Page 14 of Dr. Fellow

With a resigned exhale Cassidy says, “So . . . Parker and the boys might also be coming for a joint trip.”

The words catapult through my head like little pinballs of rage threatening to erupt through my skull.

Looking down at my empty glass, I suddenly realize that I’m not drunk enough for this conversation. I press my lips into a thin line as I signal our waiter for another round of drinks, trying my hardest to listen to the angel on my shoulder rather than the devil.

“Joint trip, as in . . . both parties together?” I finally ask, trying to mask the incredulity in my tone.

I hope to God that I’m being punked right now. That a camera crew is going to turn the corner and reveal themselves, and then we can all laugh about this over a round of tequila shots.

“Yep,” Cass confirms, looking to Claire for encouragement who just grins, knowing that pandemonium is about to ensue.

This plan has Parker Winters written all over it. The control freak can’t let her have this one thing? One single moment of fun before he ruins her life?

I could kill him.

I won’t.

But I could.

This is exactly why I refuse to ever walk down the damn aisle—you lose all sense of personal identity the moment you promise your life to someone.

“God,” I groan a little too loudly. “Can Parker just let you live for once? I swear, he has the most punchable face of all time.”

Cassidy gives me a horrified look, and I suddenly realize that I’ve gone too far.

“Kidding—I would never punch his pretty-boy face because we all know he would sue me.”

I don’t know when it happened, but my best friend seems to have lost her spine.

Where is the woman who marched into his office in January to defend Beau? Where is the woman who told him off last year in the middle of the busy ER? Where is the woman who stood her ground when he told her that she should follow his orders?

I’ll tell you where—she’s kneeling at the feet of a man who sucks the fun out of everything.

“It was actually Beau’s idea, not Parker’s,” Claire chimes in, smirking at me like she knows that I’m holding back. “So don’t be too mad.”

I take a deep breath to steady my racing pulse. While that insight does make me feel slightly better, it doesn’t change the fact that I still have to spend the entire weekend with my archnemesis.

“But you can totally still punch my brother,” she continues. “I kicked his ass all of the time when we were kids because we were super into Wrestlemania and liked to pretend that we were WWE fighters. For a surgeon, he has surprisingly horrible reflexes.”

Her story pulls me out of my rage spiral, and I let out a reluctant laugh as I glance at Cass. She’s shaking her head in resignation like she’s outnumbered by the two of us.

And she is.

I’m the President of the Parker Winters Hater Committee, and Claire occasionally votes in my favor.

“Can y’all please just be nice to him?” she pleads, darting her eyes between us. “He tries really hard.”

“That’s the problem—he tries too hard.”

“He lets loose in other ways,” Cass argues with a kinky grin.

Claire and I both pretend to gag, knowing exactly what she’s talking about.

“Add that to the list of things that give me nightmares, along with this shit show of a weekend in Vegas. Am I allowed to call in sick? Asking for a friend . . .”

I wouldn’t actually miss her bachelorette for the world, but I have to get my jabs in where I can—she knows that I mean well.

“It’s going to be the best weekend ever,” Claire sings. “All of my favorite people in the land of slot machines and bottomless beverages.”

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