Page 49 of Score
“Get down where?” I ask sharply, jogging across the street to where my car is parked. “What’s wrong? Where is she?”
“We’re at Top Dog. She won’t listen to me. I tried—”
“Won’t listen to you? What do you mean?”
“Just come. How far away are you?”
“Maybe fifteen minutes.” My heart is pounding and skipping beats at the same time as I start the car. “Is she hurt?”
“No, just not herself. She’s drunk.”
“Verity doesn’t drink.”
“Exactly. Look, Randi and I gotta bounce, but I didn’t want to leave her here like this.”
“Like what?”
I zoom through a yellow light and hope all the traffic signals will be in my favor so I can make it to Top Dog without breaking too many laws or getting a ticket. I lean on the horn for some slow-driving motherfucker who thinks the speed limit is two miles per hour.
“Leave her like what, Petra?” I ask again when she doesn’t reply.
“There’s just all these…” Her pause dangles me over a cliff.
“All these what? For fuck’s sake, Petra, if you don’t—”
“These guys,” she says, the words sounding like they’re being dragged over gravel. “All these guys are with her and it’s a bad vibe.”
My hands tighten on the steering wheel. I might grind a hole in my teeth at the thought of Verity drunk in that skimpy dress with a bunch of guys in a bar.
“Just come get our girl,” Petra says.
“My girl,” I correct automatically.
“Keep telling yourself that,” she teases. “Just… maybe it’s not as bad as I think—”
“No, it’s bad,” a voice pipes in on Petra’s end.
“That’s Randi,” Petra says. “She said—”
“I heard her. Almost there. See you soon.”
I hang up because I’m on the brink of losing my shit, and Petra and her girlfriend aren’t helping. It’s another five minutes before I pull into Top Dog’s parking lot practically on two wheels. I squeeze into a tiny spot and don’t even slow down when my door dings the neighboring car. I charge into the bar, which feels completely anticlimactic, considering the atmosphere in Top Dog when I arrive. Ginuwine’s “Pony” plays in the background, the volume low enough that the chatter of the bar’s patrons almost overwhelms the song. A group of students plays pool in a corner. The smell of wings and liquor is strong. I finally spot Petra and Randi seated in a booth near the kitchen.
“’Bout time,” Petra says, relief on her face and slumping her shoulders. Her shirt is soaking wet, but I don’t have time to worry about that.
“Thanks for calling.” I look around. “Where is she?”
“She went to the bathroom.” Petra grimaces. “With all the alcohol she’s had, and considering what a lightweight she is, she’s probably puking her guts up.”
“If you’re finished with your Good Samaritan act,” Randi says, standing to her feet, “let’s go. We’re already late for the movie.”
“Alright, baby girl.” Petra stands and gives Randi’s ass an affectionate pat. “Missing the previews ain’t the end of the world.”
“Thanks again,” I say, glancing toward the restrooms, already mentally dismissing Petra and Randi and impatient to find my girl.
“No problem.” Petra’s smile melts into a flat line. “Just get her home safe and figure out whatever’s got her acting like this.”
“I plan to,” I say grimly, returning her fist-bump.
