Operation Boyfriend

Chapter 1

ONE

DEAN

Late September, New York City

Late. Early? The streets had slipped into that slightly surreal stretch of night where everything felt waterlogged and muted. A light drizzle, so faint it barely qualified as rain, was my sole companion on the brisk walk home from the subway, like the city itself couldn’t be bothered to keep going.

Keys—left pocket. Good. Small mercies. I let myself into the building and took the stairs two at a time, up four floors that weren’t quite enough to leave the day behind.

Faces, charts, hastily reported vital signs.

A heart that chose to quit just as our patient finally neared the top of the donation waitlist because sometimes, life just loves to kick you right in the teeth.

Fuck.

My apartment was dark and silent. I flicked the switch without looking, and the lights blinked to life. Bag on the hook. Keys on the shelf. Shoes under the bench.

I traipsed across the smooth wooden floor to the kitchen in pursuit of…

something. The fridge cast clinical brightness on its sparse contents as I tugged the door open.

A half-finished carton of milk, eggs, some drooping vegetables—much like my hair, which, after twelve hours in the OR, looked like it had staged its own tragic finale.

It’s funny because it damn near crushes you. Still. Every fucking time.

After a cautious sniff of the milk, I poured a glass and downed it in one long, pathetic gulp. Living the dream, I was.

God.

I tipped my head back. The overhead glow of ceiling lights left bleary streaks behind my lids each time I blinked.

A splash of pinks and blues caught my eye, out of place in my whitewashed kitchen.

Right, damn—my sister’s wedding invite, leaning against the kettle.

RSVP by early October. It might as well have read: Respond Soon, Verify Pathetic Single Status. RSVPSS.

Not that I cared. Sure, I wasn’t looking forward to lounging alone among the groom’s posh entourage, to my mom’s gently probing questions and my stepdad’s well-meaning nuggets of wisdom about how no man was an island and all that crap, how it was just a matter of finding the right person.

Ugh. I’d deal with it tomorrow, when my brain was no longer fluttering with each breath I took.

My phone knifed straight through the pleasant haze of a dream. Rude.

I cracked one eye open to morning sun that crept through the slats, just a gentle flicker on the bare walls, and squinted at the caller ID.

Mom. Probably calling from her porch with a mug of coffee and some obscure Austin radio show on in the background.

She’d never quite grasped the concept of sleeping in after a late shift—or rather, she considered it secondary to more pressing matters, like weddings or my supposed lack of happiness.

I could ignore her call, just this once.

The thought evaporated, half-formed, because that wasn’t the kind of relationship we had. We’d been through too much.

“Morning,” I mumbled, then cleared my throat against the sleepy rasp in my voice.

“Dean, honey.” Gentle reproach tinged her words. “It’s almost eight. Are you still in bed?”

“Evening shift, Mom.” I rolled onto my back. “Didn’t get home until twelve thirty.”

“You work too hard, love.” She paused, daring me to contradict her like usual, but my mind still felt a tad too sluggish for token protest. “Anyway,” she continued after a beat of silence, punctuated by the hum of an Austin morning, “I was just calling because Charley said you still haven’t RSVP’d for the wedding.

They’ve got a travel planner who can help you book the flights.

Cambodia in December, Dean—you know it’s not exactly a weekend trip upstate. ”

I ran a hand over my face, fingers catching in my sleep-tangled hair. “You don’t say.”

“Don’t get sassy with me, Dean Hollis.”

I sighed. “Sorry, Mom. Just a little tired, yeah?”

Her voice softened. “I know you are, sweetheart. You chose a tough career, and you’ve got no one to help you carry the load.”

Here we go again.

“I’m fine, Mom. Really.” There was more I could have said about how no, it wasn’t her fault that I was perpetually single, about how her marriage to my dad hadn’t ruined me for relationships or anything like that.

If anything, she was an inspiration that it was possible to dust yourself off, lift your head, and try for something better, healthier.

Me, I’d just been… busy. Not really looking either. But she’d heard it all before.

“I know. It’s just…” She trailed off, the brief stretch of silence carrying the weight of all the things she worried about.

“Maybe you just need to make a little more effort to find someone special? Charley’s getting married, you know?

Your little sister is getting married, and you’ll be there alone.

Still single at thirty-three, never even brought anyone home since that girl in, what, eleventh grade?

