Four Chambers: Power of the Matchmaker Page 7
“Huh.” Adam eyed me with new interest. “I had you pegged for the doctor’s kid . . . a sort of take your daughter to work day thing, but really? You’re a full on med student?”
“Is there a reason you're working so hard to insult me?”
I expected him to make a crack on my height again, or maybe something about girls not finishing school—something my father said all the time—but he didn’t. Instead, his smile widened and his eyes focused in. “My mistake.”
He held my gaze, even when several other students jostled to get around him in the narrow aisle. “Everett still can’t invite you to our party.”
Like he had any right to say what Everett could or could not do? Like he had any right to determine what I would do? His words shook some sense back into me. A pretty boy would just throw off my jam.
“I can—” Everett started to say, but Adam spoke over the top of him.
“He can’t because I’m inviting you.”
I stared at Adam, whose arrogance lost him beauty points. Everett also stared with an anger that gave off actual heat. I snorted. “Does that kind of approach usually work for you?”
Adam blinked and actually twitched his head back a little. He had definitely expected that insulting me and then talking over a person who was obviously already an acquaintance of mine would work for him. That crap might have worked when I stood blinking in my first semester of actual college, but not anymore. He must not have dated many educated women.
The only thing to do at such a bizarre moment was to loop my arm in Everett’s and say, “I’m really sorry, Adam. Maybe next time. I’ve already committed to spending some time with my dear friend, Everett.”
Everett’s eyes traveled from where our arms linked together to my eyes as if he wasn’t quite sure what had just happened. I smiled up at his confused face.
“Right,” Everett confirmed, not taking his eyes off of mine. “Her dear friend.”
“Oh.” Adam also looked confused, but likely because no one had ever turned him down before. “Right. You two knew each other from before then?”
I answered since Everett seemed reluctant to explain our personal connection and situation. “Yes. From before.”
Adam waited for more of an explanation, but when I didn’t give him one, he shrugged, said, “Oh. Well good for you, Evs, I didn’t know you had it in you,” and wandered off.
“Evs?” I asked once Adam was out of earshot. “You go by Evs now?”
“Only with Adam, but only because he doesn’t care how often I remind him that it isn’t my favorite nickname.” His eyes trailed back to our arms.
Flushing hot, I jerked my arm from his and took a step back as if he’d been on fire and I was afraid to get burned. “Sorry. I was just trying to get out of a date.”
“Yes. You got out of one date and got yourself into another. Score one for team Evs.” He grinned at me—a look so him and so entirely missed that I couldn’t help but smile back.
“Team Evs, huh?”
“It’s growing on me. So what time should I pick you up and what’s your address?”
Jani, one of the girls from last year’s study group said goodbye and waved at me. I waved back and then decided I really did want to know how Everett ended up with a shadow. “So what’s the deal with you and the other transfer student?”
Everett nodded. “We were kind of a package deal. His dad is owed a lot of favors in the medical community. I’m his babysitter.”
I grunted. “In this modern day, that sort of thing can still happen?”
“What thing do you mean? The grown man with an au pair or the handshakes reeking of undeserved favors for prominent daddy’s boys?”
“When the rest of us have worked hard to get where we are, that sort of thing really—”
“Shh.” Everett cut me off since the rant had taken a fairly loud pitch. He took me by the arm and let me out into the hallways and down the stairs to the front entrance. “Those handshakes were made by a few people in this administration. You don’t want to condemn too loudly. Where’s your car? I’ll walk you to it.”
I pointed in the direction of my car, and he set us off at a meandering sort of pace, as if he was an old man on his last walk ever. The thought startled me a little in light of the fact that we’d left a hospital filled with old people who might very well never leave. How did geriatric doctors do it? How did they work day in and day out at that end of life when all of biology was working against them?
I frowned and shook off my own morbid thoughts. Doctors existed to give biology a run for its money. “So Adam . . . What’s his story?”
“He’s a playboy.”
When Everett didn’t explain any further I said, “Huh. Short story.”
“He trifled with someone’s daughter at Tufts. He didn’t get kicked out so much as he was asked to leave. We were roommates there. When he got transferred, and I expressed a sort of interest in transferring as well, since rotations here will allow more in-depth training and study, they moved us both. Kind of a last shot for him and a new shot for me.”
“That’s kind of pathetic, you know. Not for you, but for him.” We arrived at my car. “And you’re okay with this situation?” I asked, surprised at how disappointing it was to be at a place of parting so soon.
He smiled. “It’s a good opportunity. And now that I have a date with the elusive Andrea without an E, it’s become a great opportunity.”
I laughed. “Smooth.”
He leaned against my car. “So, you never gave me your address.”
“Yeah. About that . . .”
“We had a deal. No give backs.” He put his hand on my arm, the barest, softest sort of touch.
His eyes, so open and trusting and familiar, made my brain stutter on the words I meant to say.
