My eyes narrow.
“Really interesting company. You send in a picture. They make a semipermanent tattoo.”
I stand before him, pretend-glaring up into his face. “Really? To win a bet?”
He chuckles. “I only regret not getting to see your face.”
“Did she come up with the grandma story?”
His eyes gleam. “Inspired, right?”
I poke his stomach hard enough to hurt the abs that are just as sore as mine. Heoofs. “Clown face? Seriously?”
His eyes brighten. “Yeah, it would have been way better with the clown face. Your scream would’ve been louder than that lady who delivered in room three just now.”
“Rubber snakes in my toilet and swapping my salt for sugar are one thing, but insulting my professionalism? I’m going to pay you back so hard for this.”
To my great irritation, he doesn’t look appropriately terrified. “You’re awful at pranks. I’m the reigning king.”
“Well, don’t get too comfy on that throne, Ash. I’m coming for you.”
“Bring it, sugar cookie.”
I raise an eyebrow, choosing to overlook his progressively more idiotic nicknames. “Drinks Friday?”
“Can’t. Boys’ night.”
“Aw. The biweekly circle jerk?”
“You know it.” He clips my chin with his knuckle. “But I hear Cassie Hersl is looking to make some new friends. You know... if you’re searching for a place to hang.”
I shoot him a sour face. “Ha. Ha. Listen to what karma did with her crab rangoon...”
Asher
2.5 Years Ago
VIP tickets to Houston’s Oktoberfest include complimentary drinks. I talked Jocelyn into the pricey tickets a month ago, though it took only minor persuasion. A night of polka, German food and beer? She’d never say no.
In fact, I convinced a near legion of doctors to partake in the festivities. I’m nothing if not an expert at cajoling people to attend parties.
I’m fully aware of this superpower. I use it wisely. At opportune moments.
Like Oktoberfest.
With the night half gone, everyone is properly soused. Several call it quits and Uber home, but Joss is still in full swing. She’s dressed in a dirndl that shows off her shouldersand she tosses her two blond braids while dancing with an elderly gentleman in lederhosen.
Well,danceis a loose term. Incredibly awkward dancer, Jocelyn is. Would be cute if it wasn’t so hilarious.
I’m close to drunk. My world compresses at the edges, blackened except for the tunnel vision right down the middle—straight to her.
I’m ready to leave.
And I want to leave with her.
Perhaps it’s the obscene quantities of German alcohol in my system, but that whole rule about not getting involved with women at work seems absurd, borderline moronic. Joss is perfect in all the ways that matter. She’s charming. Fun. Sexy.
She doesn’t want anything serious, but neither do I. Not right now.
