She tore her eyes from his and glanced around the table, waving at the group. A chorus of Heys and Hellos rang out. As Mac took off her coat and threw it over the chair next to Oliver, she felt a firm hand on her shoulder. She turned around and gasped.
“That’s my seat.” Claire shot her an ice-cold smile. She waved a dismissive hand toward the far end of the table, by the bathroom doors. “Try down there. I thought I saw an empty one.”
Mac gritted her teeth. She looked over at Oliver, who had gotten distracted by his phone. The worst thing to do, she decided, was to act like this bothered her. Oliver had been texting with her, after all.
She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Oh, sure. That’s cool.” Then she turned and headed for the other end, where the birdlike Lucien and the surprisingly supermodelesque Rachel slid over to make room. Oliver looked up from his text and made a pouty face, but Mac just smiled at him. There was no way she was getting into a fight with Claire in front of him, but she also felt defeated. Clearly, Claire had won Round One.
“I’m so glad you came out!” Rachel trilled, then pressed something square and cold into Mac’s hands—a flask. Mac looked up to meet Rachel’s gaze, but Rachel just grinned conspiratorially. Mac took an experimental sip, bitter whiskey slipping down her throat. Lucien nodded approvingly at her across the table. Interesting, Mac thought. These Juilliard kids were wilder than she expected.
Mac took another pull of whiskey and was about to pass the flask down, but Rachel caught her arm. “No, keep it between us,” she whispered. “You’re cool, but some of these other kids are totally straight-edge prudes.” She rolled her eyes.
“Got it,” Mac said quietly, handing her back the flask. Rachel passed it to Lucien, who took a covert swig—apparently he was one of the cool kids, too. It felt good to be included in a secret circle. Especially one that excluded Claire.
A loud trill of laughter sounded from the other end of the table, where Claire was flirting with Oliver. She was in top form, her eyelashes batting a mile a minute, giggling and tossing her hair. Oliver was laughing at her jokes, but Mac noticed that he pulled away when she put her hand on his thigh. Ha, she thought. At least he was fending off her advances for the time being. But would he forever?
The flask had come back to her, and she grabbed it and took another swig. The whiskey began to warm her stomach and relax her mind. When Lucien began to tell a story about his singular and disastrous foray into musical theater, she laughed loudly and raucously. She felt Oliver watching her from the other end of the table—with jealousy, maybe. Like he wanted to have the same kind of fun she was having. Well then, come down here, Mac thought. Ditch boring Claire. I’m way more fun.
But then, when Claire rose from her chair, beaded clutch in hand, and headed for the bathroom, Mac saw her opportunity. “Be back in a sec. I just need to say hi to someone,” she said to Lucien and Rachel. With a determined stride, she walked to the other end of the table, sat down in Claire’s still-warm seat, and pushed Claire’s drink—a Thai coffee, boring!—away. She flashed Oliver her biggest, broadest, sexiest smile. “Hey there! Long time no see.”
Oliver smiled back. “And here I thought you were ignoring me.”
“Oh, no.” Mac leaned forward. “Just making the rounds, you know.”
Oliver nodded toward Rachel and Lucien. “What’s going on down there in the winds section? You guys seem to be having fun.”
Mac’s eyes darted back and forth. “Rachel brought in some whiskey,” she whispered. “She’s got it in a flask.”
Oliver’s eyebrows shot up. “Lucky. Can you make sure it gets to my end?”
“Only if you’re good,” Mac said, enjoying that she was suddenly the gatekeeper. Then she placed her hand on Oliver’s forearm. His skin was hot and smooth under her palm. “So,” she said, “I want to hear more about growing up on a farm. Was it amazing?”
Oliver looked at her appraisingly. “You seem to be the only person who thinks so. Whenever I tell anyone else, they’re like, hayseed!”
She waved her hand. “Please. Farms rock. I used to want to live on one when I was younger. Did you have goats?”
He flashed her a crooked smile. “Pygmy goats, yeah. We sometimes let them come in the house.”
Mac’s eyes widened. “That’s adorable!”
Oliver nodded. “We had llamas, too—used them for their wool.”
“Do you still have them?”
“Yup. Maisie and Delores. My two girls.”
Mac smiled shyly. “I’d love to meet them sometime. I’ve never pet a llama before.”
“I think that could be arranged,” Oliver said, his eyes twinkling.
“Uh, hello?”
Mac looked up. Claire stood over her, nostrils flaring, hands on hips. “You’re in my seat,” she hissed. “Again.”
“Oh, sorry. I thought you had left,” Mac said sweetly.
“Pull up a chair, Claire,” Oliver said, gesturing to a chair at an empty table nearby. “Have you two met? Claire, this is Mackenzie. Mackenzie, this is . . .”
“We’ve met,” Claire said sharply.