Follow Me(51)

But Audrey had insisted I meet her there, and I was sickeningly eager to hear about last night’s date with Max Metcalf. I’d sat by the phone the entire night, consumed with anxiety. When I didn’t hear from her, I couldn’t decide whether it was a good sign or a very, very bad one. What if Max had told Audrey about camp? What if he had happened to mention there was this nasty rumor that . . . I’d hardly been able to sleep as panicked thoughts swirled through my mind. Finally, at seven in the morning, I could stand it no longer and texted Audrey. I typed and deleted dozens of permutations before finally landing on: How’d it go?

It took her two hours to respond, and in that time I nearly died a thousand deaths.

Great! she responded. Can’t wait to tell you about it!

Lunch? I typed eagerly.

Can’t, have a meeting. Going out tonight for Lena’s birthday, meet me there and I’ll tell you everything!

And so there I was, elbowing intoxicated strangers in this overcrowded bar as I searched for Audrey rather than drawing a bubble bath and relaxing after a long week. Where was she? I wondered as I wiggled further into the crowd. If she had left without telling me . . . Finally, I spotted the bright flag of her hair, and I pressed toward her. I tapped her on a bare shoulder and she whirled around, beaming.

“Cat! There you are! Look who I found!”

I blinked when I recognized the man Audrey was talking to as the tattooed bartender from our usual trivia bar. “Oh. Hi. It’s . . .”

“Eric,” he supplied, his face turned to me but his eyes still on the dangerously low neckline of Audrey’s flimsy white dress. “You’re Cat, right?”

“That’s right,” I said, shoving my hand at him in an attempt to force his gaze anywhere else. “Nice to officially meet you.”

He snickered and shook my hand. “Yeah, you too.”

“Isn’t Cat a riot?” Audrey giggled, throwing an arm around me and inadvertently sloshing her vodka soda on my arm. “Whoops! Sorry, Kitty-Cat.”

“Okay,” I said, taking her firmly by the hand. “We need to get you some water.” I looked pointedly at the bartender to discourage him from following us and said, “Goodbye, Eric.”

“See you around,” he said, his eyes once more on Audrey.

“You should loosen up, Cat,” Audrey said as she followed me to the bar.

“Look, Audrey, I’m tired,” I said. “I came out to see you, but I didn’t know that meant I was going to have to babysit you while you drunkenly flirted with some bartender.”

“Don’t be such a martyr,” she teased. “Besides, I’m over this place anyway. Let’s go home.”

I sighed with relief, and together we began cutting our way through the noisy, sweaty crowd. Halfway to the door, Audrey stopped suddenly and twisted her head around.

“What?”

“I don’t know,” she said, sounding confused. “I just had a really strong sensation that someone was staring at me. But I don’t . . . Let’s just get out of here.”

I glanced around the room. Out of the corner of my eye, something caught my attention, but before I could focus on it, it was gone. What was that? I wondered uneasily as I followed Audrey out of the bar. I’d had the impression it was a familiar face, but it had moved too quickly for me to recognize it.

Probably just Audrey’s new friend Eric, I thought drily as I stepped outside.

? ? ?

ONCE WE WERE outside in the fresh air, Audrey seemed to sober up a modicum.

“So you won’t believe what happened,” she began. “This was a birthday party for my colleague Lena, right? And I think I’ve told you how much she hates our other colleague Lawrence.”

“He’s the one that assaulted you, right?” I cut in.

“He’s the creep who couldn’t keep his hands to himself,” she said blackly. “So Lena didn’t want him there, and everyone knew it, especially him. And then who do you think showed up?”

“Really? He did?” I said, feigning surprise even though I couldn’t care less about Audrey’s office gossip. All I wanted to know was how the date had gone with Max, whether Max had said anything about me. Whether I needed to worry.

“He totally did. Lena made him leave and—” Audrey cut herself off and glanced over her shoulder.

“What?”

“Nothing, I just thought . . .” she muttered. Abruptly, she brightened. “Oh! So let me tell you about your friend Max.”

My stomach jumped and I wasn’t sure whether I should correct her on the term “friend.” But before I could decide, she squealed, “First, there was this mansion.”

As Audrey launched into a detailed play-by-play of the date, I began to relax. If anything about camp had come up, Audrey surely would have said something by now. She wouldn’t be describing every piece of artwork in that house or blathering on about some text messages Nick had sent.

“Wait,” I said suddenly. “Nick kept pestering you while he knew you were out?”

She laughed. “Nicky’s just so insecure.”

“I’ve met Nick,” I said, frowning. “ ‘Insecure’ is not a word I would use to describe him.”

She laughed again and leaned toward me, her voice loose as she said, “You didn’t hear this from me, but Nick hasn’t always been Mr. Suave.”