“How about we go together,” he says.
I look over at him and roll my eyes.
“Fine,” I tell him, “but you just bought yourself five minutes eating my pussy before I get anywhere near your dick — oh, hi,” I say, looking up at the waitress, who’s trying to pretend like she didn’t hear anything I was just saying. “I’ll have a ginger ale, please.”
Jace is redder than before, but he eventually manages to spit out an order for a martini; shaken, not stirred.
The waitress smiles politely and walks away.
“You know what you did there?” I ask him.
“What I did where?” he asks me.
“You just ordered a watery martini,” I tell him. “When you shake a martini, the ice in the shaker chips apart and gets into the drink, making it watery.”
“Maybe I wanted a watery martini.”
“Well, in that case, it looks like you did just the thing,” I tell him. “So, are we fucking or what?”
“I think we should talk about what happened today,” he says.
“Nah, that’s all right,” I tell him. “I think I could do without that particular conversation right now.”
“Death isn’t an easy thing to deal with. It’s not easy for me, and I’m an oncologist, for Christ’s sake,” he says.
“Well, I think that was a good talk,” I tell him. “We covered all the bases, and I don’t know about you, but I feel better now.”
“Grace,” he says, “are you backing out of the trial?”
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “Can you just leave me alone about it so I can figure out what I want here?”
“Sure,” he says, “but if you don’t make a decision by tomorrow morning, you’re going to get kicked out of the trial anyway. I just wanted to make you aware of that.”
I can’t really explain why, but the idea of being kicked out of the trial sends a jolt of adrenaline through me. I have to put my hands in my lap to make sure Jace doesn’t see them shaking.
“Why would they kick me out so quickly?”
“People drop out,” he says. “This early, there are others on the waiting list who can still get in, but after tomorrow, the thing’s going to be closed to everyone but those who are already in it.”
“What do you think I should do?”
“I would have thought that was pretty clear,” he says. “I jumped through a lot of hoops to get you in there in the first place.”
“No pressure, then?” I snicker.
“I’m not trying to pressure you,” he says. “I’m really not. I was just trying to answer your question. Personally, I think it’s worth a shot, but if it’s not something you’re ready for, I’m sure there’ll be more trials down the road.”
“You wouldn’t be mad at me if I told you that I didn’t want to go through with it?” I ask him.
“No,” he says with a shrug. “I want you to have every opportunity to get better, but I’m not going to be pissed at you for backing out of a drug trial. If it was a known cure, I’d probabl
y be pretty irate, but as it is, I don’t see anything to be gained by browbeating you over it.”
It’s strange that that’s what it’s taken to get me to make a solid decision since what happened in his office earlier today.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “I’ll be there tomorrow. Same time?”
“You’ll want to show up about an hour earlier,” he says. “They did intake with almost all of the trial participants today, but since you missed that, they’re going to have to squeeze you in before everyone else starts showing up.”