Thought I Knew You(16)

Drew shook his head. “Listen. I want you to stop and think. We technically don’t know any more than we did before we left to come down here. Dinner is just that—dinner. It could have been a colleague who happened to love Thai food. My point is, I’m okay with your anger because it’s so much better than that lifeless, silent person you were before. But you need to focus if we’re going to make some progress here. This is not a lecture.”

“Really? Because it feels like one,” I snapped, sitting back in the booth and staring past him. Greg used to call my silent treatment the Great Wall of Claire.

The overlapping sports games competed for attention, the announcers talking over each other in an enthusiastic rush. When our burgers and beers came, I gave up the brooding in favor of eating and drank four beers in succession. After the fourth, I asked for a shot of tequila.

Drew put his hand over mine. “Not a lecture, but legitimately a terrible idea.”

“I know. But I’m so damn tired of always having good ones.” I grinned.

He motioned to the waitress, who was at the bar picking up my shot, and held up two fingers. Suddenly, it was a party. And not the pitying kind.





Drew wrapped his arm around my waist, holding me upright, our hips softly knocking as we walked. Bump. Bump. I swayed unsteadily with every step. The tequila tasted acidic, sharp, and stabbing in my chest.

“Do you think he’s here?” I slurred. The street took on an unreal cast, and I squinted, blurring the glow of the street lamps together above my head.

“Here, as in Rochester?”

“Yeah, do you think we’re gonna find him?” It seemed important suddenly that Drew not only be there, supporting me, but that he genuinely believe in our mission. Our mission? I laughed, a single guttural “HA!” As if we’re superheroes.



Drew led me through the lobby and into the elevator. He pushed the button for the sixth floor. I watched the numbers above the door climb and winced at the ding when we reached our floor. The lights seemed too bright, the ding too loud, and the hallway swayed like a suspension bridge.

I fumbled with my card key, cursing at the unrelenting red light on the handle until Drew gently took the card. In a single movement, he slid it in, then out, and the green light blinked. I smirked. Show off.

In the room, I took off my shoes and tossed them on the floor. I dug out my pajamas—a T-shirt and mesh Princeton shorts—and with only a quick glance at Drew, pulled my shirt over my head, the hotel room air cold against my bare back. He had flopped on the bed and was studying the remote as I dressed. Whatever. Where the hell is my hair tie? I dug through my bag until I found a rubber band suitable for holding my long black hair away from my face.

“You’re always taking care of me when I drink,” I said, speaking slowly. HA! I didn’t even slur that one.

“Well, then, stop drinking so much.” He smiled and winked, patting the empty spot on the bed next to him.

I sat against the headboard, folding my legs underneath me, and cast a sideways glance at him. “Remember the prom?”



Drew shifted, pulling one leg up, ever so slightly angling away from me. He turned on the television and studied the guide. “Of course I remember the prom.”





We’d attended prom together for lack of other options. Drew had just broken up with his girlfriend—they were nearing his dreaded six-month mark—and I had stayed single most of my high school years.

I brought a flask and kept spiking my punch. Drew said he didn’t need to drink, that he had just as much fun sober. By the end of the night, I was sufficiently drunk and led him to the rear of the school. My hair, once piled in ringlet curls on my head, had come unpinned during the dancing and was hanging haphazardly down my back. I wore a strapless light pink gown, a satin mistake that had become blotched with punch and rum. Drew’s bowtie was draped around my neck, a badge of entitlement. His shirt was untucked and unbuttoned at the neck, the typical end-of-the-night mayhem of formal attire.

My face burned from the alcohol, and the air outside smelled ripe of summer and pheromones. I pushed him against the back wall of the school, aware then of the power I’d had over him, but the alcohol made me reckless, selfish, willing to risk our friendship. I leaned against him, feeling the entire length of his body against mine, and kissed his neck at the soft dip of flesh near his collarbone. I heard his intake of breath, and his hands ran down my back, pulling me into him.

“Claire.” He kissed me. He tasted of sunshine and childhood, and conversely, seduction and sex.

He pushed me away. “Claire, you’re drunk. I don’t want this, not like this.”