14
“So, how was your Thanksgiving weekend?” Eric asked, coming into my office around lunchtime. “And why are you wearing scrubs?”
“Long story,” I answered.
A really long story that I wasn’t quite sure how to explain.
I might not have ended up a Lady Who Lunched, but I always made sure to change into a professional outfit before coming into the clinic. Especially when I had back-to-back appointments like I did today.
But after spending Saturday and Sunday having marathon sex with the Dragon, I’d been awoken by a 4 am text that my double amputee vet mom had gone into early labor with twins and that I was needed at the hospital for an emergency C-section. Thank goodness I’d taken a shower before climbing into bed to finally get some quality sleep. I’d barely had time to make it to the hospital, much less to squeeze in a special trip to my brownstone in Midtown before work.
Eric’s other query was just as hard to answer. Usually, I replied to any questions about trips home with a vague, “I survived.”
But telling Eric what had gone down this weekend would require more than a quick fifteen-minute chat—which was all the time I had to spare if I wanted to get all this paperwork I hadn’t touched over the weekend done before the end of business hours.
“How was your Thanksgiving?” I asked Eric instead.
He plopped into one of my guest chairs and said, “Ugh! California was fine. But I invited the hot construction worker out to drinks when I got back on Sunday—you know, to see what he’s like upright. Turns out he’s a flat-Earther! I didn’t think those crazies came in gay. But crazy comes in every color—that’s what Bernice said when I told her that story. Anyway, drinks tonight now that we’re both single?”
“Um…”
The messaging app on my desktop dinged before I could answer that question, and I frowned when I saw the text from Garrett.
GARRETT: This weekend was crazy. Are you really planning to marry him? If so, we need to talk. Can you meet me at the brownstone tonight? There are a few more things I have to get anyway.
A part of me felt guilty. As horrible as the situation with Leighton was, me showing up with Hak-kan had to have come as a shock. And I was sure Garrett had a lot of questions.
I began to type that sure we could talk. But then I remembered what Hak-kan told me about exes and how that would make him look.
And with a weird sense of relief not to have to put in my usual performance as the nice ex, I typed back.
Already have plans. Will let you know if and when I’m free.
“Who is that?” Eric demanded when I was done typing.
“Garrett,” I answered, keeping my tone vague. “He wants to meet and talk.”
“You know that’s code for meet and try to hook up, right?” Eric asked.
“No, I didn’t know that,” I admitted. “But I honestly think he just wants to talk.”
“That’s because you keep failing to appreciate how amazing you are,” Eric insisted. “Please don’t get back together with that cheat just because you can’t see that.”
Usually, I dismissed Eric when he tried to give me compliments. As my best friend, of course, he was biased.
But today, with every inch of me sore from what Hak-kan had laid on me, I couldn’t help but believe him.…and feel a little guilty for everything I was omitting when I answered, “You don’t have to worry about me getting back together with Garrett. Trust me, that is over.”
“Great, so drinks after work?” he asked. “Bernice says she can get somebody to watch O2.”
“Sure,” I said, figuring that would be as good a time as any to explain everything that had happened over Thanksgiving Weekend.
Eric left me to my paperwork after that, but less than an hour later, he burst back through the door without knocking. And this time, Bernice was right behind him.
“Why is there a huge Chinese guy in a suit in our waiting room asking to see you?” she demanded, her eyes wide underneath the butterfly locks she’d gotten installed right before Thanksgiving.
I knew exactly who she was talking about, but I pushed past my surprise to ask, “Why didn’t you just call me to let me know he was here?”
“Because this is obviously an in-person discussion!” Eric answered for Bernice. “I saw him, too. The guy has a neck tattoo, Livvy! A neck tattoo! Where did you find him? When did you—oh my God, is this the long story behind you showing up to the office for the first time ever in scrubs?”
“Um…” That was all I said, but it was enough for Bernice and Eric to explode with their own conclusions.
“Oh my goodness, no Sunday morning service for Dr. Olivia,” Bernice guessed, shaking her head at me. “She got over Garrett by getting under Mr. Dangerous all night long!”
