Audre & Bash Are Just Friends(59)

“So, what brought you out tonight?” Audre asked Manny. Her smile revealed lipstick on her teeth. Subtly, Bash caught her eye and ran his tongue over his teeth. Audre mouthed stop being weird. He shook his head, fast, and mouthed lipstick. With a yelp, she quickly scrubbed her teeth with a finger.

“Hmm, why am I here? I’m just vibing.” Manny winked at her. “Soulmate searching.”

“The concept of soulmates,” started Audre, “was invented by the patriarchy to tie a woman to a man so she could cook and clean for him while bearing his seven children.”

Bash shot her a frown over Fiona’s head.

“Um… I like your tan,” she said to Manny with a feathery giggle.

“Yeah? Just got back from the Hamptons. Eboni Green’s having a party at her beach house next weekend. You pulling up?”

“I might,” she said in a sultry voice. “How are you getting there?”

Just then, Bash’s phone lit up in his palm. Clio’s pic flashed on-screen—and, of course, Audre saw. His stomach sank, knowing how bad it looked. Clio, his not-girlfriend, was calling him on a Friday night.

A fiery expression thundered across Audre’s face. Abruptly, she grabbed Manny’s punch. “You’re not gonna finish this, are you?”

Before he could answer, she downed half of it in twenty seconds.

“Noooo,” groaned Bash, running his hand over his face.

“You’re wild, Audre!” exclaimed Manny. “I didn’t know.”

“I am wild as hell, boi!” she exclaimed.

“Audre,” started Bash, “what are you doing?”

“Why do you care?” grumbled Fiona.

“Good queth-tion,” slurred Audre.

“Let’s get outta here,” Manny told Audre. “Ever been to Brooklyn Steele? Not to brag, but I’m kind of known there. My cousin bartends on weeknights. Anyway, he said some no-name rapper, Pia Colada, is performing?”

“Oh, Bash saw her last week,” said Audre, glaring at him.

“She any good?” asked Manny, who was disinterested in talking to Bash.

“She had some skills,” said Bash, who was even less interested in talking to Manny.

“She wasn’t all that,” said Audre.

“You weren’t there,” said Bash.

“I was there!” exclaimed Fiona, who wasn’t but hated losing Bash’s attention.

“Well, I saw that video.” Audre hooked her arm in Manny’s. “He’s impressed ’cause she rhymed Bash with whiplash.”

Bash smirked. “Can you do better?”

“Can I do better? Can I do better?”

Manny looked fascinated. “Wait, can you do better?”

“Y’all aren’t ready,” exclaimed Audre, buzzing with liquid confidence. “Manny, do you beatbox? I need a beat. No fuck that, I’ll freestyle a cappella.”

“Omigod, A, please rethink this,” hissed Bash under his breath.

“I got bars, B! I’m only telling y’all this ’cause I’m drunk, but every night before I go to sleep I think of rhymes that would kill Pia Colada’s in a battle.”

Bash’s mouth fell open. “You do what?”

“Every night,” she repeated, too tipsy to feel shame. Then she took a deep breath—and started spitting.

Off the top of her head.

Poorly.

Four-point-oh but I got a fatty

J/K about the ass but I’m still a baddie

I’m talking to this kid, yo his name is Manny

I get thleepy… I mean, SLEEPY after nine but I gotta rally

Let’s keep it a bean, tho, I came with Bash

Hot like fire yo he gives me, um… what else rhymes with Bash… oh, I got it, HEAT RASH

Can’t stay all night, bitch, I gotta dash

Apple’s a broke bitch but I got that cash

“BROKE?” exclaimed Fiona, offended.

By the time Audre reached the end, a group had formed around her, cheering and clapping, cell phones recording every moment. And suddenly, she felt a lot less drunk. Rapping in the middle of a party when you’re not, in fact, a rapper? Definitely sobering.

Frantically, Audre reached for Bash’s arm. “Get me out of here, immediately!”

“Say less,” he answered.

Without saying goodbye, Bash grabbed her hand and led her through the maze of the dance floor, back to the entrance. Until Audre abruptly stopped walking, jerking Bash backward. She was frozen to the spot.

Bash looked down at her. But her eyes were focused on something off to the right. He followed her sight line to a guy standing in a small group. He was a stocky dude wearing short twists and a letterman’s jacket. In ninety-degree weather?

Audre squeezed Bash’s hand, hard, digging her fingers into his palm. He saw what condition she was in and, without asking questions, said, “Three-three-three. Remember? Focus on something you can see, hear, and touch.”

“Right.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I see darkness. I hear a light-skinned Bieber song. I feel you holding my hand.”

She exhaled shakily, then she opened her eyes and peered up at him. Bash nodded and squeezed her hand. Then her gaze landed on that guy again, and she started trembling.