Antics. That was the right termforit.
Dorrance's favorite expression was "on the prowl." She was alwaysprowlingfor something. Parties—raves when we were in college. Mind-altering substances—it used to be Adderall and MDMA, but now her tastes ran to weed and Xanax. Inspiration—for art and life and food and literally everything. Podcasts. Sex. Frozen yogurt. Music. More sex. Prowl, prowl, prowl. All day, all night. That was how she came to be known as an outdoor cat. It wasn't my best work as it pertained to nicknames but it spread like ironic humor at art school—quickly.
"I thought she didn't go to RISD Weekend, or any of the alumni events,"Shannonsaid.
I held up my hands. "She's going to this one,"Isaid.
Dorrance called New York home now. She was living in a Tribeca loft and working at a studio space-slash-second home in Brooklyn. Both purchased by her parents. I knew that much from the email I'd opened and then promptly closed. I figured it was easy to play the part of the bohemian artist when your parents were willing to footthebill.
She'd been a lot of fun in college, and we'd had a good time together. Some really good times. So good that I had a tramp stamp, permanently disfigured nipples, and a police record as souvenirs. Shannon hadactuallybailed me out of more than one Dorrance adventure gone bad. She'd forbidden me from seeing Dorrance again after my license had been suspended. I'd only been able to comply with that edict because Dorrance had graduated and moved to Manhattan a few weeks later. But that didn't stop Dorrance fromprowling.
"Then don't go alone," Mattsuggested.
"Is Miss Honey free that weekend?" I asked, the words out of my mouth before I could stopmyself.
"She'smyMiss Honey," he replied, laughing. And that was the only response. He passed it off as a joke. A little more of thatRiley's trying to steal my wife and isn't that hilarioushumor.
Yeah. It was so fuckingfunny.
"Lauren just hired a new second grade teacher," Matt continued. In addition to being the star of my subconscious and the most perfect woman on the planet, Lauren was the principal of an elementary school. "Audrey with the gluten-free cupcake blog. She's from around here, and moving back home after living down south for a couple of years. I think she's about your age. Recentlydivorced."
A grin tugged at my lips for the first time this morning. "Did Lauren hire her because she's a decent teacher, or for the cupcakes?" I asked him. Lauren had quite the sweettooth.
He held out his hands. "A little more of one and some of the other," he said, laughing. "Can't be sure how the ratios shook out." He pointed to his mobile phone. "You want me to set something up? I'm sure she'd love tointroduceyou."
"No," I said, snatching the sriracha back from Shannon. "That won't benecessary."
"Magnolia would go with you," Sam added, referring to my favorite landscape architect. "I've seen her chase away raccoons and actual feral cats. She can handleDorrance."
"Yes," Shannon said, slapping her palm on the table for emphasis. "Do that. She'll keep youinline."
"She does have a life and business," I said. "Accompanying me to Providence might not be on her list of priorities,youknow."
"That's fair. But we do have some time until RISD Weekend," Shannon said. She drummed her fingertips on the tabletop. "Enough for you to convince Magnolia or Audrey to go with you." She shrugged and pointed her pen to the side. "OrTom."
He glanced at me. "Would we be sharingabed?"
"Without a doubt, sugar." I studied him for a beat. "But you look like acoverhog."
"I am," he replied, a teasing smirk on his lips. "Among otherthings."
I shook my head. "Another time, Mr. Esbeck," I said,winking.
"Then Magnolia or Audrey," Shannon said, waving away the flirty banter. "I'll reserve two rooms for you, and you'll come back with some interestingrésumés.Deal?"
I doused the last chunk of my burrito in sauce and bobbed my head. "Sure," I said, still holding tight to the sriracha bottle. "What's the worst thing that couldhappen?"
"Are we speaking statistically?" Matt asked. "If so, there'sobviously—"
"Shut the fuck up about your fucking statistics, Matthew." I pointed the bottle in his direction,this closeto squeezing hard enough to paint his starched white dress shirt in puréedpepper.
"Right," Patrick said, running a hand over his jaw. "And this is where weadjourn."
ChapterThree
Riley
It wasa great day for baseball and beer. But then again, my threshold for greatness was low. I didn't require much from the teams or the beverages, and the weather was never a major factor. All I needed was a game on the field and a drink in my hand, and itwasgood.
