "Wait, really?"
He smiles, all laugh lines and handsome features. "Were you not expecting me to say yes?"
"Not really, but I'm into it." I give him a playful smirk before I twirl and go.
Back at our usual pool table, Devin lines up a shot, his long curls spilling over his denim jacket covered in band patches. I punch him in the arm.
"Fuck you, Devin. That was so embarrassing."
He chuckles, and the pool balls clack together as he takes his shot. "Trust me, he loved that."
A few hours of good beer, shitty pool, and awesome music speeds by, and the whole time, I find myself anxious, glancing over at the bar and wondering when Ryan will be done. I play it cool, but there's this weird ball in my chest and I don't get it. A guy has never made me this nervous, and I mean ever. I try to keep my drinking in check so I don't lose too much control, but naturally, that sensibility begins to slip the more I put in me. I'm feeling pretty "happy" by the time Ryan comes over carrying a pitcher of beer.
Ryan shakes hands with Luna, and when he greets Caroline, she averts her eyes with a stiff smile. A little weird—again—but Caroline's always been sort of closed-off.
Devin dibs playing Ryan in pool. Caroline, Luna, and I sit it out, chilling on the stools as we watch. Ryan's good, but Devin is pretty much a dive bar legend. He always wins. But Ryan quickly catches up, and near the end of the game, they each only have one ball left on the table. Ryan shuts one eye as he lines up his shot, takes it, and wins the game.
"Sorry," Ryan mumbles.
"Don't apologize! You kicked my ass, man. Own it."
"It was a pretty close match."
"Anyway, I think we need more—my God—" he grabs Ryan's shoulder "—who is that?"
A girl walks in the bar and looks around with what I can only describe as total disgust. Then it hits me—that's Ryan's stepsister, Nyla. With her classy cheetah print blouse and pencil skirt, she makes the rest of us dirty dive regulars look like the latest in Homeless Chic™.
"Beautiful and classy," Devin says. "I think she's in the wrong place."
From the corner of my eye, Luna's face transforms into jealous rage. Uh-oh. Well, it's not like she has to worry, because there's no way Nyla would be interested in a guy like Devin. I love him, but he's a messy drummer in a punk band called The Rancid Rejects and he works at a record store. Nyla is the antithesis of everything he is—everything we are.
Nyla's heels clack against the tile as she strides up to us. "Ryan, there you are." Her dark brown eyes scan the bar, flitting from each of us until they land back on Ryan.
"What are you doing here?" he asks.
"We need to talk. Now."
Her tone is way too serious, and even Devin shuts up. Tenson fills the air as Ryan and Nyla face off. With a stern voice, Ryan says something in French, and Nyla bites back. He exchanges a look with me before he tells us he'll be right back, and that we should keep playing.
Disappointment hits me as Ryan exits with Nyla. I have the gut feeling he's not coming back. Whatever's going on, she seems pissed.
Luna throws her arm around me. "Don't look so bummed, Ari. You'll get your chance."
I smile. Thank fuck for my friends. As messy as we all are, I'm glad they exist.
***
In a shocking twist of events, Ryan does come back, but he's definitely less relaxed than before. Whatever Nyla said shook him, but as he rejoins us for beer and pool, I'm too drunk to not act like everything's cool.
"Hey, we missed you!" I slur, and he gives me a half-hearted, but polite laugh.
"Sorry. Family matters."
"You look like you got chewed out."
"We're fine, no worries."
Devin and co go outside for a smoke, leaving me with Ryan. Maybe not the worst wingman ever. We stand, leaning our elbows against the tall tables. But we only chat for like, five minutes before I realize the bar is clearing out.
"Almost last call," Ryan says. "I should head out."
Damn it. Just as things are actually feeling somewhat normal between us, I miss my shot to, you know, talk to this guy.
"Well, it was nice hanging out with you," I say.
"Yeah." His smile wans. "You too."
Tonight went pretty well based off mine and Ryan's previous interactions, but still, there's something so closed-off and distant about him. I want to know him, but I have no idea how to get in. Ryan is so nice, but at the same time, he's scary, uncharted territory. But I'm not a coward. I don't want to wait until I see him at The Inlet again to ask this.
And after everything that happened this week, I just want one good thing.
"Do you maybe want to hang out somewhere else sometime?" I brush my hair behind my ear. "Like, not at a dive bar or a hospital. No pressure. I mean, it could be totally casual. But I think you're super attractive and I totally want to know you better."
Ryan's cheeks redden. I bite my lip and keep my gaze firm on his face, anxiety building with every passing second. Fuck, please tell me that wasn't a mistake...
An agonizing moment of him shifting his weight passes until he says, "I'd really like that, Aria, but... it's probably not a good idea for me right now."
Oh, boy. That one stings. I really wish I hadn't just said that because I look so desperate right now. How many times does he have to reject me before I get it? I don't know anything about him. He could have someone in his life, or maybe he just doesn't date girls like me, period. The humiliation burns, but I force a smile.
"No problem. Nice hanging out with you here, though. Goodnight, Ryan." I turn to leave, my throat straw-tight as I move across through the bar.
In my perfect fairytale world, he'd reach out and stop me, say he didn't mean it, say he wants to take me out. But this is my world, so of course, that doesn't happen—he just lets me walk out of the bar. Alone.
***
Just my luck—as I get outside, the street is busy as fuck from people waiting for cabs, and it's raining. I'm instantly drenched, but it's a good thing because my eyes are starting to sting and this'll hide the evidence.
