Jocelyn
Your love language is physical touch.
—My Therapist
Pool Party Saturday is terrible.
Cassie Hersl is here.
It’s not Asher’s fault. He tried everything to steer the conversation away yesterday in the OR physician lounge, but she was
tenacious.
What are your plans this weekend? . . . Oh, that sounds fun. I’d love to come . . . Busy? No, I’m not busy at all . . . I’ll
bring beer.
She didn’t even bring good beer.
Having her in my domain is like letting a porcupine into my bed.
Suddenly, everything is far less comfortable.
Any move I make might result in bodily harm.
Dark hair perfectly slicked into a bun, sun-bronzed skin gleaming in the gold light, Cassie’s like a goddess in a strappy one-piece that somehow shows off more skin than my bikini.
The sheer white coverup I thought was so cute before feels frumpy now.
We’ve gathered at the porch table to eat, and Cassie’s crowded into Asher’s space. She keeps putting her hand on his arm.
Yes, it’s technically Asher’s house, but Asher is, like . . . mine. If she keeps hanging on him like that, I’ll drown her
in the pool.
Gah, when did I get so possessive?
I’m jerked out of my troubled thoughts when the entire table bursts into giggles, Cassie loudest of all. “You’re kidding!”
she says, beaming at Asher. “It splashed right in her eye?”
He shrugs. “I told her it isn’t wise to do spec exams in triage without eyewear. The residents don’t take me seriously. She
laughed at me.”
Evie, the OB hospitalist, throws a chip at Asher. “That’s not even the funniest part. Tell her the rest.”
The entire crowd leans in, waiting for the punchline.
Asher chuckles. “The swab came back positive for gonorrhea.”
Ugh! Eyeball gonorrhea infection?
“Shit!” Cassie moves her hand to Asher’s shoulder. “What did the poor girl have to do?”
I laser focus on that red-polished hand. Grazing that lean, tanned shoulder. I’m going to maim her.
“Eyedrops.” Asher leans forward to grab his beer, effectively removing Cassie’s hand from his person.
Thank you, universe.
Geoff shudders. “That’s disgusting.”
“Yeah.” Yayoi holds a palm over her mouth, looking a tad green. “It didn’t hit me this hard the last time you told me this
story.”
Geoff rubs her back.
She swallows and shakes herself. “Remind me why I wanted this baby?”
“Don’t ask me.” Geoff laughs. “I was just there for moral support.”
“And charitable donations,” Asher quips.
Everyone chuckles.
“Did you all hear what happened to Doctor Bender?” Cassie asks.
Eek. Not this.
I avert my gaze to the glass table between us. Bender voluntarily checked into a rehab program last week. Drug of choice was
alcohol, but he’d progressed past the gateway to harder stuff. I had no idea he was suffering. The man always kept to himself,
so the news came with a hefty dose of guilt.
I should have noticed. Anesthesiologists are particularly prone to substance abuse, and with my brother’s history, this stuff
hits harder.
The table discusses the gossip, but I’m busy remembering the three knocks that went unanswered on my brother’s door. The chill
of his stiff arms that proved I was far too late.
“Funny,” Cassie cuts into my memories. “Of all of us, he’s not the one I would’ve pegged as a partier.”
Geoff laughs. “Yeah, I’d put my money on Aaron Beal any day.”
That cuts through the cold memories, and I snort. Aaron Beal is as straitlaced as they come. His pious family is picture-perfect
and lovely. Man won’t even touch the spiked punch at our annual holiday party.
Cassie laughs along like it’s one big joke. “I’d have bet on Joss.” Then she winks at me. Like we’re friends. Like she’s teasing.
Like she’s allowed to make jokes like this.
I’m too shocked to reply. What the hell?
Yayoi lets out a single bark of laughter. “Joss? Yeah, right. I can’t even get the girl to take a toke from my vape pen.”
Asher’s foot nudges mine under the table, and he adopts a playful tone. “But she’ll go to town on a pineapple White Claw.”
I meet his eyes and melt at the silent support there. The worrisome tug makes a painful pull at my chest, so I look away,
forcing out a sarcastic, “Yes, I’m clearly an addict.”
Geoff snatches the can sitting in front of me and finishes off the warm dregs. “You’re not an addict. You’re an enthusiast.
You want another?”
He’s been excessively nice, my friend Geoff. Maybe he should shoot his mouth more often. I’ll suffer a few drunken insults
if he’s going to cater to me for days afterward. His stilted, sober apology the next morning was the most awkward thing we’ve
ever been through together.
Just mouthing off . . . Didn’t mean it . . . You’re one of my best friends . . . So sorry . . .
“Nah, I’m good,” I say, grinning his way.
Cassie, not to be outdone, knocks back her plain beer. “I’ve never been into those girly drinks, but hey, someone’s gotta
drink ’em.”
