Chapter 5
Chapter Five
What did one elevator say to the other?
I think I’m coming down with something.
—From Bash’s dad joke collection
Bash
He and Brinder had been in the café for only ten minutes, but Bash had spent nine of those signing autographs for the staff, and another minute selecting his salad with grilled chicken and some water.
He’d bulked up for a recent role and had managed to maintain most of the muscle since filming and the accompanying regimen ended, only gaining back about five pounds.
And those five were worth it. No one wanted to eat in such a controlled, bland way for too long.
But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the way the women who’d graced his bed oohed and aahed over that fucking vee he’d worked so hard with his trainer to obtain.
So he’d kept the healthy habits up. Mostly.
Bash dropped onto the metal and plastic café chair, his tray rattling on the laminate tabletop. “Thanks for indulging me in lunch. I had to escape the warren of wily women.”
Brinder smirked, a knowing gleam in his eyes. “I take it Ross and Tiercy descended on the homestead?”
“Yes, plus Benny,” he added, wishing for the umpteenth time that Benny would agree to be his agent.
But she insisted on all-female clientele, citing her personal mission to ensure women in the industry had strong, fair representation.
There were other agents in her firm who represented men.
But they couldn’t hold a candle to the indomitable Beno?te Tambeaux.
“Their loud shenanigans in the kitchen were terrifying.” He shivered dramatically, adding, “I don’t want to know what all they were talking about, but I exited stage right when I heard someone mention the massive ‘O’ they’d had that morning.”
“Had to be Ross.” Brinder laughed, scrubbing his hand down his face. Poor dude was sporting dark circles under his eyes. Baby Jude hadn’t yet figured out his days and nights.
“I don’t know her well, but it sounded like her. Thankfully it wasn’t my baby sister.”
Brinder lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “So I shouldn’t tell you about the massive O I gave her that jump-started her labor—”
“Cease and desist!” Bash slapped his hands over his ears, earning more than a few curious glances.
He was accustomed to the furtive, starstruck glances that came with the gig and easily ignored their audience, continuing with his dramatics.
“Lalalala, I’m just sitting here thinking about Smurfs and rainbows and sparkling unicorns. Not at all hearing you. Lalalala…”
Brinder chuckled. “Uncover your ears. No details about Honor’s epic O—”
“LALALA, rainbows and Smurfs, LALALA”
“Ok, ok. Sorry, mate. I’ll be good now. I promise.” Brinder laughed, holding up his hands in the universal sign of surrender.
“Crossing the sibling TMI line! Penalty! Subject change, mate.” Bash teasingly parroted him, emphasizing the last word.
His brother-in-law had been in the States for decades but still retained a fair amount of his British accent.
And the terminology. Bash’s strong actor gene couldn’t help but copy it.
Occupational hazard. And if he could get in a friendly jab? Double win.
Focus on your Scrub Angel, jackass.
Brinder didn’t comment on Bash’s teasing, only shaking his head, lips tilted up in amusement, then smoothly continued their conversation. “Ten dollars says I know what you’re going to ask. Or, more precisely, who you’ll be grilling me about. Remy, right?”
“Holy shit, Brinder.” He paused for dramatic benefit and then stage whispered, “Yes, Remy.” A smile spread across Bash’s face. “I think I need to make an appointment to be seen by her. I’m coming down with something.”
Brinder rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “She’s an orthopedic surgeon. Not a primary care doc.”
“Ok. I’ll be right back. Just need to figure out how to tear my ACL real fast.” Bash pretended to get up, relishing the laugh that burst from Brinder. Clowns loved to generate good, honest laughter.
“Tell me everything about her. I have”—Bash grabbed his chest with one hand and fake swooned—“fallen in deepest infatuation at first sight.”
Brinder swallowed his bite, pointing his fork at Bash. “No. No no no. Absolutely not.”
“What?” Bash was all innocence.
“Don’t ‘what’ me, Bash Wheatley. I live with your sister, who can match you acting for acting, and I’m not falling for it.”
Technically, he was outmatched by his sister. At least, according to the members of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, who had awarded her two acting Oscars before the age of forty. Versus his zero Oscars.
But Bash had his golden popcorn from MTV. And a Nickelodeon Kids’ Choice Award for his rousing work in a blockbuster superhero movie.
Brinder fixed him with a firm stare that likely had cowed many over the years. “I am not doing anything to encourage you to add Arabella Remington to your list of conquests.”
Bash’s heart gave a little flop. “Arabella? That’s her first name?” He tried it out a few more times. “Mellifluous. It makes me want to say it over and over. Ideally in bed. I think she was intrigued by me. What do you think?”
Brinder snorted. “‘Happy surgerying,’” he parroted Bash in a falsetto voice.
“Hey!” Bash pointed his own fork. “Not nice.”
“No,” Brinder chuckled, “but bloody fucking hilarious.”
