Page 73 of Bad Blood

“You can’t eat sushi with a fork. That is a crime.” His playful tone sets me at ease.

I set the tray in front of me and prop it open, a smile twisting my lips. “I don’t like messes.”

“Surely you can use chopsticks. You’re a surgeon. You’re good with your hands, right?”

I shrug, egging him on, but there’s a quiver in my voice as I speak. “Just because I’m good with my hands in one way doesn’t mean I’m talented in other areas. I’ve never tried chopsticks. I prefer not to fail, so I don’t try.”

“That’s ridiculous. You don’t try new things at all?” He throws his head back, cackling.

I ignore him, stuffing a roll into my mouth, jumbling my response. “No, I don’t like to fail. And I always try new things. I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

“Touché.”

“I weigh my odds before going out on a limb. Let’s say I don’t fail well.”

“I could show you. I bet you could do some amazing things with those hands.” His offer gets him an untainted heat I can feel spreading up my neck and onto my cheeks. I let my thoughts run undisciplined. There’s something unabashed about how he’s acting toward me that has my brain in a storm of confusion. But I’m not going to let him see how he’s affecting me.

I shove the unopened chopsticks toward him. “Fine. Show me how to use the damn things.”

His knee bumps against mine as he closes the distance between us. Both of us freeze. A static awkwardness fills the air. It lasts a second too long.

Switching gears, he pretends it didn’t happen. “Give me your hand.”

He takes hold of my right hand, bending my fingers into the correct position, ignoring the sensations pulsing between us while feigning indifference.

“I’m a lefty.” I place the correct hand in his palm. I can’t shake the feeling of eyes burrowing into the back of my head as if someone is lurking in the nearby bushes. But every time I think I hear something and turn, it turns out to be nothing.

Dax follows my gaze and smiles, brushing off my unease. “That explains a lot.”

“Rude.” My tone draws attention from some of the park guests, but my focus remains on Dax.

“I meant nothing by it,” he says with a quiet laugh, a blatant attempt at lowering my defenses. He continues to maneuver my fingers. “Hold them between these two fingers and use this one for leverage.” He demonstrates the movement with his sticks after dropping my hand.

I bite my tongue and try to get the chopsticks to cooperate as I try to ignore my frustration.

“If you scrunch your face up any harder, you’re going to have an aneurysm. You don’t need to try so hard.” He tries to suppress his laughter, but he loses the battle and gives up trying to help me.

“I quit.” I hurl the sticks across the grass. I shut the container of my tray and stuff it back into the bag.

“It’s nice to see you’re not good at everything. Makes you a little more human.”

“Ouch. I should go.” I chuckle to myself. That’s a painful view for him to have of me. It makes sense with him only seeing me in one setting, but I thought my bedside manner was a little more approachable than he conveys.

I grab my bag and stand, second-guessing my decision to join Dax. I shouldn’t have given in to my want for a break from what’s going on at the hospital and crossing the line with one of my patient’s family members. I glance toward the trail and catch the eye of a couple of onlookers staring in our direction at the sound of my voice.

“You’re causing a scene,” Dax says through bits of laughter.

“Am I embarrassing you?”

“Not at all.”

“Too bad.”

“Why do you want to embarrass me?”

“Even the playing field.”

“Didn’t know this was a game. In that case, Dax, one; Brighton, zero.”

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