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People said that made relating to me difficult. That I was defensive and unapproachable. I said I didn't give a fuck. Pediatricians and dermatologists needed to be approachable. The only things people really wanted from their trauma surgeon was an ability to think fast and keep them alive, and since I did both of those things with success, I was sticking with unapproachable. Defensive, too. Anyone who had a problem with it could go fuckthemselves.
"Is that where your family lives?" he asked. "Florida?"
"Some," I grunted. "I don't see much of them or the Sunshine Stateanymore."
My parents split when I was little. Before kindergarten. My father invented as-seen-on-TV shit, and was on the never-ending hunt for his next big thing. That was his first and only love, and that was fine by me. My mother remarried when I was a teenager. A rich, real estate dickhead. Aside from the fact I could count on him to snag Super Bowl tickets on the regular, I had no use for theguy.
"I could go for some warmer weather," Hartshorn said with a chuckle. Seriously, Saint Nick's brother. "But, hell, I like it here. Acevedo and Emmerling are family tome."
"That's nice." I meant it amiably but I couldn't say anything without broadcasting my status as the city's biggestdouche.
"It is," he agreed. If he noticed my prick tone, he ignored it. "None of us get much time together outside the hospital but I'm thankful for them. And Acevedo's wife, and her family. They're good people, goodfriends."
"Mmhmm."
I didn't make friends. I was the bull in the china shop, breaking everyone and everything until someone got the tranq gun and took me down. They always kicked my sedated ass to the curb. I traded on my surgical skills, and not much else. It was a goddamn blessing that I was exceedingly capable in the operatingroom.
"They're a little mad but the best ones are," Cal said, laughing to himself again. He stopped and glanced up at an old brick building. I still couldn't get over how old everything was here. "This is it. Pretend I didn't drag you here against yourwill."
"Didn't you though?" I asked under mybreath.
"Call it mandatory team building," he replied with a grin. He was just too fucking jolly for reallife.
I heard the party as soon as we rounded the landing to the third floor. The door was propped open with an ice chest full of beer bottles. It was high quality beer, too. Maybe this wasn't going to be sobad.
"Cal," a man just inside the door called. "Good to see you, man. Wasn't sure you'd makeit."
He pulled Hartshorn in for a one-armed hug-back-clap move. "You too, Sam," Hartshorn replied. He gestured to me. "Stremmel, this is Sam Walsh. Sam, Sebastian Stremmel, our newest trauma surgeon. We stole him fromUCLA."
That was barely accurate but I wasn't saying shit about my lastgig.
"Los Angeles, huh," he said, studying my brand-new winter coat. "This cold snap must bekiller."
"You have no idea," I said as I turned and shrugged off theouterwear.
"Wanted to ask you about qualifying for the Boston Marathon," Hartshorn said toSam.
"Are you thinking about running it?" Samasked.
"Hell no," Hartshorn replied with a deep laugh. "I max out on half-marathon runs. I have no interest in twenty-six miles, but there's a resident on my service who wants to give it ashot."
I surveyed the space and stepped away, trying to drop out of their discussion without arousing notice. Music was playing low enough to keep the conversation flowing. Groups congregated near the fireplace, the tree, the bar where Emmerling's boyfriend was pouring drinks, and the wide doors leading to the dark terrace. Instead of merging into those groups or taking Hartshorn's advice and finding a corner in which to sulk, I moved toward the openkitchen.
A dark-haired beauty stood at the island, her hands busy with an array of dishes spread out before her. She was gorgeous and graceful, and I should've snatched the champagne from Hartshorn before coming over here because I couldn't approach a woman this far out of my league without a sacrificial offering inhand.
It was too late for that now. I was going in unarmed, but that didn't lessen my chances of success. I was fucking awesome when it came to situations with the worst odds. I was meant for thatshit.
"Merry Christmas." I sidled up to the island, smiling. "You must be thehostess."
She glanced up at me, her eyebrow arched and her expression anything but merry. "I suppose that's accurate," she said, her tone cool. "And who must yoube?"
"Stremmel," I replied, holding my hand out to her. "SebastianStremmel."
She offered my outstretched hand a glimpse but didn't stop whisking. "Hands full," she said, tipping her chin toward the stainless steel bowl in front ofher.
I didn't know what the hell she was making but I appreciated the force she put into the task. From the looks of it, she could bring me to my knees, kick my ass, and then demand I thank her for the opportunity. And I wasn't opposed to any ofthat.
"You're living in Nick's old apartment, right?" sheasked.