“’Bloody fucking hilarious,’” Bash grumbled, mimicking Brinder’s faded British accent. “It wasn’t my best moment—”
“Ya think? Dude. I thought you were this suave Hollywood leading man. That? It was more like SpongeBob.”
“Cease, husband of my sister, or I’ll banish you from the family.”
More snickers from Brinder. “It’ll be you against your sister. And my mother- and father-in-law. After all, I make your sister abundantly happy. And,” he added on an evil grin, “I turned your parents into grandparents. So I think they’re far less likely to side with you.”
“Touché, mon frere. Touché.” Bash worked on his salad for a moment in silence while Brinder greeted some of the staff. Knew them all by name. Bash would have signed more autographs, but Brinder asked table visitors to wait until after their meal.
Eventually Brinder returned his attention to their lunch and Bash seized the moment. “Tell me about Dr. Arabella Remington. Seriously.”
“Why?”
“Well, maybe she’ll be your future sister-in-law,” Bash teased.
Now Brinder really laughed. “Best of luck with that. She would chew you up and spit you out before you got her anywhere near an aisle.”
“I’d love to be in her mouth.” Bash shivered and wiggled his shoulders, grinning at the massive groan of disgust from his sister’s husband.
“Now I’m going to sing about Smurfs and rainbows, mate, just to bleach my brain of that image.” Brinder took a long swallow of water, shaking his head.
“Just a little bit,” Bash wheedled. “Tell me something about my Scrub Angel, just to wet my whistle.”
Brinder’s eyebrows flew up. “Scrub Angel? Are you trolleyed?”
“It’s my little interior nickname for your gorgeous chief of orthopedics. Smart, talented, and beautiful. Triple threat. I’ll be dreaming of her every night.”
Brinder lowered his voice, leaning in so as not to be overhead. “Don’t you dare turn my orthopedics chief into fodder for your wank bank.”
“I would never,” Bash lied, already imagining pulling that scrub top over her head and kissing his way down her ivory neck to those tantalizing breasts that even boring scrubs couldn’t hide.
“Besides, aren’t you being a teensy bit hypocritical, Dr. Desiiigh,” Bash ribbed, bringing up the nickname that had followed Brinder from hospital to hospital.
“Your sister never should’ve told you that,” Brinder grumbled. “Besides, I’m married now and crazy in love with your sister. That nickname is old news.”
“You wish,” Bash snickered. “I overheard one of your food and nutrition staff referring to you that way while she was rolling your burrito. I think she literally wanted to roll your burrito.”
Brinder froze, his burrito halfway to his mouth, a look of confused revulsion on a face Bash could admit, objectively, was handsome—even if Bash never, ever wanted to think about that face connected to any part of his sister’s anatomy.
“I’ve officially lost my appetite.” Brinder glowered at his burrito and tossed it onto his plate.
Bash threw his head back in a belly laugh that had more than a few heads turning their way with curious stares.
This was fun. Growing up, he’d always wanted a brother to tease.
But after Honor, who was a bonus baby, had been born with a congenital heart defect, his mom and dad had decided not to have any more children.
Now, thanks to his sister, he finally had a brother.
And Brinder was definitely one of the good guys.
“Come on, Brin. Eat your burrito and throw me a couple little facts.”
“Nothing good is going to come out of this,” Brinder muttered, then pointed the newly picked up burrito at Bash to emphasize his next words.
“And I’m not telling you anything personal.
Not that I know much. She doesn’t really share about her life.
” Brinder pinned him with an ineffectual glare.
“This better not come back to bite me in the arse.”
His brother-in-law heaved a deep sigh, shaking his head, before continuing.
“Arabella Remington. Goes by Remy. She’s been our ortho chief for a little more than a year.
I brought her in about a year after I was hired.
She was one of my attendings during my ortho rotation at Georgetown.
She likes Formula 1 racing. I like it, too.
One Sunday, the Monaco Grand Prix was on in the lounge.
We were between cases and watched some of it.
We bonded. She’s the one who nudged me toward radiology.
She could see how fascinated I was by all the imaging studies we had to order for our patients in the OR to ensure proper implant placement. ”
“Makes note to self to brush up on Formula 1,” Bash chimed in, pretending to write himself a note on his hand. “Married?”
“No. No spouse. She doesn’t really socialize with the Evangelist team. She put in an appearance at our big fundraiser last year, but my perception was it was only to tick the box. She came, she bid, she left. She’s board-certified in orthopedics, with subspecialty training in orthopedic trauma.”
Bash let out a low, impressed whistle. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so intrigued by a woman. Never was a strong contender. “Where does she live? Siblings? Most importantly, is she into actors?”
Brinder threw his head back and laughed. “I mean…how could she not be? She must need a break from all that ‘surgerying.’”
“Hardee-har-har, Brinder. You are a regular laugh riot.” Bash speared a piece of cucumber and popped it in his mouth, pretending he wasn’t fucking sick of healthy eating. “See if I invite you to our wedding.”