Follow Me(29)

“You know, that’s not a half-bad idea. If I could work out a partnership with them, then maybe I wouldn’t have to spend half my paycheck just to sustain my caffeine addiction.”

“Have you considered investing in a coffee maker?” he asked wryly.

“Considered and rejected. Come on, how aspirational is brewing your own coffee? I’ve got to think of my followers!” I joked.

He chuckled and shook his head. “Babe, you’re a real piece of work.”

My laughter caught in my throat when I saw the coffee shop’s front door open and a tall man strode in. Even with his face partially concealed by a Nationals baseball cap, I recognized Connor. My stomach churned as last night’s frustration resurfaced.

Clutching Nick’s arm, I hissed, “Don’t look now, but the guy I was telling you about last night just came in.”

“Where?” Nick asked, immediately twisting toward the door.

“Dammit, Nick,” I muttered as Connor looked up and directly at us. Our eyes met, and he smiled. He removed his hat and ran a hand through his thick, sandy blond hair as he approached.

“Audrey, hi. How’s your head feeling?”

I ignored Nick’s questioning look and touched my forehead lightly, squinting as if the light hurt. “Better, thanks.”

“Great, I’m glad to hear that.” He glanced at Nick and then back to me, clearly expecting an introduction. I had no intention of prolonging our conversation and was about to dismiss him when he took matters into his own hands. Turning to Nick, he said, “Hey, I’m Connor.”

“Nick,” Nick said, throwing a casually possessive arm around my shoulders. Any other time, I would have knocked Nick’s arm away—I hadn’t liked that proprietorial move when we were dating, either—but I didn’t want Connor to think I was doing it for his benefit. For all I cared, Connor could think I’d been up all night, clawing at Nick’s back while he pulled my hair—which, of course, I had been.

Connor remained in front of us, smiling dopily, like he was waiting for an explanation or something. I felt myself growing angry. Cat was the one who deserved an explanation. It was so obvious she was in love with him, so outrageously obvious that even my four-month-old nephew who was just discovering his own feet would have been able to recognize it. I was gearing up to say something biting to him when the barista called, “Next!”

Relieved, I offered Connor a fake smile. “See you around.”

“That was the guy who tried to kiss you?” Nick snorted, making no effort to lower his voice as I tugged him toward the counter. “Babe, you’re so far out of his league.”

I elbowed Nick sharply in the ribs and cast a quick glance over my shoulder to see if Connor had heard him. He was looking at me with an unreadable expression on his face. For reasons I didn’t totally understand, I shivered.





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE





CAT


I turned over a bottle of shimmery nail polish to read the title. Kiss Me Coral. I shuddered and could hear Audrey’s voice in my head, instructing me to get the brighter color, to be bold, be someone different. Easy for her to say. Audrey didn’t have to be someone different to get what she wanted. Or what anyone else wanted.

I should have known better than to invite Audrey to trivia. How could I have forgotten what it felt like to be compared to her? Audrey eclipsed everyone within a hundred-foot radius; she always had. How could I have expected Connor to notice me with Audrey in the picture?

I didn’t tell Audrey that I saw her with Connor. I’d just returned to the booth, fresh from reapplying the lip gloss Audrey had lent me and giving myself a pep talk, only to find Connor missing. I’d glanced toward the jukebox, looking for Audrey, and that’s when I saw him leaning toward her. Tears blurred my vision, and I had turned away. When I dared look again, she was shoving him away, and I was pleasantly surprised to see she was doing the right thing. I couldn’t have always said that about her.

It was stupid of me to think I could have Connor. We had known each other for years, had weathered plenty of all-nighter study sessions and work-related fire drills together. If Connor thought of me as anything more than a friend, he’d had ample opportunity to make that known. Our relationship had remained strictly platonic, aside from that one drunken kiss.

It had been four years ago, the night we finished the last of our law school finals. Too many of us were crammed into our friend Betsy’s tiny apartment, giddy with having survived law school and drunk on cheap beer. Things had started innocently enough: Connor and I had been sitting beside each other on Betsy’s cat hair-covered couch, as we often did, when his leg brushed against mine. Normally, I would have adjusted to give him more room, but that night everything felt different. School was over; the possibilities were endless. And so I kept my leg where it was, our denim-clad thighs touching. Connor’s leg pressed more firmly against mine, and he casually threw his arm along the back of the couch, resting his fingertips on the back of my neck. He gently traced small circles on my skin, and I was so thrilled I nearly blacked out.

I shifted slightly so that we were sitting even closer, our arms now touching, and he abruptly rose from the couch. Immediately, I felt sick, sure I had misread something and had weirded him out. Stupid, I thought to myself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. This is why no one likes you.