Page 72 of Doctor Hot Mess

“Sure, sure,” he says, propping his chin on his hand. “Except, but it sounds like a military installation, not a romantic relationship.”

I pause, realizing he’s right. Damn him. “Semantics. I would like to define it more romantically, but I'm being realistic. Can we just move on from what I'm calling it? Hell if I know what it is.”

“Yes, of course,” Mason says, waving his hand as if to say, “obviously.”

“But isn’t daydreaming and overblowing it half the fun?”

“It’s not fun,” I say, resting my elbows on the table. “It’s... a lot. We’ve been friends for years, and now, suddenly, it’s different. I don’t even know what this is. And he doesn’t, either. We haven’t talked about it since that first or second night stand. Since we slept together again for the first time.”

“Yet you keep ending up in his bed,” Mason points out, arching an eyebrow. “Interesting.”

I groan, burying my face in my hands. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m helping more than you think,” he says, leaning forward. “Listen, babe, you’re overthinking this. Shocking, I know. But if Jonah’s showing up, if he’s letting you in—even a little—that’s not nothing. You know how he is.”

“I do,” I admit, lowering my hands. “That’s what scares me.”

“Of course it does,” Mason says, his voice softer now. “But you don’t get to control everything, Harper. Sometimes you just have to take the leap and see where you land.”

I stare at him, torn between wanting to hug him and throw my mimosa in his face. “Why do you always have to be right?”

“Because I’m fabulous,” he says, flashing a grin. “Now, eat your salad and tell me more about the romantic parts.”

7:10PM

My phone ringsand pulls me out of the haze I’ve been in after binge-watchingSurvivorepisodes. I glance at the screen: Jonah Bellinger.

I hesitate for a beat before answering, instinctively smoothing my hair like he can somehow see me through the phone. “Hey, you,” I say, my voice still a little hoarse from hours of yelling at the T.V. “How are you?”

He’d texted me earlier while I was at lunch with Mason, mentioning his meeting with the attorney. That was supposed to start at 4:30. If he’s just getting done now, he must be completely wiped out.

“Hey,” Jonah replies. His tone is lighter than I expected, but there’s a thread of exhaustion beneath it. “You up for a walk? I need to clear my head and get some fresh air.”

I glance at the clock and then at the empty spot on the couch where I’ve been glued for hours. My schedule’s wide open until Sunday, so there’s no reason to say no. Plus, I want to see him.

“Sure,” I say, sitting up and stretching. “Do you have somewhere in mind?”

“There’s that park a few blocks from your place. I can swing by, and we’ll walk together. It’s a nice night.”

“That sounds perfect,” I respond with more enthusiasm this time. I stand and stretch again, shaking off the stiffness in my muscles. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes. Does that work?”

“I’m already on my way. See you soon,” he says.

Jonah pulls up to the pool house just as I’m slipping on my sneakers. I step outside, waving as he steps out of his car.

I almost swoon when I see him. His strapping broad shoulders and strong hands peek out from under a long-sleeved athletic shirt and joggers that hug him like they were made for him. Has he always had this effect on me?

He smiles almost sheepishly, and I'm certain I haven't always felt like this at the sight of him. But I'm feeling it now. Dear God, he is a handsome man.

“Perfect timing,” I say as I walk up to him and give him a side hug. “Did you run out of places to pace at your condo?”

His smirk is faint, but it’s there. “Something like that.”

We walk side by side down the block toward the park. The cool evening air is peaceful and nice against my skin. Jonah seems distracted, keeping his head tilted down as if he’s mulling over something he can’t quite put into words.

I've given him space the whole walk here. He called me for company, so now I'm thinking he wants me to probe a little.

I lock my arm around his and nudge him lightly in the ribs with my elbow. “You gonna tell me what’s on your mind, or do I have to start guessing?”

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