We stood there for what seemed like forever, our eyes locked, our skin connected by his hand on my arm. “So what’s party dress code?” I asked, pulling away, knowing that if I allowed myself to stay exactly as we were, I’d do something impulsive and not smart. How long had it been since I’d felt the basic human contact of something as simple as an embrace?
Too long.
“Casual. Jeans. Shirt. Shoes. Socks. Actually, socks are probably optional, but it’s gross not to wear them, so you totally should.”
I pulled out my car keys from my bag. “Huh? Never would’ve pegged you for an anti-sock guy. I’ll text you my address. What time?” I looked back at him to find him staring.
“I’ve missed you, Andra Stone.”
Everett moved closer to me—completely invading my personal space. The warmth of his energy made my heart kick up the tempo a notch or two. Had he asked me a question? Said something? Oh, that’s right. “Missed me?” I said to prove I was listening.
“So missed you. And I’m glad you changed your mind about accepting a date with my narcissistic roommate.”
I growled at him. “Hey! I’ll have you know that I didn’t have to change my mind about anything. I had my mind made up from the beginning.”
“I saw the way you looked at him.” He was still in my space and it felt like he was closing in.
Was it a hot day outside? Was there too much humidity?
“Looking doesn’t mean anything. Appreciating a piece of art in a museum doesn’t mean you’re going to stick it in your handbag and haul it home.”
“Oh, I know. And I’d feel a little hurt by the whole thing except you looked at me in kinda the same way. Maybe, Andrea without an E . . .” He hefted his messenger bag strap over his shoulder and settled his gaze so firmly on me that I couldn’t deny looking at him in the same way.“Maybe you missed me, too.”
He leaned in like he might kiss me. I stiffened, not sure what to do, but the lean blew past me as he scooted by and on down the road.
I exhaled a deep breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding and was surprised to find that I felt shaky. “Punk,” I muttered when he was far enough to be out of ear shot.
“Total punk,” I said again.
How could he do that to me? Everett Covington always managed to cut me open and carefully carve out all the feelings I kept tucked away with the skill and precision of a master surgeon.
And I had a date with him
Chapter Eight
Getting ready for my date became the first hurtle to jump. Evil-roommate-Becky occupied the bathroom.
“Becky?” My knuckles thumped the peeled paint of the door. “I need the bathroom. I have to get ready.” I called through the wooden door that was so scratched up it appeared to have been through many such conflicts with evil roommates.
“I’m in the tub!” she called back. The noise from her tablet betrayed the fact that she wasn’t just in the tub, she was in the tub and binge watching the TV series Gossip Girl.
“But I really need to get ready. I’ll be in and out again in less than fifteen minutes. I promise.”
She gave no reply.
I thumped my knuckles against the door again. “Becky? Please?”
At the sound of water draining through the pipes, the tension in my shoulders released and I closed my eyes in silent gratitude. Maybe I’d been wrong about Becky. Maybe she wasn’t evil.
I hurried to my bedroom, stepped out of my professional clothes, taking great care to hang the lab coat and smooth it down so it didn’t wrinkle in my closet, and slipped on a robe, hastily tying the sash at my waist. I grabbed my toiletry kit from the hiding place behind a stack of medical books and trotted back to the bathroom, expecting to see the door open and light from the bathroom window spilling into the hallway.
The dark hallway provided the first clue.
I frowned, stepped back up to the closed door, and pressed my ear against the wood. Was that the sound of . . . “Becky!” I called and thumped some more.
“What do you want now?”
“I thought you were getting out. I heard the water draining.”
“No, I’m not getting out. I told you I was in the tub. The water just got cold. I needed to refill it.” She must have turned up the volume because the voices from the TV show became suddenly louder.
“Are you serious?” I called, even knowing she could never hear me over the noise of her speakers and the water running. Why did her actions surprise me? She was evil-roommate-Becky. Of course she was serious.
Thinking thoughts that were less than charitable, I used the kitchen sink to wash my face and brush my teeth. Since washing my hair had been yanked from the equation, I twisted it back into a sloppy up-do that I knew would look nice and hide the fact that my hair hadn’t been washed for a couple days.
The truth was that I'd planned on doing exactly what evil-roommate-Becky was doing. I figured spending the evening after my first day of clinicals in a tub, soaking and studying, would be relaxing.
And here I was going out, not relaxing at all.
What is the point of going out?
The question plagued me like liver spots plagued the old guy who’d man-handled me earlier that day.
Dr. Niles and Dr. Liechty stressed several times throughout the day the importance of making relationships and forging friendships with our fellow students and with the hospital staff, but relationships didn’t mean dating. Dating complicated everything. Complications were . . . well, complicated.
Could I handle complicated?
I didn’t know.
But I continued through the process of getting ready anyway. Because really, going out spared me the anguish of hating evil-roommate-Becky for being in the bathtub all night. This way, I would only be faced with despising her for the short time it took me to get ready.
Leaving the apartment was the absolute best gift I could give myself.
Soon, I would be able to luxuriate in having my own space in my own apartment where there would be no knuckle-thumping on doors. There would be no cold-water showers. There would be no discovering someone drank all my milk when I wanted a bowl of cereal. Soon, I would have the apartment of my dreams: one not inhabited by anyone else.
