Page 163 of The First Taste
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
I chew my fry and try to sneak it out of my pocket, checking the screen under the table. Of course it’s nothing, just a stupid email notification. Ella leans over to see and then rolls her eyes.
“Seriously?”
My cheeks turn bright pink. “What? My phone buzzed!”
She shakes her head, turning to Eric. “She has checked her phone no less than twenty times in the last hour. That tells me that she’s waiting to hear from some hot ass booty call?—“
“Ella!” I cry, embarrassed. “I’m telling you, I’m just… like, a phone addict or whatever.”
Eric looks at me, his expression cautious. “Who are you expecting to hear from? We are your only friends… and we are here.”
I point at them both. “That’s not true. I have other, non-ballet friends.”
Ella laughs. “You do not. It’s okay, I don’t have friends outside of ballet either. I mean, there are my cousins. I hang out with them a lot when I’m at home, but that’s just because my family has the nicest house.”
She rolls her eyes.
Eric nods at my phone. “Who are you waiting to hear from, Kaia?”
I will do just about anything to avoid that question. So I smile, turning to Ella.
“Hey, remember last year when Eric was dancing, doing all the Russian jumps, and his pants pretty much exploded?”
He glares at me, swiping a chicken finger. “I’m sure everyone has moved on from that.”
Ella snorts. “Uh, noooo. We didn’t forget. That was the day that I found out that you wear a dainty pink dance belt under your leggings.”
He rocks his head back. “I washed the damn belt with a red shirt. It turned pink in the wash. I thought I already explained that!”
Before the argument can continue, my phone starts buzzing in my hand. Alarmed, I look down at the screen.
Calum.
My heart starts to beat wildly. My stomach fills with acid.
“Umm, I should go take this,” I mumble, sliding to my feet.
“I told you there was a boy,” Ella said. “Didn’t I tell you?”
Hurrying away from the table, I put the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
There is no greeting, no warm tone. Just his gruff rumble. “I need you dressed in cocktail attire and ready to meet me at Peychaud’s in an hour.”
“Uhhh…” I glance back at my friends. “I’m really in the middle of something. Besides, I’m not dressed right…”
“I’m texting you the address now,” he says. “Don’t make me wait.”
Then he hangs up, leaving me staring at my home screen. I blink several time, then turn toward my friends, trying to decide just what I’m about to tell them to escape.
Calum
I’m at the stylish, hammered copper bar at Peychaud’s, toying with my drink. The lights are dimmed, the place is hopping. It’s busy tonight, the bar packed, the tables full of noisy people dressed in their date night best.
The bartender, a pretty brunette, comes over to check on me. “Would you like another Vieux Carre?”
I look down at the drink, surprised to find it all but empty. The dark cherry is still there along with a couple of half-melted cubes of ice. I check my watch with a sigh.
