I cut a disbelieving look at Dean.
He sticks out his bottom lip in a flirty way that does absolutely nothing for me. “I just need an hour.”
“An hour?” I groan, pressing my hand to my forehead. “My shoulders are already sore from how tense that asshole makes me. He has it out for me, and I don’t want to sit with him for an hour.”
“He doesn’t have it out for you. I’m telling you, Lynsey. I think he likes you.” Dean waggles his brows playfully. “But more importantly, Max is a hard man to get face time with, and he seems eager to talk.”
“Seriously, Dean. Go talk to him. You don’t need me to do this.”
“Yes, I do. This is your big night, and you didn’t get all dressed up to go home now.” He pins me with a pleading look. “I’ll buy you a giant charcuterie board and all your drinks. Then, as soon we’re done here, I’m your wingman for the rest of the night.”
I stare at his apologetic, hopeful expression. It seems so desperate.
Hell, I am on a serious budget, and I can’t say no to charcuterie to save my life. “You promise it’ll be just an hour?”
“One little hour!” He winks flirtatiously at me.
I’m so going to regret this.
Two and a half hours later, I’m two sheets to the wind. Or is it three sheets to the wind? What do sheets really have to do with this saying anyway? Is it in reference to the hours you drink alcohol? The quantity of drinks consumed? The number of times an image is multiplied in your vision? Hell if I know!
I just know that I’m tipsy and playing a fun game of building a cute little cabin using toothpicks as fasteners with the pretty cheese on the charcuterie board. It’s like a gingerbread house but with meat and cheese.
Inspiration strikes when I spear a row of green olives up the length of a toothpick and attempt to stick it onto the top of my meaty house for a chimney. Sadly, the roof can’t withstand the weight, and my entire creation crumbles along with my hopes of this evening not being a big pile of suckage.
I glance across the booth and catch Josh glowering at my art like the big, bad wolf who blew the three little pigs’ houses down. He kind of looks like a wolf with his eyes narrowed like that—a big, bad wolf I’d let eat me. All. Night. Long.
Good Lord…I really do need a psych evaluation.
What is it with this guy? When did a man with a stink face become something I was attracted to? This has to be tipsy Lynsey talking. Sober Lynsey doesn’t think thoughts like that about Dr. Dick.
Speaking of the good doctor…that bastard has been ignoring me all damn night. He hasn’t directed a single word at me since I slid into the booth across from him. And the more I drink, the more his broody silence grates on me.
“I’m so sorry Lynsey,” Max states out of nowhere, ripping my eye contact from Josh to him. “I’ve been talking business with Dean all night, and I haven’t had a moment to ask anything about you.”
I blink, trying to focus on his words and not Dr. Dick’s hot stare. “Sorry, what?”
“Tell me about yourself.” He smiles politely. “Are you from Boulder?”
“I am.” I give a slow nod.
“Oh, what high school did you go to?”
I smile awkwardly. “I was lucky enough to go to a Catholic school.”
Max nods knowingly, and an awkward silence descends. Dean drapes his arm over the back of the booth behind me and offers, “Lynsey just finished her master’s thesis today. That’s why we’re out celebrating.”
“Impressive,” Max replies genuinely, but I’m distracted as I notice the way Josh scowls at Dean. “What’s the topic of your paper?”
I shrink in my seat from the attention. I’ve been living in my cheese cabin world for the past hour, so answering responsible adult questions is hard after all those Birds and Bees I’ve consumed. Plus, Josh’s heavy gaze bores in on me now, further befuddling me.
I swallow and muster my most sober voice. “The medical benefits of group therapy for chronically and mentally ill children.”
Max’s expression goes somber, and his eyes flick over to Josh for a brief second. “That’s an…interesting topic. Are you pre-med?”
“Good God, no,” I reply quickly and then straighten to answer a bit more professionally. “I’ll be getting my MA in child psychology provided my paper doesn’t completely suck and I fail. I want to focus more on the emotional care of children than the medical. I’m a content person, not technical…if you know what I mean.”
Dean drops his arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze. “Lynsey is just being modest. She’s brilliant, and she’s going to make a great counselor.”
“Are you hoping to open your own practice?” Max asks, his brows lifting.
I shrug. “Eventually, yes. I have some big ideas for the future, but first I want to find a job that gets me more field experience with kids. I need to know what it’s like to actually work with children before I plunge headfirst into my dreams.”
“It’s good to have dreams. Don’t ever settle,” Max replies and takes a sip of his whiskey before adding, “Do you have any children of your own?”
“I wish!” I laugh and then cringe at how eager I must sound. “Sorry…I just…I love kids. My sister has two little girls, and I love spending time with my nieces. Honestly, I love spending time with all kids. I’m one of those weirdos who will offer to hold someone’s child at an airport if they’re by themselves and struggling with the baby and their luggage. You see it a lot actually. This one time, I got to hold a woman’s baby on the plane for the entire journey while his mom napped. It was magical. The little guy loved me.” I close my eyes for a brief second to relive that wonderful flight.
When my lids lift, Josh’s eyes bore into me with disdain.
Did I make some sort of offensive joke without realizing it?
I do my best to ignore him as I finish my train of thought. “But sadly, I don’t have any children. Or a husband. Or a boyfriend, for that matter. I think you kind of need one of those to get the other.”
Max laughs. “That’s not always the case.”
I smile, grateful that at least he doesn’t seem offended by my love of children. “Well, I’m certain a career working with kids will fulfill me a great deal.”
Josh expels a dry laugh from the other side of the booth, and everyone’s attention turns to him.
“Something funny about what I just said?” I splay my hands on the table to stop myself from smacking the smug expression right off his face.
He watches me for a moment while all signs of humor drain from his features. “Nothing funny about that at all. It’s sad actually.”
“Sad?” I jerk back. “What could possibly be sad about working with kids?”
“It’s just that…” He pauses to lick his lips and prop his elbows on the table, leveling me with a condescending expression. “Typically, people who obsess over children don’t have enough experience with them. So, I sincerely hope you know what you’re getting yourself into with that specialty.”