Asher #2
she’s trying to induce a real seizure to get out of responding.
Because she’s clearly not responding positively.
Her brown eyes cloud over, her shoulders rise and fall and then words finally form. Her voice trips over what I now know to be the two worst words in the English language. “I—can’t.”
Ah. Ouch. Thought the pain couldn’t get worse. Universe needed to prove me wrong, I guess. Do people actually survive hurt
like this? I drop my gaze to the floor. Looking at her makes it worse. Eyes are stinging.
Her breath hitches. “I . . . It isn’t you. I’m— I can’t—”
“You don’t need to qualify it, Jocelyn.” My voice is miraculously steady. “It only makes it worse.”
Ten seconds of silence elapse.
“Take a shower,” I say. “I’ll pack up and we can head to the airport.”
Another few awkward moments pass before the bathroom door clicks closed, and I’m alone in the bedroom, staring at a luxurious
bed full of regret.
One good thing about Joss not loving me: She bought a neck pillow. Shoulder is pain-free when we land.
Silver linings, am I right?
She makes a valiant effort at correcting the awkwardness between us, but I can’t play along. Too worn down to pretend. By
the time we’re in my truck, she’s mute. Given up on me, I suppose.
Can’t blame her. I have to be the most pathetic man she’s ever dealt with. Why would she even want to remain friends after
this?
At her front door, I set down her suitcase. “Thanks again for coming with me.”
She nods, arms crossed. “Yeah, of course.”
I flee down the porch stairs, two at a time.
“Asher—”
I don’t stop. “Yeah?”
Her gentle voice floats through the air between us. “Bye.”
“See you around.”
No answer follows, and I hop in my truck without looking at her again. There’s no relief in being free of her. If anything,
it’s all the more bleak. Lonelier.
Back at my cold, empty house, I unpack the small suitcase I brought. When my fingers tangle in the G-string still wadded in
my pants pocket, they clench involuntarily.
Can’t believe that was last night. Less than twenty-four hours.
How can so much change in so little time? Feel hollow, like I’m coming home from a war where the battleground was my chest,
and the fight left nothing but scorched, barren nothingness.
Jeez. I’ve gotten maudlin in my heartbreak. Need to snap out of this.
But like . . . she said she was sure. Why say it when she knew she didn’t want more? She took advantage of my feelings for
her. Used me to satisfy her own sick curiosity.
At the reality of that thought, a lightning bolt strikes the barrenness, bursting it into flames.
You’re my Lamborghini.
Did she really fucking say that? I drop the lacy fabric in my hands to pull out my phone.
“Asher?” Geoff answers on the third ring. “You back? How was the wedding, man?”
“It was—” I trudge into my bedroom and collapse onto the bed. “I slept with Jocelyn.”
A distant feminine voice shrieks over the line: “What?”
“Fuck, man,” Geoff says, voice far clearer. “You’re on speaker. Should have warned me.”
Morose laughter is the only response I can muster. Because of course Yayoi was within hearing distance of that.
“Ask him how it happened,” comes Yayoi’s voice, to which Geoff hushes her.
I dig my index finger and thumb into my closed eyes until colors spark in my vision.
Geoff’s tone softens. “I assume something is wrong by the way you said it.”
I clear my throat. “No. I mean, it’s not a big deal. She just . . . wants to stay friends. Easy enough.”
“I take it you want more than that?”
“No, I’m fine.”
He pauses a moment. “Then . . . why do you sound like a kicked puppy?”
I scowl at nothing and strengthen my voice. “Fuck you. I do not.”
“You didn’t call me to announce you slept with her, then hang up.”
“Maybe I called to brag. I got laid last night. Did you?”
He laughs. “The constant throwing up kind of gets in the way of that.”
“See?”
“Asher.” His voice takes on a serious cast. “Come on, man. Why’d you really call?”
My ceiling fan needs dusting. Should take care of that.
“Asher?”
I sigh. “Sort of . . . hurt. I guess. Normally, I’d talk to her about it, but—”
“I get it,” Geoff says. “Need anything?”
“Tranquilizer?”
He chuckles at the dumb joke, bless him.
“This is the best of both worlds, right?” I say. “She let me have sex with her with zero accountability. Every man’s dream.”
“Sure. Good way to look at it. You put it out there. She said no. Now you move on.”
“Yeah. Simple enough.”
Sounds simple. Probably isn’t. Suspect it will be quite hard, actually. Life altering. I haven’t just lost the girl I’m in
love with; I’ve lost my best friend, too. There’s no way we’re going back to normal after this.
“Want to grab a beer tomorrow?” Geoff asks.
“Abso-fuckin-lutely.”
On my OR day, I arrive at the hospital an hour early to catch Cassie before she makes anesthesia room assignments. We’re okay,
Cassie and me. She apologized for her behavior at my house a couple weeks ago, and I’m incapable of staying mad at anyone
for anything.
