“That’s fair,” he says easily. “You’re the hardest-working person I know.”
I laugh quietly, thinking about the lack of studying I did over the weekend. “That’s debatable.”
“Well,” he says, “I’ll hold you to that coffee when you come up for air.”
“I…”
“What?”
I clear my throat. How to let him down gently?
Lance, I think you should stop texting me. I know I said I might be up for coffee, but you remind me too much of that night, you know? I’m trying to work through all of it, and seeing you—hearing from you—is just a reminder. I hope you can understand that.
If we’d met under any other circumstances…
That’s what I should say.
But I’ve been stringing this guy along for weeks now. One little outing won’t kill me. Henry and I left things in a sort of nebulous space, and maybe Lance will realize once and for all that I’m not his type after we go out. And hey, best-case scenario, I make a friend out of the exchange. It’s never bad to have a man on your side, especially one who can scare away assailants on the street.
“Tabitha?”
“Dinner would be nice, but I’m not really hungry. Had a big lunch.”
If Henry’s cock counts as lunch, then yeah.
“A drink, then? I know a great little bar not too far from your place. You’ve probably been there. Caesar’s?”
I swallow. “Yeah. Never been there. But what the hell, why not try it out?”
“Great. Meet me there in an hour or so?”
“Or so. I just got back from a weekend in the mountains.”
“Oh, nice! You’ll have to tell me all about it. Just take your time.”
“Around nine?” I say.
“Okay. See you soon.”
We hang up, and I press the phone to my chest for a second, willing it to buzz again.
It doesn’t.
But the door does.
I jump. The pizza’s here. I completely forgot about it. Good thing I told Lance I wasn’t hungry. I bring the box to the couch. I eat a slice without tasting it. My mind keeps circling the same question like water around a drain.
Why hasn’t Henry called?
Maybe he’s resting. Recovering. Maybe Francine is nothing—an ex, a misunderstanding, a friend, a friend of Angie’s or Sage’s. Probably.
But maybe not.
I finish half the pizza before I realize I’ve eaten it. Great, now I’ll be nice and bloated for my drink with Lance. I shove the box aside, wipe my hands on a napkin, and grab my iPad from the table. I’ll work on stuff until it’s time to head over to the bar. I check it on my Maps app. It’s a five-minute walk. Easy, breezy. Though, considering what happened the last time I walked out this late, maybe I’ll get an Uber.
The case notes are dry and technical. All suturing techniques, ethical case studies, infection protocols. I appreciate the precision of it all. The words that don’t change meaning depending on tone or timing.
Still, the details blur. Every time I write incision, I think of Henry’s hands. The steadiness of them. The weight. How they trembled last night when he touched my face.
