We went in opposite directions when we left Milana's office. Sebastian took the stairwell of stolen kisses, I opted for the roundabout journey through several annexed buildings. There was no way we'd cross paths unless one of us veered off course and I really hoped Sebastian didn't do that. I had a few cases to check on before leaving for the day, but more than that, I needed a minute to straighten myself out before running into him in the foyer once again.
I'd changed out of scrubs (and the offensive t-shirt) and almost made it to the hospital exit without running into Sebastian when I spotted him waiting beside the door, his arms crossed over his chest and his foot propped on the wall behind him.
I gave him a thorough study as I passed, the sort that said I was taking in the crisp gray trousers with which he'd replaced his bruised blue scrubs as well as the white button-down he wore open at the collar. He ran a hand over his jaw to hide a smile.
He caught up to me on the sidewalk, his hands shoved deep in his coat pockets. "Tell me where you're going."
"Home," I replied, tipping my chin in that general direction.
"Next week," he growled.
"Really, does it matter?"
"The fact I've asked multiple times should serve as proof that it does matter," he said.
I shot him an impatient frown. "And why is that?"
"Because I want to know." He said this as if I was the one being unreasonable here.
"I have a conference. Okay?"
"Why the fuck are you doing that? And where is this thing? Who are you going with? Please tell me it's not just you out there on your lonesome."
We stopped at the corner, waiting for traffic to clear the crosswalk. "You don't need any of that information. Not a single bit of it. You're being"—I looked him up and down again, but this time it had nothing to do with appreciating the way his clothes hugged his body—"unnecessary, okay? You're being very unnecessary."
He pressed a hand to my back as we started across the street. "Do you have any idea what people do at these conferences?"
"Listen, I know I look good for my age—blame it on the sunscreen—but my first plastic surgeons rodeo this is not."
"People lose their minds at conferences," he continued, completely ignoring my comments. "Get some free liquor in them and they lose their damn minds."
"I'm not sure if this is good news or bad news, but liquor and I don't get along, so I won't be losing my mind." We walked up the slight incline of Beacon Hill toward our building, his hand still low on my back. "It's barely even four days. In, out, over, and I am more than capable of traveling to a professional event and back without incident."
Sebastian climbed the steps to the building, his keys in hand while he shook his head. "Then I suppose you know all about the pharma sales bros and the gross doctor dudes who leave their wedding rings at home." He held the outer door open with his shoulder while he unlocked the foyer door. "The ones who make it their goal to cheat on their wives as many times as possible. Because those assholes talk, and even though you'd probably warn them off with your screeching and all, I just want you to be aware—"
"Wow. Wow." I pressed my fingers to my temples. "How do you manage to dig a hole that deep and throw your entire body into it in less than thirty seconds? I want to know because it's so unbelievable. I want to squeeze the juice out of your brain just to study it."
"I am preparing you for your conference." He paced the foyer, his hands on his hips. "I just think you should know about the things that go on before you get there. That way you can decide, I mean, you need to decide what you're doing."
I cocked my head to the side. "What are you trying to say? That I'm going on some tropical dick-hunting mission?"
"I'm saying that you're"—he wagged both hands at my body—"this and they're assholes and—"
"You seem to know quite a bit about the behavior of men at medical conferences."
He waved that off with a dismissive hand. "Don't start with that."
"And why not? You're standing here telling me about all the guys I'm going to sleep with next week and—"
"Seriously, Shap." He stopped pacing to rub a grimace from his brows. "Take it back. Please."
"Are you…jealous?"
He shot me a scowl that could've burned this building to the ground. "Of what?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "Pharma bros? Doctor dudes with obvious wedding ring tan lines? I'm not sure." That topic hit way too close to home for me. "Why don't you explain this outburst to me?"
"Why don't you just tell me you don't plan on doing any dick hunting?"
"Regardless of what I do while I'm away, it's none of your business." I pulled my keys from my bag and turned toward my door. I couldn't watch while those words settled over him. It was bad enough feeling them twist through my belly. "I'd also like to mention that I have no problem with you taking a vacation and doing whatever the hell you want."
He crossed the foyer, set his hands on either side of my door. "You're gonna need to work a little harder if you want to convince me of that, you little liar."
Chapter 22
Sebastian
There were days when I left the hospital and I didn't have any words left in me. It was like I had a specific allotment, a number that varied daily and was never shared with me until I'd surpassed it. When I was out, I was out. The only option was passing out on the sofa after some cheerleaders and avocado, and praying I woke up with the ability to speak.
Obviously, I'd survived medical school and residency where thirty-six-hour shifts were not unheard of so I knew how to power through, though it was never with much grace. Not that I usually had much grace, but I came off like a complete ass when I was overextended.
I was out of words right now. There was no good reason for it, but I was drained and I didn't know how or where, but I found the energy to trap Sara against her front door and say, "You're gonna need to work a little harder if you want to convince me of that, you little liar."
I gripped the doorframe as hard as I could. I wasn't going to touch her until she stopped with this bullshit.
"What do you want me to say?" she asked.
"Say you're not going to a conference to get laid." I leaned in, pressed my lips to her hair. She had it tied up in another one of those buns, but she didn't seem to accept that her hair would not be restrained in that way. Add it to the list of very obvious things Sara Shapiro chose to ignore on a daily fucking basis.
With an exaggerated sigh, she dropped her forehead to the door, saying, "I'm not going to this conference to get laid. I don't like people, especially people at conferences, and I can spot cheating husbands a mile away. Not that it's any of your business, but I attend for the professional content and spend the rest of the time in my hotel room. If I didn't have to go, I wouldn't."
I wrapped my arms around her torso and kissed the side of her neck. "Poor, antisocial screech owl."