Page 61 of Exes and O's

I muffle a scream, clasping my palm to my chest. “Holy shit, Metcalfe. Why are you sitting out here in the cloak of darkness like a weirdo?”

He sets my book on his lap. “Couldn’t sleep after you woke me up. Figured I’d try finishing my book.”

“Oh.” My hand is still pressed to my chest, feeling the thrum of my heart beating wildly from the events of this strange night.

He’s looking at me, his expression unreadable. I don’t know if he’s going to chew me out for waking him up or sayI told you so. He doesn’t do either. He stands and comes toward me, making acome heremotion. “You okay?” he asks, pulling me into a hug.

I sigh into the warmth of his bare, solid chest, which is more reassuring than I’ll ever admit. My heart rate settles immediately at his touch. I wish I could close my eyes and stay here until the sun comes up and goes back down again. “I’m not cut out for that life. I don’t know how you do it. I’m exhausted, and I didn’t even get it in.”

“Please don’t sayget it in.”

“Do you prefergoing to bone town?”

“No.”

“Bumping uglies?”

“No.”

“Boinking? Bruising the beef curtains?”

He closes his eyes, pained. “Never say any of those again.”

“No promises.”

The rumble of his low chuckle gives me an overwhelming sense of comfort. “You are just...”

I peek up at him. “I’m just what?”

A brief smile plays across his lips. “Nothing. Wanna go get a greasy twenty-four-hour-diner breakfast?”

“Yes, please.”

chapter nineteen

ARE YOU ANDUncle Trev an item?” Angie so bluntly wants to know. She casts a suspicious eye at the folded red construction paper in my hand. Arts and crafts with Angie during lunch break has become a regular routine. We’re making Valentine’s Day cards today.

I’m particularly thankful for the opportunity to pretend I’m a child for an hour. Prior to lunch, we had our bimonthly NICU all-staff meeting. Seth used the opportunity to launch a number of petty, non-job-related claims.

People have been stockpiling the good Keurig pods.

People have been clogging the kitchen sink with their lunch containers.

When the meeting was adjourned, I overheard him updating another doctor in the lounge about my ex-boyfriend search after my latest social media update, boisterously delighting in the factthat I only have one ex left. He went on to ramble about how embarrassing and unprofessional it is to post these things and how I must have “scared off the other nine.”

I have a working theory that Seth suffers from youngest-child syndrome. His three older brothers are a bunch of bullies whose immediate instinct is to pretend to wrestle in any given social situation. As the smallest, he always got bulldozed. He was relegated to the scraps, the leftovers. He never got to choose what to watch on television. And because the poor lamb missed out on so many cartoons, he’ll wield his power any way he can have it.

Crystal picked up on this straightaway. The first time I brought Seth home to meet the family, he debated her on a variety of fitness and nutrition topics, brushing off her credentials because he was adoctor. The entire family was outwardly disturbed when I proposed. When we broke things off, Crystal sat me down with a prepared list of every reason Seth was wrong for me.

For the longest time, I was convinced she was just trying to make me feel better. She didn’t know the real Seth, the one who saved the lives of newborn babies on the regular and showered me with affection in those first few months of our relationship. But the more he shows off who he really is, the easier it gets.

I’m grateful to have Angie to occupy my mind and prevent me from spending my lunch hour in the stairwell, plotting revenge scenarios I’ll never have the guts to carry out.

My lips part in a blend of shock and amusement at Angie’s question about her uncle. “Me and him? An item? As in dating? No way.” I stare down at my card for Trevor. It’s totally non-romantic, or so I assumed. I’ve cut out a mini succulent in a flowerpot with a smiley face. For a dude who was vehemently opposedto my succulents, I think they’ve grown on him. In fact, he’s been watering them for me, single-handedly keeping them alive.

I’ve writtenMy Life Would Totally Succ Without Youacross the top of the card in faux calligraphy. This card screams friend-zone. At least, I thought it did. Technically, I’ve made the eyes tiny hearts. Under Angie’s critical eye, I’m now paranoid Trevor will mistake it for a declaration of love, which is the last thing I need.

“But you live together,” Angie reminds me, carefully cutting her next red heart along the pencil line.

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