The Follower by Jason Starr Page B

“nothing on it,” returning from work every day between five forty-five and six, except that one day last week when she went out to a bar after work with friends and didn’t get home until later—so he figured there was a decent chance that she would be going to the gym tomorrow morning. If he saw her tomorrow and hadn’t called her yet, she might get the wrong idea, think he wasn’t interested in her, and it would put him in an uncomfortable position.
    He went to ABC Carpet and did some shopping for the apartment, but then he couldn’t take it anymore. He took out his cell and dialed Katie’s number, which he had memorized.
    “Hello?” God, her voice was amazing.
    “Hey, it’s me, Peter.”
    There was a pause. It only lasted a second or two, but it was plenty of time for Peter to get paranoid. He wondered if she wasn’t really expecting him to call and was upset that he had, or if she thought it was weird that he was calling so quickly, or if she was with that guy she’d been dating.
    But Peter’s fears were alleviated when she said, “Oh, wow, Peter. Sorry, I just walked in the door and I didn’t check my caller ID. What’s up?”
    “Not much. I was just wondering if you had any plans for tomorrow afternoon.”
    Damn, he sounded too pushy. He should’ve had a short conversation with her first. Why didn’t he think all this through?
    “No, I don’t,” she said. “Not really.”
    “Great,” he said, relieved. “So how about we meet for coffee at around two?”
    “Yeah, okay. That sounds great.”
    “Cool. I’ll stop by your place after I get off work.”
    “I better tell you where I live.”
    “Yeah, that would be a good idea.”
    She gave him her address and he pretended that he was writing it down somewhere. He was angry at himself for making that slip-up, implying that he already knew where she lived. He hoped she hadn’t picked up on it.
    “You know, I have a better idea,” she said. “Since you’re gonna be working, how about I just come by the gym and meet you there?”
    Peter wasn’t crazy about this plan, but didn’t want to be difficult.
    “Okay,” he said. “Whatever works best for you.”
    They exchanged some small talk about how they were going to spend the rest of their afternoons—she said she was going to do some laundry, which he expected because she’d done laundry on two other Saturdays at around this time, and he said he had to “do some errands around the neighborhood”—and then they said goodbye and clicked off.
    Overall, he was happy with how the conversation had gone. He didn’t think she was suspicious of anything and he was glad that she seemed excited about him calling and about their date tomorrow. Still, he wished he didn’t have to be on eggshells with her, watching every word he said. He wanted to let loose, be natural. He knew that once she got to know the real Peter Wells, she’d never even think about another guy again.

SIX
     
    Michigan was beating the hell out of Michigan State, 17-zip midway through the second quarter, and Andy, Scott, and Scott’s work buddy Dan were on their second pitcher of Heineken. When they arrived at the bar, Andy had noticed a girl with long dark hair and bangs sitting at a table in the corner with two other girls. She’d looked cute, but too old, about an hour ago, but now, with a few beers in him, she looked a lot younger and a lot cuter.
    “Stop staring,” Scott said.
    “I wasn’t staring,” Andy said, but he knew he was.
    “You practically had your tongue hanging out of your mouth, dude.”
    “Look who’s talking,” Andy said. “Whenever a girl walks into a bar you’re like…” Andy made an exaggerated, deer-in-headlights expression.
    “I saw her checking you out before,” Dan said to Andy.
    “Bullshit,” Andy said.
    “I’m serious. When Michigan scored that last TD and you cheered, she was looking over at you.”
    “Yeah,” Scott joked. “Probably wondering, Who’s that idiot with