Page 7 of Love JD

“Which doctor?” Amos probed.

“Dr. Carraway,” Zev tilted his head with annoyance. “Does he meet your approval, oh great and mighty Doctor Brady?”

“Fine,” Amos muttered, apparently appeased.

“Excuse me.” I raised a hand. Five pairs of eyes turned on me. I swallowed a wave of anxiety. “I would like a say in this.”

“No,” Tristan and Zev said in unison. They glanced at each other like they were both equally annoyed that they kept doing that.

“We should go,” June suggested, tugging on Dr. Brady’s arm. “They can figure this out.”

He reluctantly allowed the pretty redhead to yank him away. “Call me if you need me,” he said.

Laurel followed him. “It sounds like you all have some things to work out, and I think Lachlan is going to pace a hole in the floor out there. He didn’t want to add to the mayhem.”

Thank you, Lachlan, I thought with silent gratitude. “Thanks again,” I smiled. Gathering my courage, I added, “Sorry about your wedding.”

Laurel laughed. “My daughter, Calla, busted her knee open this morning. Lachlan already had to give her stitches. You’re pretty much on par with the chaos.”

“I guess as long as you don’t get hurt, it’s all salvageable,” I offered with a bad attempt at humor.

Laurel’s face suddenly fell, and her eyes shifted to the left. “Oh, yeah…”

Zev pinched the bridge of his nose like it was painful to be around me. I couldn’t disagree with him there. Laurel left, and then I was alone with Tristan and Zev, and I tapped my fingers on the sports drink bottle nervously. I hadn’t painted my nails in a week, and they had remnants of sparkly blue nail polish in the middle of each one. Wait, how did this happen? Bring back the feisty redhead. Who’s going to buffer these two testosterone junkies?

“This doctor of yours is discreet?” Tristan asked, turning to Zev.

He shrugged in response. “It’s his profession. He won’t say anything.”

“Fine.” Tristan gave me a weary glance.

“Sorry,” I offered weakly.

“It’s not your fault,” he replied quickly.

“Uh, yeah it is,” Zev argued with a scowl. He still had his arms folded, and his biceps strained against the fabric in an undeniably enticing way. “She climbed a tree to look at fungi and passed out twelve feet in the air.”

Tristan rounded on me angrily. “You did wha—”

“Lichen,” I corrected firmly. “It was lichen.” They both stared at me like I’d grown a fungus on my face. I cleared my throat. “The… the symbiosis between the fungi and algae have diversified from their original ascomycete lineages at an accelerated rate, and I was trying to find a sample to examine the thalli.”

They were both silent, staring. Tristan looked like he might want to have me committed. Zev smugly pointed out, “So it is a fungus.”

The fact that he’d been listening to what I had said surprised me. People tended to tune me out past “symbiosis.”

“No,” I disagreed seriously. “It’s lichen.”

Zev narrowed his gaze to slits. “You’re awfully cheeky for a fainting goat.”

“You’re awfully arrogant for a neolithic meatbag,” I launched back at him. Zev’s eyes glinted, and a ghost of amusement veiled the expression.

“We’ve digressed,” Tristan droned. “Zev, can your doctor come here, then?”

“I’ll ask,” he replied, his gaze on me sharp with interest as he pulled out his phone. “Give me a minute.”

He left the room, and I gave Tristan a “help me” look. He shook his head, sighing, and sat down at my feet. He lifted the ice pack on my ankle, winced, and replaced it. “You climbed a tree?”

I stretched my mouth guiltily. “Sorry.”

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