And then you came out, and there just hasn’t been anyone ever since. ”

Jesus wept, it was too early for this. “Mom—”

“I just want you to be happy,” she rushed in, and that was the thing, wasn’t it? She truly did mean well—proud of how quickly I’d risen at the hospital yet worried that my personal life would remain one giant blank space.

“It’s just hard to find the time,” I said, tone a bit more defensive than I’d intended. “Between work and everything else, dating hasn’t topped the list.”

“You’ve always been dedicated, honey. That’s a great quality. But life can’t be ninety percent work.”

God. Exhaustion mixed with frustration, edged by a childish need to quiet my mom’s fears and make her proud. I blinked at the ceiling. “Well, actually, I am kind of seeing someone. It’s pretty new, but… Uh. Feels serious. So I might bring him along.”

No, hang on, what the fuck?

“Really?” Her voice bloomed with cautious delight. “Oh, Dean. That’s wonderful! Tell me about him.”

Um. Little tricky given that he didn’t actually exist.

She sounded so happy, though.

“He’s a doctor, too.” Made sense, right?

Someone who understood the long hours and what it meant to save a life, what it meant to lose one.

“Met him at work, so, yeah.” Ugh, pathetic.

I needed to regroup before I dug myself into a hole that would take me all the way to Australia.

“Look, Mom, my phone’s about to die—forgot to charge it last night. I’ll call later, all right?”

“Oh, of course. Love you, sweetheart.”

“Love you, Mom,” I echoed, then ended the call and flopped back onto the pillow. Awesome. Just awesome.

With sleep well and truly ripped out of my grasping fingers, I crawled out of bed, half an eye on the time as I set about making coffee. Seven minutes. Eight. And then—yep, Charley’s call vibrated against the countertop. Gossip had a short commute in my family.

“You’re dating someone,” was how she opened the call. No greeting, just right to the point, disbelief practically crackling down the line. “You. And it’s serious.”

I took a despondent mouthful of coffee. “Hello, Charley. And how are you?”

“Splendid.” She didn’t break her stride. “So, what exactly does ‘serious’ mean in your world? Didn’t you wrap your heart in barbed wire, post a ‘Trespassers will be prosecuted’ sign, and add a couple of warning flares for good measure?”

My sister, the poet. I snorted. “Shouldn’t you be obsessing over seating charts?”

“That’s why we got a wedding planner. Spill, Dean.”

“It’s not… It’s new, okay?” The lie tasted stale. Time to beat a strategic retreat? “Look, I just didn’t want Mom to act like I’m a failed social experiment because I’m single. Or like I’m traumatized or whatever.”

Understanding slipped into Charley’s tone. “She just worries, you know? James, too. They want you to be happy.”

They did, and I was grateful for it. My mom hadn’t batted an eye when I came out, and neither had my stepdad. James loved Charley and me as though we were his own, and in a way, we were.

“I am happy,” I said, a hint delayed.

“Yeah, sure.” Charley’s voice dripped sugar. “You’re golden. And just think of the fabulous time you’ll have at my wedding—sitting alone at the bar while Theo’s posh friends swan around with their trust funds and tailored suits and model partners.”

I grimaced around another sip of coffee because…

Yeah. Theo, my sister’s fiancé, was a nice guy, with a massive heart and the personality of a faithful puppy, even if he maybe wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.

Charley more than made up for that, and somehow, they fit.

Theo’s social circle, though? The kind of men who thought “hardship” meant flying economy.

I guessed it was a built-in punishment for growing up filthy rich.

“Thanks, sis. Here’s hoping your friends come out in full force so I won’t end up crying into my lonely pina colada.”

“Just make sure you drink it out of a crystal tumbler and call it a ‘tropical reduction.’”

“I could just not come, you know.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she said, and yes, true. I’d grown rather fond of my face the way it was. Before I could say anything to that effect, she kept talking. “Anyway, though, you could bring Gregg. He’s good fun.”

I entertained the idea for maybe a second, then shook my head at myself. “I’m not bringing a pity friend.”

“So bring your mystery doctor boyfriend.”

“Maybe I will,” I grumbled. Jesus, my mouth just didn’t know when to quit, did it? Especially with the caffeine still waiting to kick in—that was my story, and I was sticking with it.

Charley laughed. “Excellent. I’d love to see proof that your heart isn’t just a medical specimen.”

“Thanks,” I said drily. “And to think I paid for therapy when I’ve got you for free.”