“Or stacking the deck,” Briar counters.
“We all have our hang-ups,” Sloane reminds her.
“I’m not criticizing.” Her tone softens. “Really, I’m not. Just surprised, is all. You want things neat but you like him, don’t you?”
“Well . . .” Briar slows her gait with a grin. “I like him better than Jeremiah already.”
Her teasing breaks the tension.
“Like that’s hard. You were never his biggest fan.”
Men like him are exactly why women can’t have nice things.
“I bet he says ‘trust me, I’m a doctor’in bed,” Briar adds.
I plead the fifth.
“He’s having a hard time understanding the wordnoat the moment. Maybe they don’t teach that in med school. If he doesn’t back off, I’ll have to go to HR.”
Harlowe lays a hand on my arm as we drift toward the river. “Lay it down in no uncertain terms. And if he’s a dick about it . . .” She shrugs. “We’ve got a tarp and shovels.”
“Always,” Briar echoes. “And Harlowe knows all the best hiding spots.”
“Just say the word,” Sloane adds, as steady and certain as the river flowing beside us.
It should be alarming how far they’d go for me, but it’s not. They’re my ride or die.
“Maybe the hotshot living above your garage will help Jeremiah see reason.” Briar taps her chin, thoughtful. “The picture the paper ran after the fire was grainy, but from what I saw, he looked like more than the doctor could handle.”
Maybe more than I can handle.
“Oh, he is. Grumpy, hot, and big as a tree.” Harlowe whistles.
Briar pumps a fist in the air like this is a personal victory for her. It only encourages Harlowe.
“There’s big dick energy and then there’s Emmett. The man walks into the worst situations without blinking. It automatically makes him hotter,” Harlowe says.
Briar nods along. “So, what are you going to do about it, Aspen?”
“Nothing,” I say, with more finality than I feel as we leave the riverbank behind and cut across the small park to the gazebo. “The ink on his discharge papers hasn’t even dried.”
“Boo,” Briar says with a laugh.
God, I fucking love her.
“Hear me out—just in case you trip and fall on his dick in the middle of the night—we won’t tell a soul,” Briar teases, lightening the mood. “Consider it an addendum to the tarp and shovel policy.”
“The tarp, shovel, dick policy or TSD for short, obviously,” Sloane provides.
I snicker, kicking at a loose rock on the worn trail. “That won’t be happening, but I appreciate it.”
Harlowe eyes me. “If you like him, what’s really stopping you?”
The problem with having friends that know you inside and out, is they know you . . . inside and out. Harlowe has the added bonus of knowing Emmett.
Jeremiah started as a distraction and turned into a boundary issue with a medical license. Emmett would be different, though. I already know he’s nothing like Jeremiah.
But none of that changes the inconvenient truth.
