Jocelyn #2
I don’t care if I’m cold and broken so long as I’m not hurting. Besides, Asher is nothing if not warm, and spending my free
time with him keeps me human. It’s the perfect setup.
“Let’s make him do hibachi,” Asher says as he operates. “He won’t complain too much.”
“Perfect. We may even convince Yayoi to come for hibachi.”
Geoff’s wife is a homebody, but I can sometimes get her out for good food. I whip out my phone again.
hibachi? please say yes or I’ll kill your husband
wow. resorting straight to homicide.
can’t say I’m surprised.
pleeeeeeeeeeez
I have a bottle of pinot I was planning to share with myself
Yayoi
Joss
Magic Mike. Channing gonna screw me in my dreams tonight
Remember last weekend? Drunk Geoff wants a baby. I’ll buy him all the drinks if you come.
ughhhh I want a baby so bad
fine.
yes!
The others have yet to arrive at the restaurant, so I lean on the door of my Benz, waiting. Holding my phone to my ear, I
chew on my nails while I count the number of rings until my sister picks up.
Pick up. Pick up.
“Joss?” comes Ali’s voice through the line.
The release from the irrational fear that she won’t answer comes fast and hot. “Finally. I hate it when you take more than five rings to answer. What if you were dead?”
“Definitely still living,” she says dryly. “Though with the lack of sleep, it’s more like the living dead at this point.”
I fake laugh. “How’s my niece?”
“She’s okay,” Ali says. “Finally drinking some Pedialyte.”
Ali’s oldest, my nephew Leo, is in third grade and thriving, but her daughter, Rosie, is only fourteen months and suffering
from an unfortunate summer case of RSV. Her fevers and low appetite worried Ali enough that she contemplated taking her to
the ER, but Rosie bounced back today with a little more energy.
“But seriously. Are you getting any sleep?” I ask.
“Barely.” My sister’s voice is drained. “And Nic’s job is making him work overtime. It’s a rough time in the Sanchez household
right now.”
Despite my short white dress, residual heat from the asphalt radiates up, breaking my skin into a sticky sweat, so I head for the restaurant entrance. “She’ll get better. We’re still on for you to come visit, right?”
“Yes. Twenty-seven days. Nic’s mom will take the kids, and it will be glorious. I’ve got a countdown on my phone. So tired
of Nashville right now.”
I bounce in my strappy white heels while I walk. “Well, Texas can’t wait to have you. It’s been, like, what? Three months
since I’ve seen you?”
“Too long,” Ali agrees.
A wolf whistle catches my attention before I reach the entrance. Ready to tell off some creep, I spin in place, only to find
Asher approaching, smiling like the sun.
“There’s my girl.” He weaves through the cars toward me.
“Hey!” I call.
Gray cotton stretches over his chest. New shirt, right? I would’ve remembered this one. It’s . . . tight.
“Is that Asher?” Ali asks. “You’re having dinner with him?”
“Of course I am. Who else would I be having dinner with?”
“I really don’t understand this whole dating without screwing thing you guys do.”
“We aren’t dating,” I whisper now that Asher is closer. “We’re meeting friends.”
“Your married friends?”
I clear my throat. “Well—”
“So you’re double-dating without screwing.”
“Is that your sister?” Asher asks.
“Yeah—”
Asher grabs the phone. “Ali! Did you try that cookie recipe I sent you?” Pause. “I know! You’ll never go back.” He laughs. “No, thank my mom. She made them when I was growing up.” He swats my hand when I try to take the phone back. “Well, Karen can suck it. You’ll be PTA queen.”
I tickle him so he’s forced to defend himself, all but climbing his much taller body to reach my phone.
His voice rises in pitch. “Shit. Your sister is attacking me. Okay. I know. Bye, honey bear.”
The phone slips from his grasp, and I grab it while pushing him away. “You aren’t allowed to steal my sister.” Then into the
phone, I say, “And you aren’t allowed to steal my best friend.”
“Shit! Rosie’s vomiting. I have to go.”
She clicks off before I can say goodbye, and I slip my phone into my dress pocket, then eye Asher. “How are you talking to
my sister so much that you’re exchanging cookie recipes like old biddies?”
“It’s probably about the same amount you talk to my mom behind my back.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “My relationship with Sue Ellen is my own business.”
He smirks. “You keep at it, she’ll be setting you up with my brothers.”
He’s not wrong. Every conversation I have with his mother involves at least one comment regarding the availability and desirability
of her three single sons. I will never admit to him that at least three-quarters of these comments are actually about him.
Did you know Asher was president of his fraternity? Always such a leader . . .
Oh, I forgot to mention that Asher used to volunteer at the animal shelter, didn’t I?
