Follow Me(16)

“Connor,” he said, directing his smile at her in a way that made me bereft. I intensely wished that Audrey was wearing something more substantial than a doily.

Feeling shamefully territorial, I leaned forward to interrupt their eye contact, saying, “Audrey, Connor went to law school with Priya and me, and he works at Barker & Liu with me now.”

“Ah,” she said, eyes twinkling mischievously. “So I should probably keep the lawyer jokes to myself?”

“No, I love a good lawyer joke,” Connor protested. “Here, what’s the difference between an accountant and a lawyer?”

“I don’t know, what?”

“Accountants know they’re boring.”

“Ba-da-bum-ching!” Lon said, laughing loudly and rapping his brawny hands on the table.

I glared at him. Lon had wormed his way into the team by following Harry to trivia enough times that we felt as though we had to let him play. He was a wealth of sports knowledge, but he was a lecherous boozehound. He’d been ousted from the bar more than once, and a girl from another trivia team once claimed he had followed her home and pounded on her door until she called the police. I didn’t want him even looking at Audrey.

But Audrey ignored him, saying to Connor, “That’s pretty good. But I have a better one: What’s the difference between a mosquito and a lawyer?”

“Somehow I doubt this will be a flattering comparison.”

“One’s a bloodsucking parasite.” Audrey said with a smirk. “The other is an insect.”

“Burn!” Lon announced, extending his body across the table and offering Audrey his open hand for a high five. She gamely slapped his palm.

“Ow,” Connor said, faking an injury to his heart, and then said to me, “Harrell, your friend is cruel. Did you know what she thinks of you?”

Words failed me, as they often did around Connor, and I ended up saying stupidly, “She’s just kidding.”

Connor blinked slightly, and then placed his hands on the table. “Okay, guys. I’m going to grab a drink before things get started. Anyone else need anything?”

Lon pounded the rest of his beer and slammed the empty glass on the table. “Another Bud Light.”

“Sure thing, Lon,” Connor said, smiling tolerantly. “Anyone else?”

“I need a drink,” I said, sliding out of the booth after him. “I’ll come and help carry.”

Connor smiled down at me, sending my heart galloping again. Even more than that smile, I loved the fact that he could smile down at me. I’d towered over every romantic prospect since the age of fourteen, and it was refreshingly novel to feel small and feminine for once. I envied women like Audrey, pixie-sized women who would never have to worry about being taller than their partners.

As I stood, Audrey caught my eye. She winked ostentatiously, and even as I died of embarrassment, I felt a rush of warmth in the center of my chest. Audrey got it. She got me. It was going to be great having my best friend around again.





CHAPTER TWELVE





AUDREY


Sorry, there’s a fire drill here at the office. :( Rain check?

I read Cat’s text with dismay. I’d nabbed us last-minute reservations at the Michelin-starred Bresca, and was really looking forward to the evening. The menu looked incredible, even for a plant-based diner like me, and there was a living wall of moss that would make for amazing photos. In anticipation of a fun and picture-ready evening, I’d carefully selected an only minimally wrinkled outfit—I had yet to unpack anything other than my laptop and prized record collection, and was cherry-picking increasingly rumpled clothing from boxes as needed—and applied a full face of makeup, including false eyelashes. And now Cat was abandoning me, expecting me to spend the night alone? It wasn’t like there was anyone else I could call.

That’s not entirely true, I reminded myself. There was someone else I could invite to join me for dinner, but I hadn’t told him I’d moved to DC yet and didn’t want to call him with a full evening planned. It would just go to his pretty head.

Instead, I poured some Riesling into a recently acquired wineglass and reminded myself that, with my healthy social media following, I was never truly alone.

I checked my already immaculate makeup, opened Instagram, and switched to Live view.

“Hey, friends,” I said brightly.

Izzy had once criticized the sunny voice I used in my videos. “You’re presenting a false reality,” she said. “I thought you claimed to have this ‘authentic’ persona.” I’d fired back that being cheerful wasn’t inauthentic—it wasn’t like anyone told you how they really were after a polite “how are you.” Besides, there was research to support the idea that smiling even when you felt low could put you in a better mood. I smiled harder and hoped that was true.

“Confession: I have yet to unpack from my move.” I flipped the camera around and slowly panned the mountain of boxes before turning back to my face and slapping a hand to my cheek in mock embarrassment. “I know, I know, it’s shameful. I decided I could not live another minute like this, and so tonight I am finally tackling this totally hideous task.”

I started chatting about my day—the new glassware I’d purchased, the barre class I’d attended, and the uniquely DC experience of getting stopped by a motorcade on the way home from work—and comments began appearing at the bottom of the screen.