The woman isn’t particularly nice, but she’s excellent at organization. The entire department defers to her superior scheduling
powers. I find her in the surgery office, head bent over some paperwork. A knock on the doorjamb announces my presence.
She looks up and smiles. “Asher. Good morning.”
“Hey, girl. How was your holiday weekend?”
“Oh, fine.” She waves a hand and returns to the paper before her. “I was on call for most of it.”
In a move that isn’t subtle, I swing the office door closed. The soft click draws her attention, and her questioning gaze
bounces between the door and me.
I approach the desk and sit in the single chair facing it. “I was hoping to ask a favor.”
“Oh?”
“The schedule today . . .” My fidgety hands are being super dumb. One of them knocks twice on the desk. Like . . . could my
tension be any more obvious? “Do you think you could assign Kevin to my cases?”
She glances at the paper before her, then back to me. “Is something wrong?”
Luckily, I’ve prepared for this question. “Fantasy football starts today. I fucked up my draft. Trying to convince him to
trade. Need every chance I can get.” Not true, of course. My fantasy team is amazing. Cassie, however, hates football. I’ll
get away clean here. No suspicion. No follow-up questions.
“Oh.” Her expression clears, then turns a little calculating. “That will put Joss with Van Camp. You okay with that?”
Van Camp is the skeezy colorectal surgeon constantly cheating on his wife with younger, blonder women. Joss hates him.
And yet . . .
I shrug. “She’ll understand.”
“All right, then. Will do.” She scribbles something on the paper and looks up. “Does Pool Party Saturday continue past Labor
Day?”
“Hell, yeah. We party all year.”
She has a pretty smile when it’s real. Makes her eyes crinkle. “Maybe I’ll keep from spilling a drink on you next time.”
My chuckle is forced. “Yeah, maybe.”
Straightening, she gestures to the paper before her. “I’ll take care of the schedule. Good luck with the fantasy stuff.”
“Thanks.”
Now there’s ample time for a quick workout at the hospital gym before my first case. Need to release some of this pent-up
energy. Because no matter how much I scheme to keep space between us, I will see Jocelyn today. I’ll have to look her in the eye, remember I told her I love her, then watched her destroy all hope of a future for us.
Geoff finds me in pre-op. All around us, nurses hustle between patient bays, prepping them for surgery.
“Hey, man.” I lift my gaze from my computer screen. “What you got today?”
He plops into the chair beside me as he ties his blue scrub cap. “Adult circumcision.”
Oof. I whistle. “Dude’s in for a rough week.”
He huffs a breathy laugh. “We still on for tonight?”
“McNellie’s, right? Yeah. I’ll meet you around six.”
“How you doing today?”
I lift an eyebrow at him. “I’m fine.”
He raises his hands in submission. “All right. Just checking.”
With a few more clicks, I wrap up my charting and head toward the OR. That’s, of course, when Jocelyn appears. She’s frowning
at her phone but walking my way. Every molecule in my body contracts at the sight of her.
Should I run?
Play it cool?
Pretend like I don’t see her?
Others traverse the halls between us—nurses and surgeons and scrub techs—so maybe she won’t see me . . .
She slips the device into her pocket and looks up. Ahh! Haven’t made up my mind. I panic like a kid out of bed after bedtime
and dive through the closest door.
What is this? Is this . . . a closet?
Jesus.
Light’s off, so I bang my knee on the edge of an electrosurgical tower.
“Damn it!”
I’m rubbing my knee when the door opens. Fluorescent light pours through the gap, and Joss stands on the other side, the skin between her eyebrows deeply creased.
I jerk upright. “Oh. Hey, Joss. I—just—I—um—live in this closet now.” I set my elbow on the electrosurgical equipment beside
me and rest my head on my fist.
A bewildered chuckle answers me. “What are you doing?”
Hiding.
“Nothing.”
She rests her back on the door frame and sighs. “Cassie assigned me somewhere else today. I fought her, but she wouldn’t budge.”
“Oh. Oh, that’s—” Prickles wake along my nerves. “That’s too bad.”
Her head tilts. “We’re okay, right? I think we need to talk.”
The open door is right there. Escape is within my grasp. How rude would it be to push her out of the way?
“Can’t talk now,” I say. “Have surgery.”
Her brown eyes stare without blinking, and her shoulders fall. “Okay. Maybe tonight?”
Desperate, I squeeze past her in the doorway. Refuse to breathe while I do it, of course. The hypnotic scent that clings to
her skin is hardwired to pain receptors in mine. “Can’t. Have plans.”
She frowns. “Oh. What are you doing?”
I pause in the hallway and brave the storm of her eyes. “Sorry. I really can’t talk right now. I have a case. Let’s talk later.”
Except we don’t talk later. I finish my cases and head to the office for my afternoon clinic patients without seeing her once.