Page 62 of Doctor Enemy

“Maybe we’re just celebrating not having to work a double,” says Amanda.

Cara says, “That could be it, you never know.”

“I doubt it,” I say. “Come on, can’t you just give me some kind of a hint?”

“We’re just getting tacos,” says Amanda, with a laugh. She leads the way to her car, a recent purchase. She had been driving a large, bulky van to help transport her brother while he was in a wheelchair, but now that he’s up and walking on his own again, she’s been able to upgrade to a small, sleek black thing.

There’s always that bit of hesitation when I have to first get into the car. I’m better about riding in the backseat–or about riding with Kurt. He holds my hand through the long drives and something about that always makes me feel better.

In absence of him, I let Cara take shotgun and I slide in the back. We’re all still wearing our scrubs.

I point out, “Literally twenty minutes ago, Cara called them Celebration Tacos.”

“Oops,” mutters Cara, utterly damning the both of them. My eyes narrow.

What aren’t they telling me?

No amount of pushing or prodding gets any actual answers from them.

Eventually, I’ve got no choice but to let the subject drop. I can tell that it’s nothing bad. The two women keep trading amused looks with each other the whole drive out there, and Cara keeps the car filled up with chatter by telling us about the guy that she went out with last week.

Some hot-shot lawyer that was hotter than coals but couldn’t figure out how to actually get her off when they made it into the bedroom.

Amanda, laughing, says, “I’ve never had that problem.”

“What about before Jackson?” Cara asks.

“Nope. I’ve always had it lucky when it comes to that. And, you know—” Her cheeks go a little pink. “Jackson’s no slouch.”

Cara says, “This idiot must have thought that all it took to get a girl off was a little tickle and a half-good fuck. I mean, he was hot. But the whole night was a waste.’

Amanda points out, “Maybe you should stop sampling the menu so often and just stick with the guys that work.”

I add, “She might be right. Don’t you have anyone that you keep going back to?”

Cara shrugs. “I did, for a while. But he doesn’t live in Seattle anymore.”

Amanda asks, “Ooh, does mystery man get a name at least?”

“Sal,” says Cara. “And before you ask, yes, he was incredibly Italian. He worked at Mercy General for a little bit, but he got a transfer back to a hospital in Boston so he could be closer to family. And no, it wasn’t anything serious.”

Amanda points out, “It must have been at least sort of serious, or you wouldn’t have brought him up.”

The tires catch on a pothole, shaking the whole car. It makes my breath catch.

“Sorry,” says Amanda, glancing at me through the rear-view mirror. The world rushes past us, bright flashes of color as buildings blur into nothing but light smears. I swallow down my nerves and stare at my feet.

“It’s fine,” I insist. “So, this Sal guy?”

Cara groans, throwing one arm out the rolled-down window. “You know, I wouldn’t have mentioned it if I thought that you two would go dogging after it.”

Amanda points out, “We wouldn’t be dogging after it if you weren’t being super transparent about still being into this guy. I mean, let’s be honest here. If you didn’t actually have at least a teeny bit of a thing for him, you would have already spilled out all the dirty details straight down to his dick size.”

Cara snorts and pointedly looks out the passenger side window. I use my thumb to adjust how the seat belt is pressing into my shoulder and tell Cara, “She’s totally right. I’ve never seen you get tight-lipped over anything.”

“Alright,” says Cara. “Let’s go back to dodging questions about the Celebration Tacos.”

“Cara!” Amanda scolds. “Seriously?”

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