"What would you like me to teach you while you're recapping the greatest hits of your intern year?"
"You could start by explaining how you organize your shit. I bent down to tie my shoes and it took me twenty-five minutes to clean up the mess from my pockets projectile vomiting all over the place. It was a fucking yard sale, man."
"Sounds like a personal problem." I glanced at the restaurant again. I was notably late now. "Could you…uh, do me a favor? Could you give me a call in forty-five minutes?"
"Is that when you slip into a bath? Glass of pinot, chocolates, fizzy bath bomb? Get your me time?"
"What? No. I might need a reason to—" I stopped, neither wanting to nor knowing how to explain this. "Forty-five minutes. I might teach you something interesting tomorrow if you can save me tonight."
"Sold. Setting a timer now."
With that, O'Rourke ended the call. I popped my earbuds back into their case and accepted the fact I had to go inside, sit down with Sara for significantly longer than I could bear, and talk to her without rolling my eyes out loud.
I was going to fail my ass off.
It was warm inside the restaurant and I spotted her immediately. She was frowning at her phone while typing, pausing, deleting, and typing again.
"Excuse me, sir? Are you meeting someone?"
I glanced around to find the hostess with a stack of menus cradled in her arm. "Uh. Yeah, but—"
"Would you happen to be the most insufferable, arrogant surgeon in the entire city? If so, I can show you to your party."
I shifted to face the hostess fully. "How much did she pay you for that?" I reached for my wallet. "Whatever it was, I'll double it if you—"
She held up a hand and shook her head with a grin. "No, I'm pretty sure I'm on her side."
I shoved my wallet back in my pocket. "How righteous of you." I jerked my chin in Sara's direction. "My insufferable arrogance will lead the way. Thanks."
I reached the table in a few long strides, yanked back the empty chair, forcing a rough squeal of wood scraping over the stone floor. Sara startled, her phone dropping to the table and a little gasp slipping past her lips.
"Arrogant, huh?" I asked, dropping into the chair. "Insufferable too? How long did it take you to come up with that scheme? Did it take all week? Or did lightning strike while you were waiting?"
She leaned back, folded her arms across her torso. That move had the unfortunate effect of reminding me that she was a pointlessly beautiful woman who could wear the shit out of a turtleneck sweater. But I didn't care. Really, I did not. She could wear all the sweaters she wanted and have all that long, blonde hair and be annoyingly, disturbingly beautiful and I didn't have to care. Not my problem.
"You're late," she snapped.
"You were late on Thursday." I reached for the menu waiting at my place setting and gave it a quick glance. "Seemed only appropriate to return the favor."
With a glare that could dilate blood vessels, Sara collected her phone and tapped the screen. She set it in the center of the table with a pointed nod.
After holding her glare through several blinks, I glanced at the screen. "What's that supposed to be?"
"It would help if you could make an attempt at critical thinking," she replied. "It's a timer. There's no reason this should exceed thirty minutes."
Still staring at her, I raised my hand into the air. Soon, a server appeared at my side.
"Hey there, folks. Can I interest you in—"
"A beer, please," I interrupted. "A wheat, nothing pumpkin." I blinked at Sara. "The margherita pizza."
She arched a brow up as she said, "The bucatini, please. No arugula."
"Anything to drink?" the server asked.
"Water is fine, thanks," Sara replied.
"And what about nibbles for the table? Calamari, eggplant frites, burrata—"
