Peter dropped his toothbrush into its holder and peered at his reflection in the mirror above the bathroom sink. It had taken two glasses of iced tea to settle his stomach, but at least he no longer felt as if he were about to throw up. Still, the bathroom’s overhead light had proven to be a bit too bright for him, so he’d brushed his teeth and washed his face by the glow of his cell phone, which sat on the edge of the sink. Every so often, he had to tap the screen to keep it lit. When he did, he checked the time, sure Jonathan would send a text soon, if only to let him know he’d gotten home safely.
The phone dimmed; Peter tapped it again with one finger. It was now 10:01 P.M. Jonathan had dropped him off almost an hour ago. Surely it didn’t take that long to drive home, did it?
Pocketin
