Free After We Collided (The After Series) by Anna Todd Page A

No, he wouldn’t.
    I should call him.
    Realizing I won’t be sick, I exit the little room and go to the sink area. Hitting a couple of buttons on my phone, I place it between my shoulder and cheek and tear a paper towel from the dispenser. I place it under a faucet to wet it, but the water doesn’t come until I wiggle the towel around the sensor; I hate these automatic sinks. My eyeliner has run a little, and I look like a different person. My hair is wild and my eyes are bloodshot. After the third ring, I hang up and set my phone on the edge of the sink.
    Why the hell isn’t he answering? I ask myself, and right then my phone starts to vibrate, almost falling into the water, which makes me laugh. I have no idea why, but I find it amusing.
    Hardin’s name appears on the screen, and I swipe my wet finger across the screen. “Harold?” I say into the phone.
    Harold? Oh Lord, I drank way too much.
    Hardin’s voice sounds funny and breathless when it comes through. “Tessa? Is everything okay? Did you call me?”
    God, his voice is heavenly.
    “I don’t know—does your caller ID say that I did? Because if so, there’s probably a good chance it was me.” I laugh as I say this.
    His tone changes. “Have you been drinking?”
    “Maybe,” I squeak and toss the makeshift wipe into the trash.
    Two drunken girls enter the area and one of them trips over her own feet, making everyone laugh. They stumble into the largest stall, and I focus my attention back on my phone call.
    “Where are you?” Hardin asks harshly.
    “Oh, calm down, would you?” He always tells me to calm down, so now it’s my turn.
    He sighs. “Tessa . . .” I can tell he’s angry, but my head’s too fuzzy to care. “How much did you drink?” he asks.
    “I dunno . . . like five. Or six. I think,” I answer and lean against the wall. The cold tile feels amazing on my hot skin through the thin material of my dress.
    “Five or six what?”
    “Sexes on the Beaches . . . we never had sex on the beach . . . That could have been fun,” I say with a smirk. I wish I could see his stupid face right now. Not stupid . . . beautiful . But stupid sounds better right now.
    “Oh God, you’re trashed ,” he says. Somehow I know that he’s running his fingers through his hair. “Where are you?” he asks again.
    I know it’s immature, but I reply, “Somewhere you’re not.”
    “Obviously. Now tell me. Are you at a nightclub?” he barks.
    “Oooh . . . someone is a grumpy gills.” I laugh.
    Clearly he can hear the music in the background, so when he threatens, “I can easily find out where you are,” I sort of believe him. Not that I care.
    The words are out before I can stop them: “Why didn’t you call me today?”
    “What?” he asks, clearly thrown off by my question.
    “You didn’t try to call me today.” I sound pathetic.
    “I didn’t think you wanted me to.”
    “I don’t, but still.”
    “Well, I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says calmly.
    “Don’t get off the phone yet.”
    “I’m not . . . I was just saying that I’ll call you tomorrow, even if you don’t pick up,” he explains and my heart leaps.
    I try to sound neutral. “Okay.” What am I doing?
    “So now can you tell me where you are?”
    “Nope.”
    “Is Trevor there?” His tone is serious.
    “Yeah, but Kim is, too . . . and Christian.” I’m defending, though I don’t know why.
    “So this was the plan, then? To take you to the conference and get you wasted and take you to a fucking club?” He raises his voice. “You need to go back to your hotel. You aren’t used to drinking and now you’re out and Trevor—”
    I hang up before he can finish. Who does he think he is? He’s lucky that I even called him, drunk or not. What a buzzkill.
    I need another drink.
    My phone vibrates repeatedly, but I press ignore each time. Take that, Hardin.
    I find my way back to our VIP section and ask the cocktail waitress for another