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I went to the university my father told me to go to. I pursued the career he demanded. In fact, the only time, and I do mean the only time, that I ever dared disregard my dad’s wishes was when I went into emergency medicine instead of surgery. He only let it go because Derek was the family front-runner anyway, so I didn’t really matter.
That backfired.
Bri poked at her ice with her straw. “Your dad terrifies me. When he used to come to the ER, everyone would scatter like cockroaches. And then your mom would come in after him to do a spinal consult, all sweetness and light, mopping up the tears of the nurses. Why’s there always a nice one and a mean one?”
“Because there are two types of people in the world, difficult ones and easy ones, and they marry each other.”
“Ha.”
She paused for a moment and eyed me. “Okay. So tell me about the hickey. Telling everyone you burned yourself with a curling iron—are we in tenth grade?”
I laughed.
“Did you have hate sex with Neil?”
I recoiled in horror. “No! Why would you ask me that?”
“Because you’ve been avoiding talking to me, so I can only assume that’s because you don’t want to tell me the hickey origin story. And the only kind of sex I’m gonna begrudge you is sex with Neil.”
I let out a deep breath. “I did not hook up with Neil.”
She waited. “Well?”
I made eye contact with her for a long moment, and she made a give-it-to-me gesture with her hand.
“I met someone last week.”
She pulled her face back. “You did? When? Where? What app are you using?”
“No app. Remember the guy who towed me from the ditch?”
“The middle-of-nowhere guy?”
“That’s the one. I went home with him.”
She blinked at me. “You didn’t…” she breathed.
“I did. And then I ran out at four-thirty in the morning without waking him up.” I cocked my head at her.
“Why the hell did you do that? Something wrong with him?”
I shook my head. “No. There was absolutely nothing wrong with him. He was nice, and sweet…” I looked over at her. “And twenty-eight.”
She grinned. “Daaaaamn! You get it, girl.”
“Shhhhh,” I said, hushing her, looking around. “I can’t date a twenty-eight-year-old, Bri,” I whispered. “He’s a baby.”
“He’s not your baby.”
“Cam is twenty-two,” I said.
“Yeah, well, Cam is not your kid, and the only reason your ex had a twenty-two-year-old son was because you were dating a man ten years older than you.”
I shook my head. “I didn’t even date twenty-eight-year-olds when I was twenty-eight.”
“Well, you missed out. They’re just old enough to not be annoying and they have all that sexual energy. And you can train them. They’re so eager to learn at that age, like puppies.” She dipped her head to look me in the eye. “Does he have any friends?”
I laughed.
