Finlay Donovan Jumps the Gun (Finlay Donovan, #3)(34)

Nick thought about that as his cane clicked over the crosswalk. “In theory? No. If you did leave, you’d be searched when you got back.”

“So why was Joey so upset about it?”

“Joey didn’t have an issue with you leaving. He had an issue with you leaving with me.”

“Why?”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was jealous.”

I choked on a laugh. “Why would you think that?”

“He’s just a little too interested, you know? He’s been asking a lot of questions about you.”

The hair on my neck stood on end. “What kinds of questions?”

Nick was quiet for a moment, as if he was considering how to answer that. “Mostly questions about you and me. How long I’ve known you. How we met. If we were ever a thing.”

“A thing?”

“He wanted to know if we’d ever been … intimate.” He risked a sidelong glance at me.

I tried not to sound as curious as that question made me feel. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him it was none of his business.” An awkward silence dragged between us. Did that kiss we shared in his car three months ago count? Did I want it to? And, more important, why did Joey care? “I probably shouldn’t have brought it up,” Nick said, shamefaced. “I don’t think Joey meant anything by it. I think he was just trying to … I don’t know … connect with me about something other than work. I think he senses that I still haven’t entirely warmed up to him yet.”

“Why not? I thought you two got along.”

Nick’s head swayed indecisively. “I can’t put my finger on it, Finn,” he said in a voice too low to carry. “Joey’s a stand-up guy and a decent partner. I don’t think he tries to be a dick.”

“It just happens naturally?”

A smile broke over Nick’s face. He didn’t bother to deny it. “Joey can be a little too direct. It rubs people the wrong way sometimes.”

“What’s Charlie’s beef with him?” I asked.

“You caught on to that?”

“It was hard to miss.”

He shrugged as we rounded the corner to the dining hall. “Charlie’s beef is the same as everyone else’s, I guess. Joey asks too many questions. They come off as a little intrusive. I think it’s just his way of trying to fit in. It’s tough being the new guy. It’s natural to cling to your partner when you don’t have anybody else, and Charlie’s shadow is a long one to walk in. I don’t think I was off the mark when I said Joey’s probably jealous.”

“I can see why. Charlie’s pretty great.”

“So are you.” Nick paused under the awning to the dining hall. He turned to me. His lips parted around a thought, then closed again. “Come on,” he said, running his card key through the scanner and holding the door open for me. “You can warm up inside while I find us something to eat.”

I wondered what he’d been about to say, as he led the way to the kitchen. He flipped on a single wall switch, forgoing the bright overhead fluorescents in favor of a handful of dim spotlights over the counters. He took my coat and hung it on a hook on the wall beside some aprons. “Make yourself at home. Can I get you something to drink? Juice box? Milk?” His cane clicked toward a gigantic stainless steel fridge that could probably fit a half dozen bodies. “Sorry, it’s not as classy as Feliks’s restaurant.”

I laughed. “I’ll take this over Feliks’s any day. Got any coffee?” I asked, rubbing my eyes.

“You planning on staying up?”

“I’ve got a deadline for Sylvia.”

“Check the faculty lounge. There’s probably some left over in the carafes, but I should warn you, it’s not exactly Starbucks.”

“Noted.” I slipped through a set of doors into the darkened cafeteria, following the emergency lighting toward the faculty lounge at the far side. The smell of cooked broccoli lingered in the room, the only clue it had been occupied a little more than an hour ago.

The faculty lounge was unlocked and I flipped on the light switch. My name caught my attention, printed in red on a dry-erase board on the opposite wall. A table had been drawn on it. Each team of students had been listed in the leftmost column, followed by a tally of their points. The next column also contained a number—a ranking, but not the one we’d earned through our scores. These were odds, and Vero and I seemed to be leading the pack.

Sam hadn’t been kidding. The faculty were literally betting on us. While a few of the instructors had placed bets on other teams, most had gambled on Vero and me. Only one instructor had bet against us—Joey Balafonte had bet we’d lose the whole damn thing.

Unsettled, I searched the cabinets for a mug and helped myself to a cup of coffee. The dregs in the silver carafe were bitter but still warm. I sipped as I turned for the door, pausing beside a tray of desserts. With a quick glance at the door, I pulled aside the plastic wrap and snuck two chocolate chip cookies from the tray, stuffing them into my sweatshirt pockets. I rearranged a few oatmeal raisins to cover the gaps before turning off the lights.

My phone vibrated with an incoming call. My mother’s name flashed on the screen.

“Mom?” I answered on my way back to the kitchen. “It’s not a good time. Can I call you back?”