Such a loving man, my son. I told you about his beautiful eulogy at my mother’s funeral, right?
He’ll make such a good husband someday.
Sue Ellen is Asher’s biggest fan, and she desperately wants grandkids. I’ve explained multiple times that no matter which
son she chooses, those kids won’t be sourced by me, but she’s yet to reconcile that fact in her mind. No reproductive-aged
woman is safe around her.
“One day she’ll get it through her head that I’m damaged,” I say with a wink.
“Oh, you’re not damaged.” He pulls the door to the vestibule open for me. “Just deep and dark and complicated.”
I shoot him a sour face.
“Tell her I say hi when you get a chance,” he says as I walk past with my nose in the air. “You know, since you talk to her
more than I do.”
“I already told her about our Florida wedding trip in three months. She’s jelly.”
He rolls his eyes. “She hates to travel.”
“You should call her more. She complains you don’t tell her what’s going on in your life.”
He opens the second door, flooding us with the scent of ginger and butter. “When there’s something going on in my life worth
telling her, she’ll be the first to know.”
“Hmm. How was your office today?”
He sighs and leans a shoulder on the wall just inside. “I got two patient reviews today, complaining they’d prefer a doctor
who is more established.”
“What does that even mean? They want an old man like White?”
He shrugs, pretending at nonchalance, but I can see straight through him. No matter how many patients gush over his greatness,
Asher can’t help but focus on those few who equate his raw charm to unprofessionalism or lack of expertise.
The evil empire that is Press Ganey and their “patient satisfaction” surveys has proven no doctor is universally loved, but I’m certain Asher comes close.
He just can’t see it. He’s blinded by the idiot patients who find his care lacking, who complain he laughs too much, or in one curious instance, call him a bro—an offense that cut him deep.
The glory of anesthesia is that most of my patients are asleep, but OB-GYN is an intensely intimate specialty, and Asher takes
those harsh patient reviews to heart.
After he checks in with the host, I pat his shoulder. “It’s their loss, Ash. You know that.”
He smiles. “Exactly. They can find a wrinkly geezer to shove a speculum up there.”
“Hear, hear.”
Once Geoff and Yayoi arrive, the four of us are seated at one end of the eight-person U-shaped hibachi table, with four girls
in their twenties on the other. The girls are dressed for a night out—glitter and sequins galore—and appear to have pre-gamed
prior to dining.
Oh, to be young again.
At thirty-four, I’m practically ancient to them.
To make matters more entertaining, Asher sits closest to them, and they spend a few seconds whispering behind their hands
while making eyes at him.
Yayoi and I exchange interested glances. Her straight ebony hair is shining in the low light, and crystals glitter at her
ears. She’s dressed like she wants Geoff to drool, in a dress tight enough to flaunt every curve.
Since his arm is glued around her as he peruses his menu, I think it’s working.
“Which one do you think will hit on Ash?” she asks in a low voice behind her menu.
“All four,” I reply.
“Hey, y’all going out tonight?” asks the blonde at the end.
“I think we’ll see where the night takes us,” Asher says in that teasing tone of his, the one that reminds women he’s not
only handsome, but charming, too. He throws in a grin for free. “You know what I mean?”
One of the middle ones—the only brunette—makes a come-hither face. “We’re going to a speakeasy.”
“Ooh. How risqué.” Asher’s smile turns coy, and all four girls turn into starry-eyed anime characters. “Is there a password
to get in?”
Smug as can be, the one beside Asher says, “Yeah, but we know a guy.”
“Let me guess.” Asher clasps his hands on the table. “They ask what you’re doing, and you say, Going to church.”
Their mouths drop. “How’d you know?”
“We’ve been there.” Asher looks at me. “Remember that? You drank like seven French 75s and I had to carry you home.”
“I remember,” Yayoi mutters next to me. “Their Negronis put me on my ass.”
I chuckle. “I don’t remember that, but it sounds on brand for us.”
“Why don’t you come with?” says the blonde at the end. “Bring your . . . girlfriend?”
I pat Asher’s shoulder. “Oh, I’m not his girlfriend.”
“Here we go,” Geoff says in a low voice, staring at his menu.
Asher’s mouth tightens, and he turns back to the girls. “My girlfriend can’t—”
“He doesn’t have a girlfriend,” I say, thoroughly enjoying this.
Blonde in the middle goes a bit feral, and I want to laugh.
I’m feeding him to a pack of wolves but watching him be lusted after is one of my favorite pastimes.
The boy doesn’t do hookups, much to his own detriment, and observing the many ways he finds to wriggle out of women’s clutches is fascinating.
Asher has to be wined and dined. Cheap fucks are not on the menu.
We are so different.
I lean across him and mock-whisper to the girls, “Plus, he’s a doctor.”