It’s hard to tell if I’m being insulted, but given it’s Cassie, I’m leaning toward yes. I refuse to engage, though. Instead, I focus on the sunlight glinting on the pool water. Several of the MAs lounge on pool
floats in the shape of burritos with arms because, according to Asher, Mr. Burrito is hilarious!
Asher stands. “You know what? All this talking about it makes me want one. Anyone else?”
Geoff, Evie and Yayoi all raise their hands in solidarity while Cassie frowns. I lift an eyebrow at Yayoi.
“I can sip it!” she says. “A sip an hour or something!” No way will she actually drink it while pregnant, but her loyalty here can’t be questioned.
I love my friends, and these warm tinglies inside are really quite pleasant, but here’s the deal: The pineapple White Claws
are mine. Cassie’s stupid antics are forcing my friends to steal my drinks. I will never forgive her for this. It might be worse than her hand on Asher’s shoulder, or her gaze on his ass right
now as he walks away.
When he returns, he doles out the alcohol and leans close to my ear. “I’ll buy you more, I promise.” Then he plops down in
the empty seat beside me, leaving Cassie all by her lonesome across from us.
Tug, tug. Ouch, ouch.
I think you need to focus on what you have, not what you have the potential to lose.
My best friend is a smart, smart man. How did he cut so cleanly to the core of things? And then magically find a way to make
me laugh afterward?
This tug is growing more insistent. I still don’t know how to make it stop, or even if I can. I might suffer this pull toward
him forever.
It’s a tragic thought.
Meanwhile, Evie and Geoff chat about a combo case they scrubbed earlier this week, and Yayoi plays up her morning sickness
with a pitiful moan, spurring Geoff to rub her back again.
Cassie leans her elbows on the table. “So, Joss. Are you dating anyone these days?”
Okay. Where are we going with this line of questioning? “Not really.”
“Oh, that’s right.” She waves her hand toward me. “You’re still into the online hookup thing, right?”
How does she even know that? “Actually, I haven’t—”
Asher sets a hand on my arm. “What about you, Cassie? Getting serious with that one guy?”
Her smile fades a bit. “Ian and I broke up a couple weeks ago.”
I might believe that sadness if she hadn’t been hanging all over my best friend. “I’m sorry,” I say, even though I’m not sorry
at all.
“That’s too bad, Cass.” Asher’s voice is so genuine. How does he manage it? “I was rooting for you guys.”
“Yeah, well. He wasn’t ready to get serious, and I decided I was, so . . .” The bitterness in her words is genuine, and I
almost feel bad until she says, “But the casual hookup thing . . .” She motions toward me. “That works, too. For some people.”
The offense is instantaneous. Some people?
AKA sluts.
“Awesome people, you mean?” Asher says, tone a little harder.
She ignores him in favor of drinking her nasty beer.
“Jeez, Cassie.” Asher laughs once, humorlessly. “I wonder what drove Ian away.”
The table goes silent.
My blood turns incandescent. Did— Did he just say that?
It takes Cassie a moment to register the insult, and she blinks three times before her face goes scarlet. “That’s— I wasn’t
trying to offend.”
“Right,” he says, all disbelief.
Yayoi snickers behind her hand, while Geoff and Evie stare wide-eyed at the developing scene. Expression hovering near apologetic,
Cassie reaches a hand toward Asher and me. She starts to stand, to say something, but it knocks the table, toppling his fresh
can of White Claw right into his lap.
He springs up.
“Oh, shit.” Cassie’s eyes go wide. “I’m so sorry.”
His trunks are soaked and—as usual—he laughs. “Guess I deserved that for being rude. Sorry I said anything.”
“No, that’s—” Cassie starts.
Ignoring her, he turns toward the back door. “I’m going to change.”
He steals the center of my attention as he disappears through the sliders. In the background of my awareness, Cassie murmurs
apologies and uses a towel on the mess beside me, Evie helping. Geoff mutters something and Yayoi answers. It hardly registers.
Cassie has spent years quietly jabbing me in my softest, most vulnerable parts, and Asher . . . He just defended my honor.
This isn’t a tug. It’s a hacksaw. And it’s edging closer to my heart by the second. Back and forth, back and forth.
Dangerous and thrilling, like standing untethered at the edge of a cliff. Morbidly alluring, like a lethal dose of fentanyl.
I glance at Evie wiping down Asher’s wet chair beside me. She meets my eyes and subtly nods toward the door.
Should I go after him?
I should go after him.
I stand. Step around Cassie and the mess. Head toward the sliders.
The house is chilly, the A/C on high like Asher likes. His sexy forest cologne lingers in the air. No one ever spends time
indoors on Pool Party Saturdays, so the lights are off, everything still. My bare feet tread without sound over the cold wood
floor, down the hall.