I’m trying not to laugh at the fact that I just punted him in the face, but I’m grinning so hard. “I told you not to do it! But noooo, the patient has no rights. Dr. Jeff knows best.”
“Dr. Jeff? What happened to Dr. Dick?”
He lets out a breath and his eyes meet mine and I’m staring, trying to place that color green in my memory. It reminds me of the swimming hole in Vermont that my mom took us to on one of our many adventures from before. He seems to sense that I’ve gone somewhere in my mind and snaps in front of my face.
“You alright?” he asks. “Did you hurt yourself?”
I just kicked him and he’s asking me if I’m alright? His jaw is made of steel. Or that shit wolverine is made of. Aluminum. Aluminumum. Aluminimiuminum.
“Adamantium,” he corrects.
Shit, I was saying that out loud?
“I’m fine. Just very ticklish,” I lie.
He nods and I look away.
“Hey, Dev. Jeff is coming ov—” Meredith comes to a halt at the top of the stairs, a case of beer in one hand and a pizza balanced on the other. Kevin bumps into her back and she nearlydrops dinner. I hadn’t even heard them come in. My heart slams against my rib cage. Mer looks at my foot in Jeff’s lap and smiles at us. “I hope you shaved those cave woman legs before you let him examine that,” she says.
I laugh a little too loudly and pull my foot away from my attacker.
“She didn’t,” Jeff says, and I want to smack them both as I try to put my sock back on far less gracefully than it was taken off.
Kevin cranes his neck around the pizza box to see what’s going on and his lips turn down a little at the sight of me de-booted. When I tilt my head at him he pulls them back up into the warm smile I’m used to.
“Hey, Dev. I feel like it’s been ages,” he tells me, squeezing past Jeff awkwardly as I whisper, “Should I give him the ass or the crotch?”
The answer is ass. Jeff leans back to avoid it. I giggle as Kev embraces me and earn a glare from Jeff.
Kevin releases me and follows Mer into the kitchen, leaving me and Jeff awkwardly sizing each other up. He tries to help with the boot, and I shoot him the you’ve-done-enough look I reserve for my eighth graders when they say something cruel. He backs off with a chuckle and lays the boot on the table, then joins my friends—ugh—our friendsin the kitchen. I guess I’m in the acceptance stage of this unfortunate situation.
I focus on calming my breathing. I should have just stayed in Jersey this weekend—where it was safe. My mom lovesVampire Diaries. She doesn’t cheer for Stefan. She doesn’t sit too close or purposely try to piss me off and make me feel weird—well unless she makes a sexual comment about Damon—but that’s a different weird. I focus on the straps of my boot and promise myself to ignore the knocking next time I’m alone.
Chapter Twelve
Jeff
Lesson 13: You are in too deep when you think snoring is cute.
I can hear Devon snoring every time I walk down the hall to use the bathroom. The door to Meredith’s guest bedroom is hanging open a crack and bear grunts reach me in the hallway. I consider going in, flipping her onto her side so she sleeps more soundly, but I know how absurd the thought is even if the image of Devon waking up and attacking me with those slow swatting hands makes me laugh to myself as I pause by the door.
I can’t stop thinking about the way she felt in my hands. The way she reacted to my touch. How her skin hummed against my fingertips or the way her whole body tightened when I took off her ridiculous sock.
“Dude, what are you doing?” Meredith doesn’t even bother lowering her voice.
I reach out and shut the bedroom door softly and stare at the brush strokes in the white paint for a moment before I turn to face Mer in the tight space.
“Trying to be quiet so I don’t wake Devon,” I explain. Mer lifts a brow like she wants to push the topic, but then her trademark grin spreads wide. And I shudder.
“You look more like you are deciding whether to use zip ties or duct tape on your victim.” Meredith reopens the door that I’ve just shut and the bone rattling sound gets louder.
“Duct tape. No brainer.”
Meredith studies me until I have to retreat back to the table. So maybe I need to reel it in. Spend some time talking or thinking about something other than Devon. Or maybe not.
“Devon’s got a pair of lungs on her,” I tell Kevin as I slide into my seat and pick up my cards.
He nods. “Snores like my grandfather. But denies it. Claims it’s impossible because she had her adenoids out.” He smiles around the rim of his water bottle and leans back. No beer for Kevin. He’s on call. Again. The life of a trauma surgeon.
