Friends Like These(31)

Jonathan looked around a little sheepishly. “Peter told me they had barbeque. I’m sure that he did.”

Stephanie dropped herself down into a chair. “Maybe we should be a little more careful about blindly following Peter.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jonathan shot back.

Stephanie held up her hands. “Nothing, sorry. I’m just hungry.”

“Did you guys see where Finch and Keith went?” Derrick asked.

“They’re up at the bar getting shots, naturally,” Jonathan said. “I’m sorry, you guys— I really did think they served food.”

“Maybe we could order something to be delivered here?” I offered.

“Sure, how about pad Thai or macrobiotic beets?” Jonathan said.

Stephanie turned to Derrick. “Do you think you could get Finch to leave? It would make this situation a lot easier if we didn’t also have to worry about navigating around him.”

“I did start that conversation,” Derrick said. “But I have to be careful. If Finch sniffs out that he’s got something we want, we’ll be screwed.”

“Keith seemed extra jumpy on the drive over,” I said. “What if he tries to buy drugs in here, right now?”

“Well, that would be unfortunate.” Jonathan looked around the room suspiciously. “If he gets arrested especially. I got a speeding ticket once, and I can tell you the local authorities do not like weekenders.”

Dealing with the police up here would be worse than unfortunate, though. It would be a disaster.

“Maybe we should just get Keith checked into that rehab now,” I suggested. “I mean, why wait until Monday? Some kind of drug deal with strangers— that could be really dangerous.”

“Apparently Bright Horizons only takes new admissions on Sunday afternoons,” Jonathan said. “They have a lot of rules. I guess you have to when you’re dealing with addicts.”

“I see Keith and Finch,” Derrick said. “They’re coming.”

Finch was snaking his way through the crowd, a cluster of shot glasses pinched in his fingers. Keith was hustling to keep up, more little glasses in his hands, chattering earnestly. But Finch seemed to be focused only on us as he got closer— actually, on Stephanie. Oh, I hoped not. Because nothing about that would end well.

“How about pizza?” Stephanie pulled out her phone and stood abruptly. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to go call outside.”

She headed toward the door, brushing past Finch and Keith without a word.

“Shots!” Keith deposited his glasses on the table. “Clase Azul. I can’t believe they had it.”

“What’s that?” Derrick asked, peering down at the glasses.

“Jesus, man, tequila!” Keith called.

“Oh, wonderful, a frat party,” Jonathan said.

“Come on,” Finch said, holding glasses out to me and then Jonathan. “This is your bachelor party. You can’t have a bachelor party without at least one round of shots.”

We took the small glasses reluctantly. But tequila shots were, honestly, the least of our problems.

“Congratulations, Jonathan.” I raised my glass high. “May you and Peter have a wonderful life together.”

I swallowed the shot, my throat seizing. I really was not a drinker. With my background, drinking and drugs had always been too much of a risk. Jonathan drank his shot without flinching, but he looked troubled now, about Keith probably.

“Come on, Derrick, what are you waiting for!” Finch shouted, so loud people looked our way. “Always so slow on the uptake.”

“Fuck you, Finch.” Derrick was gripping his shot glass so tight I worried it might shatter in his palm. Finally he sucked in some air and dutifully kicked back the tequila. He set down his glass and stood. “I’m going to go get myself a beer. Anyone want anything?”

More drinks? That wasn’t like Derrick. When no one answered, he started toward the bar.

“Debutantes aren’t usually known for holding their liquor,” Finch said.

And when I looked up, he was staring at me. “Oh, no,” I said, looking past him to Keith, who was staring at the bathrooms, his forehead shiny with sweat. Suddenly, he stood. “Keith, what’s up?”

“I’ll be right back,” he said, still focused on the bathroom.

“Hey, wait. Where are you going?” Jonathan reached out to grab Keith by the arm as he stepped away.

Keith slipped through his grasp. “Christ, I’m just going to piss,” he called back, moving quickly toward the bathroom.

Jonathan looked relieved when his phone buzzed in his pocket. “Oh, it’s Peter. I’ve got to take this,” he said, looking down at his phone. “I don’t have a signal. I’m just going to go to the . . .”

He was already headed away from the table, phone to his ear. Leaving me very unfortunately alone with Finch.

“So I’ve heard things about you,” Finch said, leaning in like he was sharing a secret of his own instead of prying into one of mine. He put his phone down on the table— the phone that had been in his hand nonstop, like he was waiting for a pressing call. “Like that you’ve got a penchant for taking what doesn’t belong to you.”