“I’ll take you up on that offer,” she says, looking at the stains on her dress again. “The smell alone is going to make me sick.”
“Memories?” Dean probes, raising his eyebrows.
“Maybe.”
“I didn’t know your nerd-friends knew how to have fun.”
Not missing a beat, she pops her hip and places a hand on the curve. “Well, between washing our Ferraris and firing our personal assistants, we’re known to have fun.”
Dean waves his hand in the air. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Be nice to the nerds because you might end up working for one.”
“Exactly. And I don’t drive a Ferrari. Or have a personal assistant. And I wouldn’t fire one unless they were doing a terrible job.” She turns to me, a smile playing on her full lips. “You brought scrubs to a bar?”
“They’re in my car. I keep an extra set or two in there. You never know what a day might bring at the hospital.”
“Oh, right.” The flush is back on her cheeks. “You’re a doctor now.”
“I am,” I reply and get out of the booth. The smell of her floral perfume is masked under the heavy scent of alcohol clinging to her skin. It wafts its way to me, teasing, making me want to lean closer and inhale.
“What do you do?”
“General surgery, for now.”
She takes a small step backward, heel sliding on the floor still slick from the spilled drinks. I reach out and catch her, pulling her to my chest to keep her from falling.
“I keep telling you ‘thanks’ tonight.” Her hands slide across my pec as she uprights herself. “And I should probably wipe that up before someone else slips.” She moves away, reaching across the table for the stack of napkins Logan left. She wipes up the floor and leads the way out, tossing the napkins in the garbage as she passes it.
We slip out the employee door, stepping onto a gravel path that takes us down to the back lot behind the bar. The heavy door swings back into place, blasting us with cool air-conditioned air once more before shutting out the cacophonous thumping of bass coming from the bar.
The sounds of early summer echo through the night and moonlight shines down on the cornfield behind us.
“What did you mean ‘for now?’” Quinn turns to me, slowly walking into the parking lot.
“I finish my residency soon. I’ve been applying for jobs and I’m not sure what I’ll get.”
“But it’ll be surgery?”
“Yeah, I’m a surgeon.”
She smiles and looks up at me. Even in heels, I’m taller than her. “That sounds cool, you know.”
“It does,” I agree, not at all attempting to hide my smirk. I worked my ass off from day one to get to where I am right now. I motion to my car and pull my keys from my pocket. “What about you? Dean said you invented and sold an app.”
“Ah, yeah. I did.” She gets a little shy, casting her eyes back down. Dean also told me how much Apple bought it for, and I’m actually surprised to find out she doesn’t drive a Ferrari or have a team of personal assistants.
“You were always smart.”
“I just like computers and coding and all that stuff Dean says is geeky.”
“So what do you do now?”
“I design the structures software systems need to operate. This week, I’ve been fine-tuning the coding standards for a program with real-time computing for a client that may or may not be the US Government.” She gets excited as she talks, face lighting up.
“Coding standards?”
“It’s the basic guidelines used when writing out the code to a new program.”
Having reached my car, we stop. I turn my head down to meet Quinn’s gaze and raise an eyebrow. “I’m not even going to pretend to understand what you do.”
She brings her shoulders up and smiles. “That’s okay. I don’t understand it either.” Her smile disappears the moment she realizes what she says, and the flush is back to her cheeks. “Actually I do. Obviously. Since it’s my job.”
I’d be lying if I said her awkwardness wasn’t part of her appeal to me.
I open the back of my Jeep and grab my bag. Being a resident doctor means shit hours, long-ass days, and even longer weeks. Two years into my residency, I got an apartment with my friend Sam, who was working his way to becoming an anesthesiologist. We were farther from the hospital than before but saved a ton on rent. I started keeping necessities in my car on the nights when we were in surgery for hours.
I shake out the blue scrub top and pants. “They’re a little wrinkled, but they’re clean, I promise.”
“As long as there’s no blood on them, I’m good.” She shakes her head, hair swishing over her bare shoulders. A few strands stick to her collarbone, still damp and sticky from the spilled drinks. If there’s ever a lesson in self-control, it’s right here and right now.
I swallow hard, talking down my cock.
“Then you’re good. They’re going to be big on you.” I hold up the shirt, using it as an excuse to run my eyes over her body.
“That’s okay. It’s better than being wet all night. Which I am. I’m soaking wet.”
Fuck. It’s like she’s trying to kill me.
“I mean, look at me.” She sticks her finger between her breasts again. “I’m all sticky. I’m pretty sure—” She licks her finger. I readjust my cock in my jeans, trying to stop it at half-mast before it gives me away. “—Yep, that’s salt from the margarita. It tastes kinda good, actually. I think I’ll go order one after this. Want one? I still feel bad I spilled those drinks on you. But ten shots? Isn’t that a little excessive?”
“There were other people at that table, you know.”
“Right. I guess I didn’t notice them.”
Her words make my heart stop, make all the air leave my lungs. I’ve felt that way for years whenever she’s around.
“But I’m sure they noticed me and the spilled drinks.”
“They noticed, but probably won’t remember.”
She smiles again, and we head back to the bar. “This is nice, you know.”
“What is?”
“Talking to you.” Gravel crunches under her heels. “We’ve known each other for years but hardly ever talked. It’s like you thought I was just an annoying nerd like Dean did and avoided me.”
I did avoid her, but it was the only way I knew how to keep my hands off her. To keep those words in my mouth and my lips away from hers. There were times I was fairly certain she had a crush on me, times she even put herself out there. But I couldn’t dare act and risk losing my friendship with Dean.
“It is nice, isn’t it?” she asks when I don’t respond.
“Yeah.”
“Maybe we can do it again sometime.”
“Maybe.”
But I can’t. Not now. Not ever.
There’s nothing more I’d rather do than spend more time with Quinn. But if I’m alone with her, I’m going to spill my guts and admit that I’ve wanted her for years. That I’ve watched from the sidelines, fighting off jealousy when she’d have a new boyfriend and how I never thought anyone was good enough for her. That she’s made me want to be a better person without even trying because being around her showed me what it’s like to be a good fucking person.
Or worse, I’ll skip all the words that’ll get knotted up in my chest and try to kiss her.
Neither of which I can do. I’m in town for my best friend’s engagement party, and I’m not going to fuck shit up by making a move on his little sister. She might have liked me years ago, but the time has come and gone.
So I do what I’ve always done: Swallow everything I feel like a big pill, forcing it dry down my throat and walk away.
3
Quinn
The air leaves my lungs and I’m left standing there, watching Archer walk up ahead of me. What the hell? Did I say something wrong? One minute we were talking, feeling like the old friends we should be, and the next he’s acting like he can’t get away from me fast enough.
It doesn’t matter. More importantly, it shouldn’t matter.