“Wow, your guy fucked up.”
“Aww, that’s the nicest thing I’ve heard in a long time.”
“I’m serious. You’re beautiful and smart, and that’s not a combination that most men are lucky enough to find, much less get to marry.”
“I guess.” I frown.
I didn’t feel so smart when I witnessed Troy banging another woman on my bed. How could I have missed the signs that things weren’t right between us? There are always signs. I just clearly ignored them.
“So, um, I take it you like Dirty Dancing?” he asks with a devilish grin.
“What?” I ask sheepishly.
“I’m talking about the movie, not the activity.”
“Oh, yes, it’s one of my favorites from that era.”
“That’s interesting.”
“Why is my movie selection so interesting?”
“Nobody puts Baby in a corner and yet here you are, in the corner, sulking over some loser.”
I take another sip of my drink to bury what I really want to say in response to that. How dare he judge me? Who does this guy think he is? I have the right to sulk in peace. He’s been doing and saying whatever he wants to all night, and I’m sick of it.
“So what do you do besides fight grown men for fun?” I ask, taking a much deserved potshot at him. “You know for anactualliving.”
He gives me an incredulous look rather than an offended one, and it’s the oddest reaction. I can’t make heads or tails of him, but that’s nothing new. I think the universe can agree that men are a complete enigma to me, and no matter how attractive the man in question may be, I’m determined to keep it that way.
Becoming the best pediatrician I can be for my patients is the only relationship goal I’m seeking from this day forward.
It’s the only one that I can trust.
Seven
ADRIENNE
“I’min between gigs right now,” he answers somberly.
“That’s too bad,” I say, giving myself a high five in my head. I pegged this guy correctly from the beginning. “What kind of work are you looking for?”
“I’m just going to take it easy for a while.”
He pats his arm to indicate the reason why.
“Oh, of course, the fight injury.”
Classic disability hustle. He’ll probably file a claim or maybe even sue the man he was scuffling with.
“Did you at least win?” I ask, feigning concern.
“Nah, I didn’t.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Yeah, it was.” He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “The chairs are kind of small in here.”
“It’s an old bar,” I explain. “They’ve had these chairs since the eighties when people didn’t weigh as much.” I laugh. “My dad used to go to this bar on Friday nights after work.”
