Feelings of inadequacy immediately lighten.
My phone dings with a text from Joss.
You are a strange man.
I hope you only share your duck obsession with me. Other people might think you’re a serial killer.
Asher Foley. The duck bandit.
Do you need anything from Costco?
So she’s in a good mood, then. Good-mood Joss is less funny, to be honest, but still one of my top five favorite humans.
Get me some of that protein powder I told you about.
And don’t worry. This level of cuteness is only for you sugar pie.
She sends a gif of a dog hiding its face like it’s embarrassed. I’m smiling at my phone when Talia returns and clears her throat loud enough to snag my attention.
“What?” I ask.
With a spirited roll of her eyes, she resettles at her computer, peeling open a Twix bar. “Just so you know, Pomeranian puppies are cuter than God.”
“Did you Google them while you peed?”
She ignores me. “And while my hairy baby will be cute, I prefer to think of him as a lion. He will be Simba.”
“I’ll anoint him with fruit juice at his birth if it will make you feel better.”
She grins at her computer screen. “We’ll thrust him over our heads while ‘Circle of Life’ plays over the hospital speakers. It’ll be epic.”
I laugh at her huffiness. “Whatever you want, girl. It’s yours.”
“Damn right, it is.” She shoots me a small grin. “Thanks, Doctor Foley.”
Saturdays in the summer have turned into an unspoken tradition of booze and swimming at my house. Pool Party Saturday. Even when I’m on call, my moocher friends find their way to my place to use my house. The Texas coast is a fifteen-minute drive, yet here they are, drinking my beer in my pool as per usual.
I collect friends like strays. Can’t help it. I like people. They’re all so different. So fascinating. I meet someone new, and a tickle rises in my throat until I’ve won them to my side.
Makes Pool Party Saturdays quite festive.
Sprawled out on a lounge chair, I wipe the pool water from my eyes and take a breather. Geoff has his wife on his shoulders, deep into a match of chicken with Jocelyn and Kevin, another anesthesiologist in her department. Several ofmy fellow OB-GYNs and the residents are chatting around the table on the covered porch. A couple of nurse anesthetists have taken over my outdoor kitchen, and the aroma of grilled burgers fills the air.
Talia and her crowd of nurses and MAs have commandeered all the sun-soaked places on the opposite side of the pool. A few of the ER docs have seized the TV. I crane my neck to view the screen. Is that NASCAR?
That reminds me...
I shoot off the customary weekly text to my NASCAR-fanatic brothers, reminding them NASCAR’s weak, and they suck. The expected stream of insults regarding my physique—“Have you ever heard of a gym, bro?”—and my profession—“Sad you had to become a gynecologist just to see some pussy.”—bring out a chuckle.
A playful scream draws my attention as Yayoi topples into the sparkling blue water. Joss throws her hands up in victory.
For half a second, my gaze drops to her perky chest, and something clenches in my stomach.
Don’t like that.
Inappropriate.
That black bikini is a shard of kryptonite, weakening the boundary of Friend Zone.
