My heart stutters at his name. “His recovery is progressing well. Ahead of schedule, actually.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I meet her eyes and lie through my teeth. “Everything’s fine.”
She doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t push either. “Okay. Let me know if you need anything.”
She leaves, and I slump back in my chair, pressing my fingers against my temples.
Everything is not fine. Everything is the opposite of fine. I kissed my patient and then told him it was a mistake, and now I have to see him every day and pretend I don’t want him.
My phone buzzes with a text from Winnie.
Winnie:How’s Operation Pretend Nothing Happened going?
I stare at the screen for a long moment before typing back.
Me:Terrible. I hate everything.
Winnie:Want to talk about it?
Me:No.
Winnie:Want wine?
Me:Yes.
Winnie:My place. 7 PM. Bring your feelings.
I almost smile. Almost.
Then I think about Zayden’s face this morning—blank, polite, distant—and the almost-smile dies a fiery death.
I made the right call. I know I made the right call. Kissing him was reckless. Getting involved with him would be career suicide. Every rational part of my brain knows this.
But there’s another part. A smaller, quieter part that whispers,What if you’re wrong? What if this is the one thing you’re not supposed to walk away from?
I tell that part to shut up.
• • •
Winnie’s apartment smells like lavender when I enter. There’s no sign of Derek, thank God. Winnie’s boyfriend has the emotional depth of a puddle, and tonight I don’t have the bandwidth to pretend otherwise. He wasn’t always this annoying—when they first started dating, he was actually kind of sweet. Attentive. The type who remembered her coffee order and texted good morning every day. But somewhere along the way, he turned into the kind of guy who talks over women at dinner parties and thinks his fantasy football opinions count as conversation. Winnie swears the old Derek is still in there somewhere. I’m less convinced.
She already has two glasses of wine poured when I walk in, and she takes one look at my face before pushing the fuller glass toward me.
“That bad?” she asks, curling up on the opposite end of the couch.
She tucks her legs beneath her, looking like a golden retriever in human form—all warmth and good intentions and the kind of effortless beauty that makes men walk into lampposts. She’s beautiful in a way that makes other women want to hate her, except she’s so genuinely nice that you can’t. She also teaches yoga for a living and radiates the sort of calm energy I’ve never once possessed.
“Worse.” I drop onto her couch and take a long sip. Then another. “I kissed him.”
“You—” Winnie’s eyes go wide. “Wait. You kissed him? Like, you initiated?”
“Well, technically he kissed me. But I didn’t stop him. And then I...” I close my eyes, remembering. “I pulled him closer. By his shoulders. Because he wasn’t wearing a shirt.”
“I’m sorry, he was shirtless?”
“It was a PT session. He’s always shirtless.”
