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“And he still wants her,” Grey states, watching me carefully.
“It’s all over your face,” Lenox says and since he practically never speaks, any time he does it’s always real. The silent hacker is sporting new ink on his forearm. No shocker there since he also owns a tattoo parlor near where he lives in the middle of nowhere Maine.
I could deny what they’re saying, but why bother? “Nothing is going to happen again.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Asher finishes off his drink and then swipes the bottle of tequila from me, pouring himself a small glass. “I mean, other than the obvious. She’s now your student and she works at the hospital and is a Fritz. That’s all unfortunate, and yes, a bit sticky, but not insurmountable. Especially for you who never goes back on something once you’ve set your mind to it. You’re the most focused motherfucker on the planet.”
“True,” Zax muses, tossing his arm around Aurelia and dragging her body in a bit closer to his. “You didn’t know who she was at the time when you hooked up and it’s in her best interest, as much as it’s in yours, for her to keep her mouth shut. So explain why you look like Ash just broke Rocky’s leg again.”
“Christ!” Asher cries. “That again.” His hand smacks the dark wood table before he points an accusing finger at Zax. “It was an accident, dude. What kind of dog chases after someone on a skateboard?”
I snicker, and so does everyone else, and I know that was Zax’s intention. He wanted to lighten the mood and I appreciate it.
“The truth is…” I mumble, staring down at the clear liquid swirling around my glass. “The truth is there’s something about her. I’ve hooked up with women and been around them after and it was never a thing. Never a second thought half the time. But last Friday with her is all I’ve been thinking about for a solid week. Every time I close my eyes, she’s there and every time I open my eyes, she’s also there because she’s fucking everywhere. In my class. In my emergency department. In my head. It’s a nightmare.”
There. I said it. Only I don’t feel any better about it. If anything, that truth reminds me I’m stuck in a situation for the next few months that I can’t do anything about. It sucks.
“Then you’ll just have to fight it, brother. And fight it hard if need be.”
I raise my glass to Asher and then polish off the rest. “Easy as pie.”
Only we all know it’s a lie.
8
After I dropped my truth bomb on my friends, we let the topic die. There wasn’t much else to say about it, and instead, we ate dinner and then played poker. I lost to Aurelia, but that’s no surprise as the woman is a card shark phenom. But for the first time since last Friday, I wasn’t thinking about Layla. I was with my friends—women and men I consider my family—and everything was starting to feel a bit better.
Now Asher is riding home with me since he suggested watching a movie at my place, prattling on about training camp that starts back up in August and how he’s been doing this new workout routine that’s made him stronger than he’s ever been. I’m close with all the guys, but Ash and I are the closest, even if we couldn’t be any more different from each other and are two years apart.
“You should come with me to the gym this week.”
“I have zero time for that, brother. I’m lucky I’m able to get an hour in at my house.”
“It’s weird,” he muses, his voice going distant. “We used to live for the tour and live for the release of albums. Now I live for the season. It’s a constant cycle.”
I chuckle lightly. “I guess your life sort of is. You simply traded being a professional musician for a professional athlete.”
“I’m better at this than I ever was at that. If Grey and Lenox hadn’t been so damn talented and we weren’t all best friends, we’d never have gone anywhere with our band.”
It’s true. I still occasionally bang on my electric drums—having traded in my regular drums for these when I moved into my townhouse—but I’m mediocre at best. Ash is okay at guitar, but he didn’t have to be anything better because Greyson is, as he said, pure talent. Both with his guitar and his voice.
“I think it all turned out the way it was supposed to.”
Ash runs a hand through his reddish-brown hair, his voice somber as he says, “I know, but it feels wrong somehow to say that though.”
I bob my head in agreement because it does. I’ve often wondered if I ever would have had it in me to leave the band if we continued to be as successful as we were.
“Damn. Those are some seriously long legs.”
“Huh?” The sudden topic change and obvious interest in his voice make my head reflexively turn toward him and then outwardly search in the direction he’s staring. And sure enough, those are some seriously long legs that are attached to a tall, blonde woman who isn’t wearing much more than a cocktail napkin for a dress as she walks along the sidewalk as if she owns it.
Which she might considering she’s Layla Freaking Fritz. “Goddammit.”
“What?”
I growl and change lanes, sharply pulling my SUV into a random vacant spot.
“Dude, what are you doing?” Ash sits up straight, swiveling toward me in alarm.
