Page 25 of Play Along With Me
He's calling my bluff with the subtlety of a freight train, and I find myself both irritated and impressed.
"Well," I say, scrambling, "I also need to... prepare his injection site. It's very involved. Requires special antiseptic wipes and—"
"Or," Kevin interrupts, "your cat doesn't actually have diabetes, and you were trying to avoid having drinks with me because you thought I was asking you out."
My face burns with the heat of a thousand embarrassed suns. I'm mortified. "That's not—"
"But now that you know it's a professional dinner and drinks with all of us," Kevin continues, his expression bothamused and slightly wounded, "perhaps your cat's condition has miraculously improved?"
The four men are staring at me, various degrees of amusement playing across their faces. I have two options: continue this increasingly elaborate lie about my cat's nonexistent medical condition or admit defeat.
"Fine," I sigh. "Mr. Darcy does not have diabetes. Though he does have a concerning addiction to knocking things off my nightstand at 3 AM, which I think deserves some kind of medical classification."
"Mr. Darcy?" Jake repeats, the corner of his mouth twitching.
"My cat," I clarify. "Named after the literary character, not the Colin Firth wet shirt scene, although that was certainly a contributing factor."
Why am I still talking?
"So you'll join us?" Ryan asks.
I glance at Jake, who's watching me with an expression I can't quite decipher. Curiosity? Amusement? The desire to see how much deeper I can dig this hole I've created?
"Sure," I relent. "I can always check WebMD later to see if Mr. Darcy's nightstand obsession is a symptom of something more serious."
"Excellent," Kevin says, though his tone has shifted slightly. I've clearly disappointed him with my ridiculous lies, which makes me feel worse than I expected. "I'm parked in the VIP lot. We can take my car."
As we walk toward the exit, Jake falls into step beside me, leaning down slightly to speak quietly.
"Door-knocking jokes? Really?" he asks, his eyes crinkling with amusement.
"I've been workshopping material," I defend myself. "It killed during the second period."
"I'm sure it did," he nods seriously. "Almost as tragic as your diabetic cat."
"Listen, you try coming up with a plausible excuse on the spot when a guy old enough to be your father might be asking you out."
"Fair point," he concedes. "Though for future reference, 'I have other plans' works just fine without inventing feline medical conditions."
"Where's the creativity in that?" I ask. "Besides, now I have a great anecdote for my writing."
He gives me a questioning look.
"I'm a writer," I explain. "Or trying to be. Currently stuck in the 'collecting embarrassing life experiences to use as material' phase."
"Well, you're excelling at that part," he says, and I can't help but laugh.
As we walk through the cool night air, I'm acutely aware of Kevin watching our interaction with interest. I've clearly damaged his opinion of me with my ridiculous lies, and for some reason, that bothers me. Despite his hockey obsession, Kevin's always been kind to me, a good customer who treats service workers with respect—a rarity in high-end hotel bars.
"Kevin," I say, hanging back slightly as Jake walks ahead with Ryan and Mike. "I'm sorry about the cat diabetes thing. That was weird and unnecessary."
He waves it off. "I could have been clearer that it was a professional invitation. Though I am questioning your judgment now, which is unfortunate since I've been talking you up to Ryan and Mike."
"Talking me up? Why?"
"Because they value my opinion on character," he says simply. "And I told them you have a knack for seeing people clearly."
"So I was what—part of Jake's evaluation?" I ask, feeling strangely offended on Jake's behalf.
