A man in a suit looks at me as he passes, his brows pulled together in amusement. I realized after graduating from medical school that I’d never be older than six in her mind.
“Alright, Ma. Gotta go! See you on our Zoom call on Sunday,” I promise, picking up my pace when I see the sign for The Rusty Hammer.
“I love you, Jeffry James,” she tells me. I smile because I’ve heard it so many times that it is engraved on my frontal lobe.
“Love you, too, Ma. Tell Sammy and Sis the same.”
“Will do.” I hear her yelling to Sammy before she even ends the call, making sure to give her my love the second after I ask her to. The woman is nothing if not reliable. But she’s proven that every moment of my life.
I duck into The Rusty Hammer and search the long, crowded bar for the familiar blues of scrubs and find Kevin’s carefree grin just as he sees me and waves both hands over his head. He’s sitting beside a dark-haired woman in scrubs who is eyeing me over the rim of a highball glass like she’s a crocodile and I’m an unlucky wildebeest crossing her river.
Kevin pulls the stool he’s tilted against the bar off the wood ledge and knocks on the metal seat. I sit and Kevin slides a pint glass in front of me.
“Jeff, this is Meredith,” he says as I hold out my hand to her. “Mer, Jeff.”
She slides her hand into mine and tilts her head, her eyes narrowed, studying me. Seconds tick by, long and slow. But this woman keeps looking right into me. I break eye contact first and look down at the tattoo inside her wrist—a sketch-like rendering of a pair of lungs surrounded by watercolor streaks.
“Kevin, we can’t hang out with this guy” she says, still staring at me.
“Come on, Mer. Leave him alone?—”
“You know the deal. No one better-looking than me.” She smiles and I hear the theme song from Jaws. I slide my hand out of hers as she continues, “I already made an exception for Devon.”
“Nice to meet you. I thought you’d be a guy from the way Kev described you,” I say, lifting the beer to my lips. “But now I feel like a sexist shit.”
“Did he say I was tall, dark, and handsome?” She tilts her head.
“No. He said your balls were way bigger than his,” I tell her and she grins wider.
“They so are! But I know Kev didn’t say that. Kev would never say balls. He would have used the word testicles. He’s refined. Private school boy. Studied at St. Timothy’s Academy of Deuchedom or some shit.” She jabs an elbow into Kevin’s ribs and he shakes his head.
“Are you funny, Jeff?” She doesn’t let me answer. “I think he might be funny, Kev.” Meredith is still looking at me with narrowed eyes. “You sure you don’t want to uninvite him? You know Devon’s a sucker for funny.”
Kevin ignores her. Keeps his pretty blue eyes right on me.
“Meredith’s a CT surgeon, so lucky you. You’ll be seeing her around the hospital.” He pats my back. “Now she won’t just have me to emasculate.”
“You need to be a man to be emasculated,” Meredith shoots back, leaning across the bar to get a refill. The young bartender hurries over and she reaches up to squeeze his man bun. He doesn’t even flinch. “Jeremy, can I get another Brown Derby, please? And something light for Devon.”
Bartender Jeremy nods but doesn’t move. He’s hypnotized. Catatonic.
Kevin’s phone pings on the bar and Jeremy’s trance is broken. He scurries off to get the drinks and Kevin lifts the screen to eye level, reads the message, and stands.
“Dev’s here,” he says, lifting his drink toward the door. I swivel in my chair for an introduction and freeze as I take in the oddly familiar brunette standing behind my stool.
Those wide bright eyes—glowing now with alertness. That gorgeous smile—more cautious than it was that night but still so arresting that I nearly tip over my stool as I stand and face her. I find myself hoping for some reciprocal recognition as she puts her hand out to me and ignores Meredith’s low whistle. One side of her mouth lifts further and I take her hand and nod like an idiot as she says,
“Devon Gallagher. Nice to meet you.”
Chapter Five
Devon
Lesson 6: It can always get worse.
The new guy is staring at me like I have three breasts. He’s still holding my hand in his firm grip and I lift a brow while I count the uncomfortable seconds. I must look like an ex or something because his green eyes are wide and surprised. I know it’s not because I look good. I’m a sweaty mess from cleaning and setting up my classroom all morning and I can still smell the Expo cleaner spray on my hands despite the way I scrubbed them. The kids call it funky cheese spray. And they aren’t wrong.
…8-9-10. This is getting weird, though I can’t say that staring at this guy is hard work. His chin is?—
