Washed Up (Bayside Heroes)

“I think you were the one supplying it,” I tease.

He grimaces. “Hopefully I didn’t embarrass you.”

“Are you kidding? I loved it. You were so passionate, so… loud.”

He laughs. “You say that like it’s a good thing.”

“It is, sometimes. I liked seeing you that way.” I pause, holding up my glass and taking a small sip before saying, “It was pretty hot, actually.”

My eyes meet his, and Greg swallows, my attempt at a joke apparently hitting the wrong nerve.

After Sunday, I understand why.

I clear my throat, sitting up taller. “Okay. So,” I say. “What the hell do I do on this date tomorrow night?”

Remind him we’re just friends.

Remind myself why it’s important it stays that way.

Greg shifts, but the animosity I saw in his eyes on Sunday night when I told him about my date with Samuel doesn’t seem to be present now. Maybe he’s realized just like I have that this is for the best.

“Just be yourself.”

“Myself is an awkward hot mess,” I deadpan. “Come on, give me some tips. Spill all your expert secrets.”

He barks out a laugh at that. “Well, I wouldn’t call someone who has gone on roughly a dozen dates an expert.”

I arch a brow. “There’s no way I’m believing that lie.”

“Hard to date when you’re in med school, and even more so when you’re establishing a reputation at a level one trauma center.”

I gape at him. “So, you’re telling me you’ve never had a steady relationship?”

“I’ve had some,” he says with a shrug. “A girl I dated for about a year in college. Another for several months when I was in my residency in Chicago. But my focus was narrow then. School and my career were all that mattered to me.”

“And now?”

He sighs. “Now, I’m ready to have a life outside of the hospital. But…” Greg’s voice fades, and he shakes his head. “This isn’t about me. Where is he taking you? Let’s start with that.”

I frown, wanting to know what he was going to say, but I let him drop it.

“Dinner at some place called Bern’s?”

He whistles. “Bern’s Steak House. Fancy.”

I blanch. “Oh, God. Is it?”

“Don’t freak out,” he says. “Just… dress up. It’s nothing too intense, but you’ll definitely have multiple courses, and more forks than they give you at Chili’s.”

I laugh at that.

“If it’s dinner, it’ll be a lot of talking. If you’re nervous, maybe think of a few questions you can ask if there’s a lull in the conversation.”

“And order wine immediately.”

Greg smiles, but it slips quickly, and he opens his mouth to say something, but shuts it again.

“What?” I probe.

“Nothing. I just…” He grabs the back of his neck, shaking his head again. “Nothing.”

“Okay… clearly it’s not nothing.”

He sighs. “Just be careful with him, Amanda. I asked Asher about him, and he’s kind of a playboy.”

I blanch, first at the fact that he asked Asher about the guy on my behalf, and then at the insinuation that I’m just another notch on Samuel’s headboard.

When I don’t say anything, Greg scrubs his jaw, continuing. “I know you’re excited about the date — about dating, in general — I just don’t want you to get hurt in the process. Not every guy has honest intentions.”

My face heats. “So, you’re saying there’s no way he could want more from me than sex?”

I don’t mean it to sound so accusatory, but my heart rate spikes, the familiar feeling of not being enough straining my throat. I can’t help but wonder if I looked more like Meadow Matthews if he’d be having this same conversation, because I hear everything he’s not saying.

She’s the kind of girl you date.

I’m the kind of girl you fuck and leave.

Through the sound of my heart beating loud in my ears, I hear Josh’s voice like a distant echo that will never cease.

You’ll never find someone who wants you.

You’re too fat for anyone else to love.

You’re lucky you have me. You’ll never find anyone else.

The only thing you’re good for is—

“I didn’t say that,” Greg says softly, his voice snapping me out of those tumultuous thoughts.

But their impact still lingers.

“You practically did,” I argue. “Let me guess, because I’m old, and thick, and obviously he could do better, I should just plan to be a one-night stand and not get my hopes up?”

Greg’s jaw drops. “What? Amanda, I would nev—”

“I should go,” I cut in, draining the rest of my beer and standing. Greg rushes to stand with me as I strip off his hoodie and hand it to him. “I’ll get an Uber.”

“I can take you home.”

My eyes find his. “I think you and I both know that’s a bad idea.”

Greg’s nose flares, his eyes pleading with me, hands fastened at his sides like he has to fight to keep from reaching out. “I’m sorry. I overstepped.”

I just nod, tearing my eyes from his.