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“What would you text?” Fawn asks, sounding curious.
To keep myself from smirking at her, I look away and avoid her eyes. If it would help Marcus, then Fawn’s clearly on board.
Samantha shrugs. “I’m sure the three of us can think of something.”
“What if they call your phone and learn it’s you?” I ask, not wanting my friend to be targeted.
“I’m fucking blocking the number as soon as we’re done,” she states firmly.
“I’m in,” I tell them. “But if I get in trouble with my Daddy, I blame you two.”
They giggle at my expense, which only gets louder as I glare at them.
“We need to come up with a story,” Fawn says, her brow furrowed. “Who are we pretending to be, and who do we think we are texting?”
“We’re Luke, who met a girl—”
“Brittney,” Fawn says, supplying our heroine’s name.
“Luke met Brittney last night, and she gave him her number,” I conclude.
“That’s totally plausible," Samantha says. “Where did they meet?”
“Royal’s?” Fawn suggests, naming my favorite brewpub.
“No, not someplace local,” I say. “What’s the name of that place we went to in the North East Kingdom, that weekend we spent in Montreal?”
“It had something to do with golf,” Samantha answers. “Remember, we played tag on the lawn.”
“They didn’t like that too much, did they?” I ask, smiling at the memory.
“I think it was Fawn and you rolling down the hill they didn’t like.” Samantha giggles.
“I’ll Google it.” Fawn grabs her phone. “It was the 19th Hole Bar and Grill.”
“Any other details we should consider?” I ask, looking at Fawn.
“Maybe a topic they discussed?”
“Luke’s toes being bitten by fish while wearing flip-flops in the lake,” Samantha suggests.
“What?” I giggle. “Are there any fish that actually bite in Lake Champlain?”
“Vampire-fish bite, but they’re more of an eel than a fish,” Fawn informs us. “It’s certainly a reason Brittney would give him a fake number.”
“True, I can see him going on and on about his trip to the emergency room,” I agree, pulling my phone from my bag. I scroll down the texts I’ve received, pull up the creepy messages, and hand the phone to Samantha. “Here’s the number.”
“What should we say first?” Samantha asks, her thumbs poised to type the message.
“‘Let’s hook up this weekend,’” Fawn suggests before munching on another carrot stick.
“Okay, Fawn, get ready to look around,” I say, kneeling on the bench to get a better view of the room.
“Sent,” Samantha tells us as we scan the nearby tables.
“Do you see anyone you recognize?” Fawn asks.
“Ummm…” I look around. “I think that’s Larry, the head of campus security, over at the bar with a bunch of the officers, but his back is to me, so I can’t be sure.”
