Page 5 of The Love Operation

I hand her the salad and flop into one of her guest chairs. The black Styrofoam food container in my hand lets out a rude squeak, probably from my death grip on it.

“Oh no,” she says, sliding into the chair beside me. “Catfish? Did his picture lie?”

“Nope. His abs were even better in person.”

Her eyes widen. “You slept with him?”

“No. But he did take his shirt off. Randomly. In the middle of dinner. At a restaurant.”

She covers her mouth, and damn her, I know she’s hiding a smile.

“First, he lifted me to guess my weight. And yes, I stayed after that because . . . hot. But then it was all macros and protein intake. Three steaks and a side of air. I asked about his family . . . He flexed—introduced me to his ‘brother,’ his biceps. Then he took off his shirt, apropos of nothing. The manager asked him to put it back on because, quote, this is a family establishment. His response? ‘My chest is a good education.’”

Delenn chokes on a lettuce leaf. “Oh my goodness. I am so sorry.”

“This is your fault. You said online dating would be good for me.”

“Plenty of people find love online. He was just one bad date.”

I lift an eyebrow so high it practically brushes my hairline. “One?”

She winces. “Okay, fine. We said we wouldn’t talk about Catman again, though.”

“I’m still finding fur on my clothes.”

That one started off okay—until I encountered his fifty cats and a nose-assaulting stench that made me gag. Then, then, his mother rose from a pile of felines like the bird lady in Home Alone 2. I screamed. And I don’t scare easily.

“Okay,” she says, holding out her hands. “I’ll admit your online dating results aren’t great. But give it time.”

I don’t feel like I have time. Not with the dating pool shrinking to a puddle and my reproductive system giving me the stank-eye. And let’s be real—it was slim pickin’s even when I was at peak childbearing age. Now half the guys I match with are emotionally unavailable, are dating twenty-two-year-olds, or don’t have a bed frame.

I stare at her. I will not cry. I will not cry.

“Oh, Cord!” Her arms are around me before I can stop her because, while it doesn’t appear often, she knows my I’m-stifling-tears face.

The thing is, my life is great. I’ve achieved nearly everything I’ve set out to. I’m one of three finalists for Lockewood’s chief of surgery! I can handle 99 percent of what life throws my way.

The other 1 percent? Dating.

For all my abilities, I can’t keep a man.

“You’re gorgeous, talented, successful,” Delenn starts, and I’ve heard it all before. “It will happen.”

That’s easy for her to say. Six years ago, when there were more options, Delenn picked Craig from a solid handful of emotionally available, gainfully employed men with furniture. And she’s never wanted kids.

I’m beginning to wonder if what she’s just said is true. I’m in my mid-thirties, and I’ve only been in love once. In college. Benedict Calder broke my heart. I don’t really understand what happened to us, but that seems to be my life. All my relationships since Benedict have always gone the same way: They start well, then boom, the guy ends it, leaving me confused. And in this profession, my time is precious. I only date people I can see a real future with.

“If I’m so great,” I say, “then why does everyone break up with me?” I want to share my life with someone. I want it as badly as I want to be chief.

“What about that new guy you have eye sex with in the hallway all the time? He’s hot.”

“You mean Isaac? The new COO?” Just saying his name makes my stomach waggle its eyebrows suggestively. I run into him constantly, and our chemistry is insane. We’ve flirted, but I’ve always known it can’t go past that. “He’s on the Chief Selection Committee. Serious conflict of interest.”

“He could recuse himself.”

“He could,” I say, “but I still can’t date the COO of the hospital.”

She sighs. “A damn shame. You two would make beautiful babies.”