Page 101 of Flirting with 40

“Good for you.”

“Lots of excuses and not much action. If that’s the case, she’s probably good to be rid of you.” She sighs before rolling her shoulders and then stretching her arms up.

“Very funny,” I murmur and toss my pen onto the desk.

“I’m serious. I liked her . . . and I think part of your misery is because you like her, too, but you aren’t quite sure what to do about it.”

“Thanks for the psych eval, but I’m good.”

But I’m not. I’m far from it. I fucking miss her. Her smile. The scent of her skin. The sound of her laugh. The sparkle in her eyes.

Fucking sap.

“I think part of Slade’s problem is he’s going through sex withdrawals,” John says as he walks in. “What is this? Party in the basement?”

“Something like that,” I mutter and fist bump John.

“You’re crazy, Prish, if you think Blakely was anything more than a little side fun for Slade. We all know how he plays.”

“Fuck off,” I joke as he winks at me.

“You ready for rounds?” John asks Prisha, who nods. “Later, lover boy,” he throws over his shoulder as they head down the hall. I’d give anything to be going with them.

My groan fills the room as I slump in my chair.

Is John right? Am I not at the point yet in my life where I can involve someone in my day to day? Where I can ask her to deal with the burden of my residency?

I close my eyes and wonder how I can justify asking Blakely to do this with me. She just ended a relationship where she wasn’t taken care of, so how can I ask her to have one with me when I’m gone more than I’m around. And in normal times, even when I am around, all I want to do is crawl into bed and sleep.

She deserves so much better than that.

We were in a fantasy situation on the retreat. It wasn’t real life.

Not to mention, I don’t even know how to have a relationship.

First world problems, I know.

But how do I invite her into this life when I’m hanging on by a thread most days?

I’m dragging ass. Big time. Missing her doesn’t make it any better either.

I pick up my phone to text her—something, anything to talk to her—but then second-guess myself.

Maybe I am wrong.

Maybe I am the one who developed feelings for her but she was just enjoying a little freedom sex after getting divorced.

Then again, when Testosterone Ted texted me the other day, he seemed to think we were still together. So, has she not publicly broken up with me in her office?

Not sure how to read that one.

I pick up my phone to call her, confront her . . . hear her voice, and just when I do, I’m called over the PA system.

Maybe there’s news about Ivy. Maybe Dr. Schultz has good news for me. Maybe I’ll finally get my life back.

I look at the blinking cursor on my blank text and then shove my phone into the pocket of my lab coat.

I’ll text her. I will.