The One That Got Away Read Free Page A

problem,” I say brightly, tasering Danny with my eyes. “I was planning to work tomorrow, so I’m not sure I could go on the drive, but I can give you some notes.”
    “Come on, Ree, it won’t take long. Ame’s only here for a couple of days. Pry yourself away from your laptop for two hours.”
    Aaaaand now I look like an asshole if I continue to demur. Too bad Danny is sitting out of Nicole’s striking range. “Okay, fair enough.”
    Not content with the mischief wrought so far, he continues.“And, Ame, cancel your stupid hotel room and stay with us. We graduated from air mattresses. We have a full-on guest room. It’s almost like we’re actual adults.”
    Oh goddamnit. Normally Danny’s bottomless hospitality is one of my favorite things about him, but this particular guest I could live without. Not to mention this hell-born house-hunting escapade.
    “Thanks, but I wouldn’t want to impose,” Eamon says, shaking his head.
    Danny heaves a dramatic sigh. “It’s not an imposition, you fool. Who stays in a hotel during South By?”
    “Maybe it’s not an imposition for you, but did you ask your roommate if she minds having a houseguest for a few days?”
    “Of course I don’t mind,” I lie, “but I hope you’re not allergic to cats. Mine likes to use the guest room as his nap space. There’s fur everywhere.”
    “Doesn’t bother me. All right, I’ll take you up on it, if you’re sure I won’t be in your way.”
    “Oh, shut up—you’re coming,” says Danny, raising a palm to show the matter is closed.
    —
    We stay at Albion until nearly three, drinking and talking until, despite some baleful muttering from Danny to the effect that we are all losers with weak constitutions, we spill out onto the street for the requisite round of goodbyes. Once we get home, though, Danny sinks onto our big gray sofa to take his shoes off and promptly falls asleep, mouth open in an inelegant gape that would mortify him if he ever saw it. I briefly consider grabbing a picture of him but decide to give him a pass, just this once.
    “The bastard,” says Eamon. “After all that talk.”
    “Typical,” I say through a yawn.
    Eamon clearly doesn’t share my scruples about Danny’s privacy, as he calmly takes out his phone and snaps a photo of his sleeping friend, leaning in close for maximum detail.
    “That’s going to be spectacular blackmail material,” I observe.
    “I thought so too,” he says. “For now I’ll just use it as his caller ID photo.”
    A ripple of laughter escapes me. Danny would faint with shame if he knew. At the sound of voices, my cat, Newman, pads into the living room to investigate the newcomer.
    “Hey, buddy.” Eamon drops to his knees and extends his hand to Newman, who approaches and sniffs cautiously, then bumps his sleek black head against Eamon’s knuckles. This is highly unusual; typically Newman regards strangers with the squint-eyed suspicion of his namesake.
    “That’s Newman,” I explain.
    Eamon looks up at me, eyes crinkled with humor. “From
Seinfeld
?”
    “Of course.”
    “Hello,
Newman
,” says Eamon. “He’s a Manx?” he asks, clearly referring to the stubby nub that punctuates Newman’s rear end where his tail ought to be.
    “No, he lost it in a bar fight,” I deadpan.
    Eamon’s crack of laughter causes Danny to stir briefly, but he doesn’t wake. Danny could sleep through a hurricane. “Wish I could have seen the other guy,” Eamon mutters.
    This is how it was with us
, I think suddenly.
    I grin stupidly at him for a moment before I remember that I’m supposed to be playing hostess. “Let me show you where you’re sleeping.”
    He follows me up the stairs, and oohs appreciatively when I open the door to the subdued gray and tan room. “Wow, you guys weren’t kidding. I like this painting,” he adds, moving closer tothe big abstract piece that hangs over the bed, a study in taupe and gray shadows.
    “Thanks. My mom painted that.”
    He