Page 22 of The Night Shift

“Yeah, you too — hey, wait!”

She turns around. “Yeah?”

“How do I give this back to you? The clothes.”

“We could exchange numbers?” The second those words leave her mouth, I’m reminded of the anonymous text messages. Mystery Girl must see the apprehension on my face. “Or I could just meet you here tomorrow. Does six p.m. work?”

I nod. It’s my day off tomorrow. Unless there are any emergency surgeries, I don’t have to go into work. “What’s your name?”

She manages a small smile. “Audrey.”

Audrey. “I’m Holly.”

Smile widening, she shakes my hand, the soft skin of her palm sending a distinct chill up my spine. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Holly,” she says and then disappears into the crowd.

The bathroom door creaks shut, the sound echoing in the tiled space. I touch the inside of my palm that’s still tingling from Audrey's touch. I turn to look at myself in the mirror, my reflection staring back at me with weary eyes. The white top hangs over my arm, its vibrant hue clashing with the stark black of the bathroom tiles.

Taking a deep breath to calm the uneasiness in my stomach, I enter an empty stall to change my appearance, instantly feeling better as the soft material of the white tee falls over my shoulders. Her clothes smell nice. Daffodils paired with a hint of vanilla. Adjusting the front to smooth out any wrinkles, I put on my jeans and wig, grab my stuff, and head back out. As I burst out of the bathroom, I collide with someone, sending a glass full of whiskey flying and drenching my white T-shirt.

“Fucking hell!” The man sneers. “Watch where you’re going, bitch!” He looks up and instead of apologizing, runs his gaze blatantly up and down my body, lingering a beat too long on my chest.

It’s the same man from before. The creep at the bar. “My eyes are up here, asshole.”

He tears his gaze away from my body and meets my eyes with a smirk. “You should try watching where you step, doll.”

Doll? I don’t know whether to throw up or stab his face with a fork. “And you should try apologizing for spilling your drink on me.”

He doesn’t. Instead, he shamelessly runs his eyes over me again. “You’ll get over it,” he says, finally sauntering away as I gape at him, speechless. What the fuck?

“Holly?” A familiar voice cuts through the air.

I look to my right.

Camille stands there with a face etched in concern. Her eyes dart between me and the retreating figure of the man, before lingering on my hair for a beat too long. She frowns. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought you were tired.”

“I was.”

“And you’re not anymore?”

I shrug and before I can say anything else, I'm enveloped in a tight embrace, two arms pulling me close and silencing my words with a hug. My shoulders grow rigid with discomfort.

“I’m sorry,” Cami says.

I shift in place. “For what?”

She hugs me tighter. “For lashing out at you. I hate fighting with you. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I feel terrible.”

She pulls away and it takes a conscious effort to soften my expression. “It’s okay, Cam. I yelled at you too.”

“Let me make it up to you?”

“Does it involve a free drink?”

She smiles. “Maybe.”