Page 34 of The Grumpy Doc's Surprise Delivery

“All week. Sure, I’ll accept that. And why has that been?”

“Because I haven’t been coming to work.” I know exactly what conclusion she’s trying to drive me towards, and I refuse to indulge her.

“And,” she says, and I can hear the grin in her voice. “It’s because you’ve been hanging out with Liam.”

“All right, so maybe it is. So what? Whatever it is between us doesn’tmeananything. Thereisn’tanything between us.”

“It doesn’t have tomeananything,” she says. “Just go and have some fun. He’s not going to care what you wear, especially if it’s not serious. He probably won’t even notice. What else are you going to do instead? Stay in your room and watch TV? Go for drinks. Maybe there’ll be a guy there that you hit it off with and you can take him back with you.”

“You’re scandalous,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I’m not on vacation for that reason.”

“You could be.”

I roll my eyes even harder. “Fine, okay, I’ll go for drinks. But only if you tell me, do I wear the green blouse or the black crop sweater with sparkles?” She knows my wardrobe better than I do, so I don’t need to explain things any better than that for her to know what I’m talking about.

“Sweater,” Phoebe says without hesitation. “Sparkles scream fun. Blouse screams stuck-up.”

“Does not,” I say with a frown. “You’ve told me that’s my most fun blouse.”

“It is, but the most fun blouse does not serve the same function as the most fun sweater. You’ll look like you’re trying too hard in the blouse.”

“Remind me why you’re my best friend again?” I huff.

“Because without me, you’d be totally boring.”

I chuckle, unable to keep pretending to be mad. That’s true enough. Without Phoebe, I wouldn’t have a social life at all.

Half an hour later, I descend to the bar in the black sweater with sparkles and high-waisted black pants that fall loosely around my ankles and almost look like a skirt from the right angle. Liam is already waiting for me at the bar, wearing yet another Hawaiian shirt.

He grins and waves at me when he sees me. “Hello there. You look good.” He says it almost stiffly, but by now I know him well enough to know that’s the highest compliment he can think to give.

“Thank you.” I smile. “How many of these shirts do you own?”

I gesture at his shirt, and he shrugs. “Six or seven. I only have a few with me.”

“Have you ever thought about anything less loud?”

“Nope,” he says. “I think they’re fun.”

“Fun?”

He pushes a drink towards me, ignoring my ongoing disdain. “Here you go. Cocktail.”

“What’s in this?” I ask, looking at it suspiciously.

He peers at it too. “Tequila?”

“Good enough,” I say, dragging it closer to me and lifting it to my lips to take a sip. It has a bite, but it’s also fruity and sweet. It’s good.

“How are your legs feeling?” he asks. When I roll my eyes at him, he huffs. “Not like that.” Then, before I can say anything else, he adds, “I mean, mine are aching, that’s all. Yours must be too.”

“They’re not too bad,” I say. “I’m used to being on my feet all the time.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. Still, walking feels like it uses completely different muscles than standing and performing surgery. I could do that for hours.”

“True.” I nod. “Sometimes you get out of the OR and your feet are so numb that you can’t even feel them, right?”

“Right! Some days I sit down and feel like I’m never going to get up again.”

---