Page 84 of Try Me

Nate pressed him with a look. “Mark’s my closest friend, and he’s here, and he’s upset.”

“I think,” Eric said carefully, seeming to weigh every word, “that he’s probably having the same questions and struggles you are. And I think that he’s also probably hoping that somewhere down the line, the…circumstances might be more favorable for everyone.”

“Wow.” Nate clapped his hands sarcastically, but even that was tinged with fondness. “Way to be incredibly vague and unhelpful.”

“Thanks, it took some effort,” Eric replied mildly.

“So you’re saying Mark should just say ‘fuck it’ and move on?” Nate sounded incredulous.

“Is that what you heard? No. I’m saying he should be patient.”

The thing was, I really sucked at patience.

28

Chet

Once again, I found myself staring at Mark’s desk like I could will him into his chair with the sheer force of determination. When another five minutes passed and he hadn’t materialized into existence, I fired off anotherwhere the fuck are youmessage.

He didn’t answer. Again.

“So what happens if he doesn’t show? Do we just automatically win the trial?” Houston asked.

“Fuck no.” I hopped from my chair and paced. “I’ll do the whole thing myself and kick your ass. But that’s not going to happen. He’s going to show, and we’re still going to kick your ass.”

“Has anyone told you your confidence is annoying?”

“Yes.” It was mostly false confidence at this point. Still, never let them see your weakness and all that bullshit.

I double-checked our notes and case files and reorganized them in the file box, then got a fresh mug of coffee and checked the time again. Forty-five minutes until the mock trial started. I groaned. Fuck me.

I pushed the box to the corner of my desk, at the ready, and shoved out of my chair. “I’m going for coffee.”

“You’re already drinking coffee,” Houston pointed out.

“Yeah, well, I need a ridiculously marked-up brand-name version.”

“Are you coming back, or is this coffee errand some kind of euphemism?”

I snorted. “Yes, I’m coming back. To kick your ass.”

Liza twiddled her fingers in the air. “Will you bring me an iced latte, pretty please?”

“He’s not actually going to get coffee,” Houston stage-whispered.

I didn’t hear what she said in reply. I hauled ass to the parking garage and made it to Mark’s in under ten minutes.

Some guy I didn’t recognize—Ansel maybe? Ansen?—flung open the door before I could bang on it for a fourth time. He wore a scowl as he looked me up and down. “We don’t need saving.”

“One of you definitely does. But I’m not a fucking evangelist. I’m here for Mark.”

“Here for—”

I pushed my way past him before he could finish.

“Hey, Chet.” Jesse flagged a wave in my direction and then did a double take. “Wait. Chet? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Where’s Mark’s room?”