It’s just a shame he can’t even look at me, let alone reciprocate the feeling.
Two glasses of bubbles later,I make my way into Libby’s art déco designed living area to mingle, tailed, of course, by my silent, brooding bodyguard. Every female eye follows him as we pass through the crowd. I can’t blame them. His physique is one that dominates the room, demanding attention. His discernible indifference only adds to his appeal.
Libby’s apartment is not your typical student party venue. A rich claret covers the walls, contrasted by bold, bright artwork above the mantelpiece. An enormous bronze sculpture of a naked man embracing a woman punctuates the vast bright space leading to the open terrace doors.
If Archie’s surprised at the opulence, he doesn’t express it. Then again, he never did have an eye for material things.
I recognise most of the faces swarming before me. The medical school lectures cross over with the dental school. In the early days, we shared anatomy and physiology classes at the old medical school building.
That building houses some serious history and I’m not simply talking about the anatomy museum with its fifteen thousand specimens, established in the eighteen hundreds.
No.
I’m talking about the awe-struck freshers eye-fucking each other across the Gothic-looking lecture theatre, where many a body has been scrutinised, and not just the one on the table below the circular row upon row of descending seating.
There’s a reason there are so many medical shows on Netflix. All that tension, close proximity to colleagues, and long hours, inevitably ends up in drama. I’ve witnessed it first hand.
Libby’s large dining room table is overflowing with alcoholic beverages. A champagne fountain acts as a centrepiece, bordered by crystal flutes stacked elaborately but precariously, while a huge bowl of ripe juicy strawberries nearby begs to be devoured.
For those not partial to bubbles, (apparently they do exist, go figure) there’s also a professional bottle rotary optic stacked with Grey Goose, Jack Daniels, Archers, Bombay Sapphire and something green that looks suspiciously like Chartreuse or Aftershock. Shot glasses lie next to buckets of ice and individual cans of every possible mixer.
Archie lets out a low whistle as his eager eyes scan every inch of the room. Well, every inch apart from me, of course. ‘You medical students certainly know how to party.’
‘Libby certainly does, anyway.’ I knock back the remainder of my champagne before holding my glass under the fountain for a refill.
Archie’s gaze narrows on my glass. ‘Do you really need another one?’
A ripple of annoyance flips through me. I muster my most sarcastic smile. ‘Do I really needyou, Archie?’
Through the throng of bodies, I spot a familiar silhouette. It’s hard to miss when that dark, floppy hair has an entire personality of its own. As if he senses my eyes on his back, Harrison Hughes turns in our direction, his blackening eyes roaming flirtatiously across the front of my dress.
Phew, I was beginning to feel invisible with only Archie-I-can’t-bear-to-look-at-you, for company.
Archie stiffens beside me as Harrison stalks over like a panther evaluating his prey. Harrison doesn’t acknowledge Archie. In fact, he doesn’t so much as look at him.
‘Victoria, you’re looking incredible.’ Thick fingers reach out to stroke my arm as his warm lips press a kiss to my cheek.
It’s hard to be certain amongst all the background noise, but I’d almost swear Archie lets out a growl.
‘Thanks Harrison. You look great too.’ Honestly, he looks like he’s stepped out of an advert for an expensive all-boy college, modelling a pair of navy designer chinos and a pale pink shirt. All he’s missing is the trademark cream v-neck sweater draped over his shoulders and voila, he’s a walking advertisement for a men’s magazine. Perhaps not Men’s Health, though.
No, more like a golfing magazine or something. Or maybe Home and Garden.
‘That dress is really something.’ His eyes fixate hungrily on my chest again before he appears to remember his manners.
‘Thank you.’ I take another sip of champagne, purely because I have no idea what to say to Harrison Hughes. On paper, we should have a lot in common. In real life, not so much. Physically, he’s striking, in that kind of preppy boarding school way, but as far as chemistry goes, there’s none.
‘That was really something the other night.’ I gather he’s referring to the nightclub incident.
‘Yeah. The bullet punctured the right lung.’ I shake my head. ‘He didn’t stand a chance.’
‘You win some, you lose some, right?’ He shrugs, seemingly uncaring that a man was shot dead right in front of me.
Contrary to what I told Sasha and Ryan, the whole thing really shook me. It’s one thing having a patient present with a gunshot wound on the ward where there’s back up, endless equipment and protocol, and entirely another when it’s a Saturday night out in a club.
Harrison’s fingers return to the bare skin on the back of my arm. Goosebumps rise instinctively, but not because I’m attracted to him.
‘When are you going to put me out of my misery and go out with me, huh?’ He inches closer, angling his face towards mine.
