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“I’m making a comeback,” he said, giving him a wink. “And she’s lying,” Dean said, looking over at me pointedly. “I was awesome.”
“Well, good luck with that,” Ollie said, retrieving his hand. “So, Dr. Whitaker, are you going to give this slob another chance?”
I ignored them both, countering with a statement of my own.
“You look good today,” I remarked of Ollie and the new hair growth on his head.
“I’m going to grow it in for our date,” he said sweetly.
“We aren’t going on a date. I’m taking you to see a Cowboys game.”
“Fine, call it what you will, Dr. Whitaker, but the connection is there,” Ollie remarked as Dean chuckled. “What are you laughing at? Are you blind? Look at her.”
“I have,” Dean said, still amused.
“Sorry,” I remarked to Dean, “he’s a little territorial, and delusional.”
“Har, Har, doctor. Seriously, marry me. It’s my wish,” Ollie said in a serious tone.
“Ask me when you are twenty,” I mused.
“Don’t worry, buddy, I got shot down the first time I asked her to marry me.” I stiffened at Dean’s words as my face burned in recognition.
“She’s a heartbreaker,” Ollie said loudly, forcing me to turn around.
“You know, fellas, love ain’t all there is. There’s more to life.”
“Oh yeah? This should be interesting,” Dean said, seemingly amused by my statement, crossing his arms and leaning against the window.
“Yeah,” I said, agitated. “A lot more. It doesn’t have to be the center of your universe. It’s just a component. There are career goals, and personal feats, and stones to overturn, rules to break.”
“Great argument,” Dean said weakly as Ollie did a slow clap.
“Did you get ice cream?” I asked Ollie, ignoring Dean, who was still staring at me.
“Yep, all set.”
“Great, Dean, let’s go. He needs a nap.”
“Don’t I get a kiss?” Ollie said, hopeful.
“When you’re twenty,” I replied, amused at his demeanor. He was only thirteen years old, and I could tell one day he would be a handsome man if he was graced with the time. I said a silent prayer for him then.
“Stop thinking about when I’m going to die, doc. If you’re joining oncology, you are going to have to work on your poker face.
“Shit, it’s that obvious?” I said, terrified.
“Yep,” he answered quickly. “What are my chances today?”
“Thirty percent,” I shot back.
“Pucker up, baby,” Ollie said confidently.
“Atta boy,” I said before shutting his door.
“He’s right, you know. You wear your heart on your sleeve. You are going to need to toughen up.”
“I’m tough!” I defended.
