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“I might have to redo the rotation or the year, or they could fire me. None of it’s good.”
“Or you might get better? You can ask questions or ask for help, can’t you?”
“How do I get my confidence up, though? I don’t know why I struggle so much in the ER. Maybe I’ve reached my limit.”
But Jo just shakes her head. “Don’t think like that. You just don’t know. You’ve not failed yet.”
I know there are people who don’t anticipate the worst, but how do they do it?
“I’m sorry, Kate. Can I do anything to help?”
I shake my head. “Listening is good.”
She eyes me for two beats then nods, leans forward, and folds her arms with a smile. “On a more positive note, our Mr. Adramovich is the guy you told me about who you treated in the ER months ago. How exciting is that!”
I loop my bag over the back of my chair, not meeting her eyes. I’m going to let her have that subject change. With my hand in Fabian’s the other night, my body vibrated like I was plugged into a socket. I’ve never felt this kind of zinging heat before. Dammit, Jo can always read me better than anyone.
“I don’t think that I—”
“Oh, come on!” she says, laughing. “All those loaded looks? All that chitchat? You guys cut Janus and me completely out of the discussion over dinner.”
I curl away. The questions he asked: What did it feel like cutting someone open? What was it like when someone died? How do you deal with the emotion? What about all thatblood. No one ever asks about things like that!
And was Ithatobvious? But Jo’s grinning. “He seemed just as into you by the way. Janus says he’s never seen him like that with a woman, hasn’t witnessed him flirting like that …ever.” “Ever” rolls around on her tongue like she’s relishing it.
My chest is hot and tight as I smile at my lovely, helpful, curious friend. She’s not my family, or someone out to judge me, and she helped me through the aftermath of David. She’s not going to turn this into something I can’t handle.
“How come I haven’t met him before?” I try and deflect. “I mean you and Janus are still pretty new but …”
“From what I can gather from Janus, Fabian’s a recluse. I only got to meet him because he worked with me on that hack into Janus’s company. I don’t think he socializes much. Fabian turned up at his office in a bit of a state over a week ago, and Janus was worried about him, so he leaned on him to come to dinner.”
“What kind of state?”
“I think he’d taken something.”
“Okay,” I say, staring out the window behind her. He was cagey when I saw him in the ER. What does he take? But I guess the more interesting question, though, is why? The sunlight of a warm May day bounces off the sidewalk, warmth burning into every crevice, chasing away any sign of the ice and cold we’ve sat through for months.
Jo taps her spoon against her cup. “Tell me what you like about him.”
I survey her red hair and freckles:confession time.
“Perhaps I should start with the tattoos that snake around that lean body of his, which I’ve seen all of by the way.” I waggle my eyebrows, and Jo laughs. “He’s intense, laser-focused when you’re talking to him with those gray eyes that figure everything out, plus of course the scruff and the long curly hair …”
“Yes, I’m getting it,” Jo says, nodding and smiling.
“But really”—I pause for effect—“it’s his hands.”
Her mouth forms a perfect O.
“The long tapering fingers, the way he moves them when he’s talking, drums them against his thigh. The short square nails. That script tattoo all the way down the outside of his left hand that runs up his arm and disappears.” I laugh, shivering.
Jo bites her lip. “There’s something about Janus’s hands, too.”
Is this a thing? A great thing for women everywhere, like reaching the Promised Land? I lean forward conspiratorially. “Programmer hands,” I whisper.
She snorts just as she lifts her coffee to her mouth, and brown liquid sprays all over the tabletop.
“Oh my God!” She giggles, grabbing a napkin and plopping it onto the biggest puddle. I bend down and pull a tissue from my purse, dabbing up the remaining spots.
