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She smiles and goes to get us shot glasses and a bottle. I text my office. “Not feeling good. Can you find someone to cover for me tomorrow?”
It’s the first time I ever pulled the sick card as a surgeon. But you can’t spew germs over someone you’re slicing and dicing. And no one wants you holding a scalpel in your hand while coughing uncontrollably.
I don’t have a drip in my throat and haven’t coughed in months. But I sure as fuck know I won’t be performing surgery tomorrow.
* * *
One day blends into a week’s absence from work. Noah left and went back to Whispering Creek. He’d said something about a new chick he’s banging. Or maybe he’s back with Jocelyn. I just don’t care.
Oliver called me the day Noah returned home. He’d wanted to check in. Actually, my whole damn family has been calling nonstop. I don’t know what the fuck Noah told them, but I can’t handle the calls. Before Sunny, on good days, I didn’t jump to return a call, so my lack of response shouldn’t send any red flags. But eventually, I’ll have to return their calls.
Andrea’s fingers climb my thighs. The bourbon in my glass holds no appeal. After that first night with Noah, I must’ve hit my alcohol saturation limit. I’ve knocked back some bourbon since then, but not with the goal of getting plastered like that night with Noah.
Andrea wedges her body between my thighs, and she scratches along my jaw. The beard on my face itches, and her nails feel good, but my dick doesn’t so much as twitch. With Harrison’s encouragement, no doubt, Andrea is trying, but she isn’t the woman I want.
That’s why I’ve been in such a shitty mood since my return from Anguilla. The woman I want wants my brother. And now she’s pregnant with my baby, but true to her word, she hasn’t told me because she doesn’t want me involved in the baby’s life.
The truth sucks. It sucks so much I almost gave myself alcohol poisoning and took a week off from the hospital. And Harrison, wingman extraordinaire, paid some extravagant guest fee to bring me to his sex club because, in his mind, all I need is a good fuck. Only then will I be right as rain.
“Baby, you look so sad. What can I do for you?”
Lola slides another glass my way. I knock it back in one long swallow. I wipe my lips with the cocktail napkin Lola thoughtfully set out. Pressure on my wrist and a heavy floral scent reminds me Andrea is still there, and she awaits an answer.
“Can you help me forget?” I ask.
“And what, exactly, are we forgetting?”
Her breath warms my ear, and those fingers stroke my thigh.
“The sun.” Her breast presses against my bicep.
I drop my head and have the strangest desire to lean against Andrea and ask her to just hold me. How the fuck did I get here? How did I get to this place?
“The sun?” she questions. I probably don’t make sense. It’s a long story. One Andrea probably doesn’t want to hear.
“Or maybe the rain.”
Harrison steps up behind Andrea and caresses her hip. He seeks my gaze and lifts an eyebrow. “Care to share? Or you prefer solo?”
Yes, we shared once before. A lifetime ago.
I stand, sending both Andrea and Harrison stumbling backward.
“I’ve got to get out of here.” My life is fucked, and I sure as fuck don’t have answers, but I’m not drunk enough to mistake a mindless fuck as the solution.
ChapterThirty
Sandra
March, This Spring
The adorable, squirrelly puppy twists in my lap, its fluffball tail wagging back and forth. Tiny, razor-sharp teeth chew my finger raw. The pain intensifies, and I reluctantly stand to save my fingers. The puppy attempts to climb my leg.
“She is the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.”
Mrs. Duke beams at my words. “It’s been years since we had a dog on the ranch. It’s time. And now… we’re going to have a wedding.”
She scoops up the puppy and puts her in the small crate, prompting the puppy to whine, and in a loving voice that doesn’t sound a bit like scolding, she says, “Hush, now. It’s time for you to go back to your mommy for a little bit.”
