Page 59 of The Doctor's Truth

“It’s the middle of the night!” I snap as I finally manage to wrestle the vibrator into my pocket. “In winter! You can’t just…climb into people’s bedrooms! If you’d gotten hurt…”

“Would you have cared?” he asks bluntly.

“Of course I care!”

“You’re not answering my calls. Or texts.”

“You know, some men would take that as a hint…”

Was that too harsh? Some of the boyish mischief dies from his eyes. He sobers up then, giving a nod. “I know. And if you want me to leave you alone after this…I will. I promise.”

My boiling rage lowers to a simmer. When you peel back his reckless and silly antics…it’s clear that he’s just uncomfortable.

“I want to invite you to our New Year’s party.”

“What in the hell would make you think I’d want to go to a party with you?”

“Because there’s something here. I know there is. And I need you to give me another chance. Just one. Please.”

“Oh, go with him, Kenzi!”

I nearly scream. I swivel around to see my mom standing in her own robe, peeking in through my cracked-open bedroom door.

Jason lifts his hand in a half wave. “Hey, Missus P.”

“Hello, darling. Did you shave your beard?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“It’s a lovely look.”

“Thanks—”

I throw up my hands. “Oh my God! Let’s just invite the whole island to my bedroom!”

Jason pulls his lips together. “Ten p.m. At the Anchor. Totally casual. Locals. Karaoke. You can bring Otto.” Those blue eyes drink me in. “Just think about it. All I ask.”

“I’ll think about it,” I say.

But I keep my arms tight around my chest. I’m not budging.

“Okay.” That, at least, has brought a little bit of the hopeful spark back to his eyes. He jabs his thumb over his shoulder toward the window. “Well, I’ll just see myself out—”

“The door, please. Like a human.”

Jason slips past me. He gives Pearl’s shoulder a pat as he exits. “G’night, Missus P.”

“You should go,” my mother urges in an urgent whisper as I take the door from her, gently closing it. “I’ll watch Otto. It will be perfect—”

“I’ll think about it. Good night, Pearl.”

Finally, I close everyone out.

I exhale. Count to three.

I go back into the bathroom. My wineglass is still there, the bath still drawn.

I’m wound tight. Frustrated. But the mood is killed, and my bath is cold.

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