Page 103 of Thrown for a Loop
I hear Chase respond to her, but there’s a lot of noise in the bar, and I can’t get the words.
“Yeah, I know! So infuriating. We’ve got the video here, and we’re trying to figure out who looks guilty and who didn’t show up at all. There aren’t that many people Zoe can trust. So I thought you might pop down here and help us.”
“What?” I pick my head up. “Don’t ask him to come here! He’s probably entertaining supermodels at the Mojo Dojo Hockey House.”
Darcy frowns. “Unless you’re busy with any supermodels? No? Okay, awesome. We need your help, and Zoe is a little drunk.” She hangs up and slides the phone back across the table to me, looking smug.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t. I’m just fulfilling my role as your best work friend.”
“You know what’s sad? You’re my best friend in the world.” I burp.
Darcy laughs at me. “You have a lot of shitty friends, apparently.”
“I’ve never had enough friends,” I clarify. “I had competitors. And a husband who… Ugh.” It’s too depressing to think about.
“Oh, honey. Well, listen to this…” Darcy tells me the story of her most recent online dating disaster as a way of cheering me up. But then someone slides into the booth beside me, and I inhale the scent of spice and leather, with top notes of rink ice.
Then I scoot a little closer and take another deep breath. For science. How can anyone smell so good?
“Say hi, Zoe,” Darcy says after a moment, and I realize I’m acting like a goober.
“Hi,” I say, rubbing my forehead. “My head is heavy. I’ve had a lot of beers.”
Chase frowns. “How many is a lot?”
“Three.” When the corners of his mouth twitch, I feel the need to defend myself. “I know, I’m still terrible at drinking. I never got the chance to develop a tolerance. My ex-husband always reminded me of the calorie count.”
“He sounds fun,” Darcy says.
“Right?” Chase says. “I said thesame thing.”
He and Darcy high-five, and I groan. “I know, I know. I married him to get out from under my mother. But then I was just underhim.” I frown. “That came out wrong, seeing as I wasn’t even under him very often. And then I found out later that other skaters were under him quite a lot.”
I look up at the matching flinches on Darcy’s and Chase’s faces, and I realize that I’m oversharing.
“When is the last time you ate?” Chase asks.
I shrug. “Not sure. Food is so spendy. It’s rent week.”
Chase slides out of the booth, and I’m super disappointed. But he returns a few minutes later with a soda for me, a beer for himself, and a giant basket of poutine.
I reach for it.
“Okay, here’s the deal.” Darcy unlocks my phone and shows Chase the video. “Do you see anyone looking suspicious? Or do you remember who wasn’t there?”
They chat about it for a few minutes. But just as I suspected, it’s hard to find a smoking gun. And I’m busy communing with these french fries smothered in gravy and cheese.
“Hey, friends.” When I look up, Harp, the friendly bartender, is standing at the end of our booth.
“Hi.” I hiccup.
“I see you two have switched roles tonight,” he says with a smile. “Last call for the kitchen, kids.”
Chase glances at me as I murder another fry. The basket is almost empty. “Another round of poutine?”
I shake my head. “Not unless you wanted some.”