All I had to do was survive the next few days or weeks. There was a light at the end of this tunnel. The light wasn’t a train and the tunnel wasn’t so long that it felt impossible.
The doorbell gave a pathetic squawk, alerting me to the fact that someone stood on my front porch. Everett was a little early—perfect. Getting out faster was perfect.
“Your bell sounded like I twisted its arm behind its back when I rang it,” Everett announced as soon as I opened the door.
“Yeah. It does that.” I shrugged and grabbed my pocketbook from the side table, not daring to leave it where roommates might get hold of it.
“No, seriously.” Everett shot a parting look to the doorbell and then reached out and turned the knob that buzzed it again. “I don’t think I’ve ever had to twist a bell before, and did you hear that noise it made?”
I nodded and scooted him forward down the sidewalk.
“It was almost like it cried uncle while sobbing big, fat tears. I actually feel guilty for inflicting pain on a doorbell. How can you stand it? I’d clip the wires and put a sign up telling people to knock. Listening to that thing cry and whine at me anytime someone came to visit would give me a case of anxiety.”
I laughed. “The bell is such a small thing in comparison to the people who do not just come to visit, but live there permanently.”
“Bad roommates?” he asked.
“Let’s just say that I either need to hire an exorcist or move out.”
“Sorry.”
“Just get me out of here.”
He draped an arm over my shoulder and walked me out to the car. “That, I can do.”
I wasn’t uncomfortable under the weight of his arm. I wasn’t uncomfortable in his presence. We fell into step, not just there on the sidewalk leading to his car parked on the road, but mentally, emotionally . . . like no time had passed.
I felt grossly uncomfortable with how comfortable he made me feel.
Which made no sense at all.
Once in his car and heading to wherever the enigmatic get-together was located, I turned in my seat. “So tell me the deal with the troll who thinks that insults are the same things as pick-up lines.”
Everett shrugged. “Not much to tell really. Not more than I’ve already told you anyway.”
“There has to be something more. After all, you transferred schools. That doesn’t happen very often.”
Everett took his eyes off the road for a moment longer than would be considered safe and locked his gaze on mine.
I froze under the intensity of his stare, hot shivers coursing under my skin.
He focused back on the road, releasing me from a moment that was . . . whatever it was.
“Let’s just say I had incentive to make the transfer.”
Did he transfer for me?
No.
Of course not.
How narcissistic could I possibly be to make that assumption? I deleted the thought almost as immediately as it entered my head.
He couldn’t have made such a huge change and moved away from colleagues who knew him, who could help him climb the political mountain that comes with medical school, who could talk him up to other colleagues who could give him preferential treatment in placement at a hospital of his choice.
“I actually transferred at the advice of a brilliant doctor who has since moved into administration. She told me that a true surgeon of the heart always follows his heart.”
“Sounds like an old proverb.”
“Miss Pearl is Chinese . . . well, of Chinese heritage anyway. She almost insisted I make the transfer. She all but packed my bags for me. She promised me that my every happiness depended on my transfer.”
He turned the car onto the freeway.
“She sounds more like a fortune teller than a medical doctor,”
I said, noting the direction we traveled seemed far too out of the way to be an intimate get-together among our classmates. “Who picked the location of your party?” I asked.
Everett sneaked a little apologetic side grin at me. “We’re not going to the party.”
“What?” I straightened in my seat. “I thought the party was the whole point of this evening, to get to know each other and make friends with our classmates so that we were all on the same team. Isn’t that what Dr. Niles wanted from us?”
His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, the first sign that I’d punched a hole through his confidence. “I’ve made the mistake of letting a roommate cozy up to you before I gave myself a sporting chance. I just wanted to . . .” he fumbled for the right words, “. . . hit the reset button.”
When I dropped my head to the side and raised my hands palms-up in question, he started again. “Andra, you have to know that I like you, that you’re important to me, that you are all I’ve thought about when I allowed myself to consider dating again. When Miss Pearl asked me if I had anyone in my life, anyone special, I couldn’t help myself. I blabbed all about you and how great you are—how you inspire me with the way you handle parents who are less than supportive, how you help your fellow classmates—even when teachers graded on a scale and your classmates were technically your competition. And you never even complained if they managed to score higher than you on exams. You congratulated them. You knuckle-bumped them and encouraged them with the next new hard concept that they would never understand without you there, explaining and mentoring. And I know I’m rambling . . . and maybe that’s because you’re a captive in my car and I feel like I might never get this chance again, but I wanted to start over, reset—even if that means just being friends. I’d rather be miserable with you in my life, than lost without you.”
He finally stopped, whether to breathe or whether he just ran out of things to say, I didn’t know. Had Everett ever said so many words all at once?
I’m not sure what my reaction was. I felt overly warm but a little bit cold, too. I shivered. Was I too cold? Maybe I was coming down with something. Hospitals were terrible places to work when my immune system was down due to lack of sleep.