Undecided(63)

I try to keep my expression neutral, but Crosbie’s watching me, no doubt waiting for some sort of Crosbabe rant. Instead I say, “Have you made any calls?”

Kellan nods. “It went about as uncomfortably as you’d expect.”

“He’s working his way back,” Crosbie explains. “Starting with the most recent girls and asking them to call if they get a positive result.”

“I use condoms,” Kellan interrupts. “I swear. So however this happened, it wasn’t like I was spreading it around after.”

I nod like I’m in total agreement. When I’d gone for the test the nurse asked if I’d had either oral or anal sex with the infected person, since that would require a swab. Kellan and I had done neither, but since I’d witnessed him getting a condom-free blowjob—forty-five minutes after we’d screwed in a closet—I know there’s one opportunity for him to have picked it up. And if it happened once, it could have happened twice. Or—I squint at the notebook—sixty-two times. Well, sixty-one, since I can eliminate myself from the possible oral gonorrhea givers.

I frown and pick up the notebook. The bathroom wall gives actual names, since it’s not Kellan who updates it. Kellan’s notes, however, are quite different. There are entries like: starts with a C or K, blonde in blue dress, hostess from that tapas place, girl from bus stop, and girl who looked like Kate Middleton.

“Did you never ask them their names?” I ask. “Even once?” It’s not much of a consolation prize, but at least I’m not the only nameless entity in this mess. Though I don’t appear to warrant much of a description, either.

“Hey,” Crosbie says, shooting me a sharp look when Kellan winces. “No judgment.”

I roll my eyes. He’s on that bathroom wall too, and we all know it. It’s not only Kellan’s honor he’s trying to defend.

“No judgment,” I say, holding up my hands in surrender. “It would just make things a bit…easier.”

Kellan sighs. “I know. Lesson learned.”

I tap the top of the list. “So these are the most recent girls?” There are about ten candidates spanning October and November.

“Yeah. I spoke with three of them today, since they’re in my science lab and we have a class contact list.” Oh dear. “And these two work at that bar near the library, so I can probably find them pretty easily. This one—” He points to number six, known as Pink shorts with stripe. “She runs the same route as me on Thursdays, so I can talk to her then. Number seven is Dane’s sister, and eight is his cousin—”

“Dane?” Crosbie interrupts, looking alarmed. “Dane who lives down the hall from me? Dane who thinks his sister’s going to become a nun?”

Kellan whistles. “She’s definitely not going to be a nun.”

“Oh Jesus.”

“Can you ask Dane for their numbers? Um, and their names?”

“Kill me.” Crosbie looks at me. “Please, Nora. Just put me out of my misery before Dane does.” He turns to Kellan. “How did you meet them? They don’t even go to Burnham.”

“They were at the Halloween party.”

“You said you didn’t hook up that night!”

“I didn’t say I didn’t get a few numbers and call them the next week!”

“What about Miss Louisiana?”

“I got her number, too.” He holds up a hand proudly. “And her name is Dana.” A pause. “Or Darla.”

“You’re making everything worse.”

“Guys!” I exclaim. “Let’s focus.” The sooner we find the girl, the sooner we end the hunt. Given the timeline, I’m probably either blank space forty-one or forty-two, which gives me twenty chances to end this search before they start trying to track me down. “What about number eight? Super hot kinkster?”

Crosbie looks intrigued. “Kinkster, huh? How kinky are we talking?”

I forget about wincing and kick him in the shin. He curses and scowls at me, but Kellan doesn’t even notice.

“Very,” he assures us dreamily. “Remember when we went to that club earlier this year on the track team trip?” This is directed at Crosbie.

“The one with the foam or the snakes?”

“The foam.”

“Yep.”

“She was a waitress, and she was wearing this white leather dress—the tiniest thing I’d ever seen, despite her massive—” Kellan breaks off as he remembers I’m sitting three feet away. “Ah, she had a great body. Anyway, we were dancing and the foam was piling up, and she kept grinding back against me, inching up her dress until her whole ass was on display, just split in half with this little red G-string. So I’m like, ‘Your dress is riding up,’ and she’s like, ‘I know,’ and I’m like, ‘Want to go someplace?’ and she’s like, ‘Right here’s good.’ And next thing I know we’re f*cking, right there on the dance floor. It was hot.” He rests his chin on his hand. “I miss her.”

I know I’m supposed to be outraged or offended or somehow off-put by this story, but those last three words—I miss her—only make me think of Crosbie. His text. His fingers. His body. And how much I want him. I dart a glance at his face and he’s looking at me, the same thoughts mirrored in his eyes.