Of all the times I’ve done this, all the instances I’ve worried what other people think, this is the first time I actually feel as if I’m doing something wrong. Most of me—allof me—is committed elsewhere. And this... This feels like cheating.
My heart revolts. It hugs a bomb to itself, lets it explode and pumps the shrapnel through my veins just for torture. I’ve made no promises to anyone, but this kiss is still a betrayal, and not just of this nascent, ineradicable emotion burning through my system for my best friend.
I’m betraying myself. Poisoning myself. I have more self-respect than this, and my body is screaming that I deserve the deep connection I experienced when Asher held me in his arms. I jerk back, releasing Ashton like he shocked me. Because hedidshock me. I am shocked.
Strangely, he exhibits no surprise. Instead, he nods. “Kind of thought that would happen.”
No amount of breath is enough to feed the panicked pounding of my heart, and I fear no quantity of soap will clean the ick from my skin.
Not that there’s anything wrong with him. Or wrong with casual sex. Something has changed inside me. I’m the problem.
“Why?” I ask because I can think of nothing else to say.
“You’re a beautiful woman.” He puts some space between us. “You could have anyone, but you sought me out because I look like someone specific. You’ve clearly got some hang-ups.”
“Maybe I have a type, and you fit it.”
He shrugs. “Or maybe you’re trying to fuck someone else out of your system.”
I laugh without humor and slide off the sofa. My feet hit the floor with a thump. “How do you get someone out of your system when they’ve encoded themselves into your DNA?”
His eye twitches. “If you ever figure it out, I’d love if you could let me know.”
My body sags. “You, too?”
A quick chin dip is my only answer.
I glance around the beautiful space, now seeing it in a different light. Empty. Lifeless. Lonely.
“I’m sorry I wasted your time,” I whisper.
“You didn’t. I don’t sleep well anyway.” He rubs the back of his neck and shrugs. “What the hell? You want to stay for a drink?”
I chuckle. “Sure. But only if I pour it.”
He smiles, showing his dimples again. “Fair enough.”
Ashton UnknownLastName is a fantastic drinking partner, but my aching head is mad at him the next morning and most of the day. He let me spill my problems all over his kitchen island, then disclosed some of his own.
The poor dude is heartbroken. I feel for him. Love obviously causes more pain than it prevents.
The only good part about Friday is that Asher has a noon case—a combo with Geoff. I manipulate my way into being their anesthesiologist, despite Cassie’s—Asher’s?—continued machinations, and smile as the two surgeons enter the OR. They’re laughing when they push through the door, and both greet me with dude chin lifts and half smiles. For Asher, themove is essentially a firm tap of my on button. I blink a few times to clear the sparkles from my vision.
As usual, Asher holds his patient’s hands as I put her out, then gets to work. He and Geoff shoot the shit through the entire case, leaving no room for me to interject. They banter with the entire OR.
Except me.
I am shunned.
Until about halfway through, when Geoff looks up. “You look tired, Joss. You get sleep last night?”
I startle at my name, jerking my gaze from the patient’s vitals. “Oh. Um. A little, yeah.”
“Yayoi said you were out late.”
The scrub tech glances at me and singsongs a silly “Ooooh,” but Asher ignores the conversation, concentrating on the surgery.
“Late? Everything is late to Yayoi.” My voice is raspy. Why is my voice raspy when I want it to sound flippant?
