I shot him a look over the rim of my glass. “If the term ‘cut-buddy’ is what we call having our urges satisfied on a looseschedule?” I took a sip, the bite fizzling out at the edges. My face was in flames. “Yes. That.”
“Uh huh.” He nodded, slowly. I watched his tongue roll across his teeth under thick, juicy lips. “Forgot to set up your next sneaky link?”
“Cole. If you don’t…” I giggled, halfway embarrassed by his bare-bones assessment of my situation with Jeremiah. Damn if the man wasn’t right, though. “I told him the day this case came in that my life was about to be very busy. And that I would let him know if I was interested in going out. It completely slipped my mind.”
I met his eyes. “Does that make me terrible?”
“Makes you human.” He took a long sip of his drink, then set his glass down. “Though, his understanding of the relationship does not match yours. That, or he was hoping it would be a friends-to-lovers type of situation.”
“Not me getting caught up in some fuck-buddy-to-bae thing. Isn’t that how it always is? One of them is pining, hanging in the cut, taking the scraps and hoping the other will catch feelings?”
“Well-versed in the tropes and matters of the heart,” Cole said, laughter dancing in his eyes. “Sounds like you have some experience.”
“A little,” I confirmed, thinking about the last man I’d hoped to be entangled with.
He played with my feelings, let me fall hard for him, led me to believe I was the one for him. Took me to meet this Mama. Then a week later, began to detach.
I heard rumors of him being seen around town with a tall, thick, gorgeous social media maven with great assets. When I confronted him, he said everything I’d thought I’d had was in my head. He hadn’t promised anything to me, so there was nothing to fulfill or feel bad about.
We’d had something, or so I thought. Then I learned we’d had nothing. Like I’d imagined the entire relationship.
“Let’s just say I’ve officially been on both sides of the equation” Eager to take the glare of the spotlight off of me, I asked, “How about you? We briefly discussed you not having anyone waiting for you at home.”
“Aye don’t take your frustrations out on me,” he shot back, a little grin poking at the edges of his mouth.
“I’m not. I’m just being nosy, now that you met my boy toy in the most awkward way possible.”
Cole laughed. “Fair enough. No, I’m not seeing anyone right now. Haven’t been for a while.”
“Why not? You seem like a decent catch. Handsome, educated, good job…”
“Work,” he replied, as I assumed he would. “It’s always work. Sixty, seventy-hour weeks don’t leave time for playing with dating apps or meeting people the old-fashioned way.”
“And when you do have time?”
He traced the rim of his glass with his index finger, contemplating. “People love the idea of dating a doctor,” he said, “until they realize what it actually means. Missed calls when emergencies happen. Birthdays spent in the OR. Vacations cut short. Rescheduled dates. Never being able to guarantee you’ll be somewhere at a specific time.”
Cole paused, taking another sip. “And that’s before you add being a Black professional in this field.”
“Stress on stress,” I agreed with a nod. “The hours alone would kill most relationships.”
“For sure. Then there’s the expectations. Everyone assumes you’re rich the moment you saysurgeon, but they don’t see the student loans or the years of living on ramen during residency.”
Cole finished his bourbon with one last swallow, sliding the glass to the edge of the table. “Dating other doctors is its ownspecial level of hell. Imagine two headstrong people, both trying to be the alpha, both of them always the smartest person in the room?”
He blew out a breath, puffing his cheeks. “I like a woman who challenges me, makes me see something in a different way. I just don’t want to be in competition all the time.”
I nodded, thinking of all the hospital romances I’d witnessed crash and burn. “If I’m being honest, though, I have to hope that saying can be true—if we want to, we will. Otherwise, it’d be like admitting there’s no one out there for you. Or me. And that just can’t be true.”
“That’s a good way to look at it,” Cole said. Then he pointed, jabbing a finger in my face. “See? You’re good at this shit.”
I shrugged, taking the compliment. “So why trauma surgery?” I asked. “That’s got to be intense.”
“It is. But it’s also the clearest that medicine gets. Someone’s hurt, you fix them. It’s skill and brain power and speed and whether you’ve got what it takes to save a life. Right now.”
“And do you?”
“Most days?” He considered the question, bobbing his head side to side. “Yeah. Some days I am That Nigga. I can’t afford to think I’m not. Some days, it doesn’t matter how smart or skilled or fast you are.”
