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“I’m so excited you were able to come,” she tells me.
“Me too. Honestly, it’s been so hectic,” I say, though it’s been that way for years.
“Yeah, same. Lunch rush is over, and my employees were fine,” she explains as we sit and grab a menu even though we both have it memorized.
“Oh good, so we have time to chat.” I grin, wanting to know all the details about this Mr. Bullrider I’ve been hearing about.
“Yeah, I owe you an update on Gavin.” She fills me in on all the juicy details, and I’m so invested in what’s going to happen between them. It’s like my own personal soap opera told by the main character. We laugh, I offer some advice, and Maize’s more determined than ever to win him over. One thing about the Bishop women is we always get what and who we want.
She continues. “But anyway, enough about me, what’s going on with you? How’s Dr. Vetdreamy?”
I groan although I knew she’d bring him up. “If it’s possible, he’s even moodier and more asshole-ish than before. He glared at me the whole time at Gavin’s birthday party, then barely said a word to me the next day. It’s like no matter how well I do every task he gives me, it’s not good enough or even acknowledged. I’m ready to open my own business, but even if I did, he has all the contacts. Everyone around here trusts him, and I’d go bankrupt within my first year.”
It’s not like I can practice without him right now anyway, not until I pass the national licensing exam next summer. He has one year to get his shit together before I have to make a decision to stay or move away and practice somewhere else. Though this is home and where I want to be, I’ll leave if I have to.
Maize smirks. “Have you ever just asked him? Like hey, you want to hate bang this out so we can work together or hey, need help gettin’ that stick outta your ass so we can be civil?”
I suck in a deep breath. “When he was super edgy, I snapped at him a few times but it barely fazed him. He’ll hardly look at me when he gives instructions, then freaks out when I don’t pay attention. Talk about double standards. I have to listen to his every word, but he pretends I don’t even exist.”
What happened yesterday and how he treated me is a perfect example of that.
“My best guess is that he’s actually attracted to you and is trying really fucking hard not to be. He’s pulling a Maize.”
I frown, thinking about the underlying current constantly streaming between us, one he’d never admit is there. “A what?”
“A Maize. Me! He’s pushing you away so you can’t get close because he’s scared he’ll get hurt, or that he’ll hurt you. Probably worried it’d ruin your professional relationship too. I mean, he’s basically me in a man’s body.”
“I think you’re reading into this way too much. He gets phone calls throughout the day, but one woman calls almost every hour, and he’ll walk out of the room or distance himself to answer it. So I think he has a girlfriend, which makes your theory moot,” I say matter-of-factly.
“You don’t know it’s a girlfriend, though. For all we know, it’s his drug dealer.”
I snort. “Yeah, that makes me feel better, thanks.”
We set down our menus, and the waitress comes over, then takes our order.
“Maybe you should join a dating app,” she tells me. “Then let it slip into your convo and watch his reaction.”
Tilting my head, I glare at her. “After your disasters, you want me to suffer through that?”
“Well, you don’t really have to participate to see what he thinks about it. Maybe he’ll try to find you and swipe right.” She waggles her brows.
I roll my eyes. “Very doubtful. Good looks aside, his personality is dull, humor is dry, and don’t get me started on our one-sentence conversations.”
Maize keeps throwing out ideas. “I would love to see you with bleach blonde hair! It’d look hot with your tan, too. Get some layers or side bangs.” She moves her head from side to side almost as if she’s visualizing it. “Yep, it’d look sexy as hell.”
“You know how long it’d take to get my dark hair to blond?” I ask although I did it a few years ago. I have a feeling Maize isn’t going to let me back out of it and even suggests making an appointment with Riley’s wife, Zoey, since she’s a hairstylist.
“Alright, but I’m not doing this for him. I could use a change.” And that’s true. I’ve actually been thinking about lightening my hair for the summer anyway.
She grabs her phone and sets an alarm so she doesn’t forget to call Zoey. “Maybe I’ll get some highlights myself. See Gavin resist my charm then,” she adds, and I snort-laugh.
