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Her pal.
I probably could have handled that situation a little better, could have clapped Ryan on the shoulder and acted like I was happy to see him, but honestly, I wasn’t. I’m sick of seeing his face. Sick of him standing in my way.
While I wait on the bartender to bring back the beers, the woman tries hard to carry the conversation for the both of us. I can’t remember her name right after she says it and she has to ask a question twice before I realize she’s waiting for an answer. I smile and apologize. She tries one more time to make conversation, and when I reply with a one-word response, she finally just gives up and walks away.
I’m glad to see her go. I didn’t come to the bar to make small talk. I came for Whitney and now she’s off somewhere, alone with Ryan.
That bitter thought keeps me planted on my stool. If I’m going to have to face them together, I need more couth than I can muster at the moment. I stay at the bar and sip my beer, half-focused on the football game playing on the TV in front of me.
I try on a brave face, relaxing my fists so they don’t accidently inflict bodily harm on Ryan. I’ve never been a jealous barbarian. Dragging Ryan out of the bar by the collar won’t solve my problems. Besides, he doesn’t deserve that.
Eventually, I force myself to get up, but it’s too late. It took me too long to compartmentalize my feelings for Whitney because by the time I grab her beer and what’s left of mine then turn to find them, they’re gone.
“Are you looking for Whitney?” a girl asks. I recognize her from rehearsals, but I don’t know her name off the top of my head. I think she’s one of the elves from the Enchanted Forest.
I nod.
She points to the door. “She left a while ago.”
“With Ryan?”
Apparently, my annoyance over the idea is visible because her eyes widen. I consciously loosen my grip on the neck of my beer in an effort to look less like a lunatic.
“No. They left a few minutes apart. It looked like they were fighting or something beforehand. Anyway, someone said Whitney was sick outside, throwing up. Not a good look, if you ask me.”
I didn’t ask you.
Without another word, I drop the drinks on a nearby table and head for the door. If she’s still out there, I’ll help her. Even with everything going on, I’ll help take care of her if she needs me.
Once outside, I look for her, circling the entire bar, but she’s gone.
The idea of her walking home by herself pisses me off. I know we’re still on the Knightley Company property and it’s a relatively safe area, but still, she was drinking, and as far as I know, she skipped dinner.
I reach for my phone, about to call her, but then I realize we still haven’t exchanged numbers. I curse and call Heather instead.
She’s not at all happy to hear from me, something about boundaries and not bothering her after hours. I tell her she can take an extra day off whenever she wants it before instructing her to pull up Whitney’s employee file on her computer. I need her phone number.
After she’s done, she says, “Make it two days off,” before hanging up.
I head to my car and unlock it as I place the call to Whitney. It rings forever and then goes straight to voicemail. I try again as I sit down in the front seat and close the door. She finally picks up.
“I swear if this is someone complaining about Pringles, I’ll scream.”
“What?”
There’s a long pause. The metal ting of a lamp being switched on in the background.
“Whitney? It’s Derek.”
“Oh.”
There’s a muffled groan like her face is pressed against her pillow.
“Are you okay?”
“Sorry. I was nearly asleep. Groggy, I think. Did you need something?”
She’s dropped her friendly tone.
I tip my head back against the headrest and rub my eyes.
“Someone said you were sick outside the bar. I wanted to check if you were okay.”
“Oh, well…that wasn’t me. Must have just been a raccoon or something. I’m in tiptop shape. In fact, I was nodding off before you called. Don’t let me keep you from your night.”
“My night?” I ask roughly.
“With Ms. Fluffy Hair.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The brunette at the bar.”
“The one I talked to for five minutes?”
“Is that all it took to convince her to go back to your apartment? I underestimated you.” Her icy attitude grates on my nerves.
“I’m sitting in my car, alone. And what about Ryan? Is he there beside you?”
“You saw how small my bed is. There’s no way an adult man would fit on here with me. He’s on the floor.”
My stomach clenches. Then I realize she’s joking. It’s not funny.