Listen, I'm not all choked up just because some hot guy I barely know doesn't like me. I'm choked-up because my dad can't stand the sight of me, some chick smashed my new phone, my mother stole all of my money and I'm flat broke until payday, and some hot guy I barely know doesn't like me.
Totally justifiable reason to drunk cry on the side of the road.
I'm not full-blown sobbing or anything, but I have to breathe deep to try to stop myself from being a mess.
God, that was so embarrassing.
Whatever. It's not a big deal. There are plenty of other dudes in the sea.
So what's so different about this one?
I don't know what's so different about him. Just something. I can't explain why I'm so drawn to him, or why I care so much about what he thinks. He's literally just some guy.
But the voice in my head that tells me he isn't just 'some guy' wins, and that's why the rejection hurts so much. To understand why this sucks so bad, I need to admit to myself that I like him. An inexplicable amount.
"Aria, wait!" Ryan ducks and weaves through the crowd to get to me. My stomach drops and I wipe my eyes, and then he's in front of me, rain dripping from the ends of his hair.
"Oh, fuck. It's you," I say.
There's an urgency in his eyes that I don't understand. "I'm sorry," he says. "I'm being a massive dick."
I laugh and shake my head, barely able to look at him. Of course a nice guy like Ryan feels bad about hurting my feelings. "No, you aren't. You're just not into me. That's not a crime."
"It's not like that." Ryan takes a step closer, so close I can smell his cologne mingling with the rain, and it reminds me of the night he carried my ass into his car. He makes a frustrated sound before he places his hand on the small of my back and leads me away from the group. I go willingly, but not sure how much I love the apology. It just confuses me more.
We stop under an awning at the next business over. Rain tings against the fabric as more cabs pull outside of The Inlet and take people away.
I hug myself over my tank top, which has stuck to my skin like saran wrap. My black bra shows clearly through the white, and goosebumps crawl up my arms. My teeth chatter. This whole thing has sobered me right up, and now I just want to go home. Luna and the others must have gone back inside the bar without me noticing. Normally, I'd be the one to break the silence, but Ryan chased me out here; he can do the talking for once.
Eventually, he says, "I never noticed you have a tattoo."
"What?" I touch my neck. "Oh, that. Sometimes I forget it's even there."
"You never told me. Can I see it?"
Okay, Mr. Mixed Signals. "Here—" I gear my neck to the side "—you might have to move my hair to see it."
He hovers his finger over the back of my neck, but doesn't touch. "Do you mind?"
"Not at all."
His fingers brush against my skin, sending a chill through me. I try not to shake as he parts my hair from my neck, but suddenly everything is electrified.
"Jupiter," Ryan says. His fingers lift, but the tingles remain.
"It's what my dad calls me," I tell him. "Because I can be... temperamental. And because I've always had a lot of, um, moons orbiting around me."
"Moons?"
A smile creeps in, lightens the moment. "It's just what my dad says, okay?"
"Ah." Ryan nods. "The moons are boys."
"Boys and Luna. It's just a joke, really. But when I was a little kid, all the boys in the neighbourhood would come knocking at our door, looking for me. I hid from most of them."
Not sure why I'm spilling so much, but I roll with it.
Ryan laughs. "Just breaking hearts left, right and center, huh?"
"Oh, totally. All the little hearts."
Our eyes lock, and I take in his features: the slight dimple on his chin, the strong angle of his clean-shaven jawline, the shyness in his eyes as he averts them. I can't help but feel frustrated.
"Look, you don't have to be nice to me," I say. "It's all good. I hope we can still be friends, but I'm not gonna keep hitting on you."
"I'm sorry," he confesses. "You probably think I'm playing mind games with you. I'm not trying to."
I cross my arms and hold his stare, even though I can tell he's tempted to look away. "You don't seem like a player, but the mixed signals are starting to piss me off."
"It's just—my life can be complicated sometimes. I haven't dated anyone in a really long time, so I'm rusty."
I blink at him. This is starting to feel a lot less like a rejection, but I'm not getting my hopes up.
"What I'm trying to say is," he continues, "I think you're incredibly gorgeous. You make me nervous. But I'd love to take you somewhere that isn't a dive bar or a hospital and get to know you better."
My chest flutters. Holy shit, okay, was not expecting that.
Now, I avoid his eyes because I'm smiling way too much. I don't know what it is about this guy that makes me feel like a thirteen-year-old with a crush. "I think you're gorgeous too, but I probably made that pretty obvious..."
"The fact that you even noticed me blows my mind. Are you free tomorrow? Let's do something. I don't know what yet, but I'll figure it out."
"Yes please. Give me your phone?"
He hands it to me.
I program my number in. "Now open your Instagram so you can follow me. I'd do it myself, but you never know what's in a man's phone..."
That makes him laugh. "Hey, I've got nothing to hide. Go ahead and open it."
"No secrets, eh? I like that."
I tap the app and it opens his feed. The first thing I see is something from NASA. When I type in my username, my profile loads. It's mostly selfies and pictures of my friends, obviously. I press follow, and my own phone buzzes in my pocket.
"There," I say. Confidence swelling, I close the gap between us. He sucks in a tiny breath that seems to get caught in his throat before he swallows it, and his Adam's apple bobs. Meeting his eyes, I grin and say, "Text me," before I slip his phone into his hand and walk away.
Hell. Yes.
***
A/N: Our girl finally has a win! For now ;-)
Sorry for taking a million years to update. Hopefully another coming soon. Believe me when I say I will finish this book!
Thank you for reading and please share your thoughts!