Page 20 of Love Medley
At her expression, I’m immediately filled with self-reproach; I’m not sure what I could have done differently, but I must have overstepped.
“Sorry that I grabbed you like that without asking first. I just figured it would be more convincing if we were…uh…touching.”
God, I’m an idiot. I shouldn’t have reached for her, but I was just trying to help.
Lucy’s eyes immediately clear at my words, and she shakes her head. “You definitely did the right thing. Weston is a suspicious guy at baseline, so more is better in this case. I retroactively give you permission.” Then a furrow appears in her brow. “I’m so sorry, Jake. I have a terrible habit of speaking first and thinking second—yet another brilliant move in a long history of poor decision-making. I was desperate to get Weston to leave me alone, and when I saw you over there, I just blurted it out.”
“I wanted to help.” My eyes rove over her face, studying her. She looks so downcast that the words burst out before I can stop myself. “Um…not that I'm inviting myself, but if accompanying you to that dinner would keep Weston off your back, I’m in.”
Lucy’s eyes widen. “Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.” I wince at my own words. Lucy’s not the only one who lets their words run ahead of their brain. “Okay, maybe that’s too soon for poor Frank.”
Lucy giggles. “I looked him up. He’s doing okay. He ended up getting a cardiac cath to fix the blockage.”
I let out a relieved breath for more than one reason. “Good. If something bad happened to him, I was going to feel like a total asshole.”
I’m still shocked that I was so forward with Lucy—inviting myself to the Centennial like that. She can’t actually want to go to that dinner with someone like me. But she still has time to bail.
A thoughtful look appears on Lucy’s face. “Weston has been hounding me since we’ve broken up, and he’ll definitely be at the dinner because his father is on the Centennial committee. Maybe if he sees us together at a public event, he’ll believe that we’re really over and finally leave me alone.”
“I’d be happy to do it if you think it'd help.” And then my brain catches up with the conversation…wait, is she truly contemplating this? I hold my breath, waiting for her answer, trying not to wonder why the hell this means so much to me.
Lucy bites her lip. “Well, therewillbe a free full bar and a fancy dinner.”
I almost laugh at myself—fancy dinners are not exactly my jam. I've been relieved to skip the formal ones at the Whitlock mansion, after all.
But what comes out of my mouth is, “I can never refuse free food and drinks.”
Lucy takes a deep breath. “Well, if you are truly okay with this, I would really like you to be my fake date for the Centennial Dinner next Tuesday.”
So many feelings surge through my body at her words. Excitement, anticipation, relief, and yup, confusion at what all of this means.
“I accept.”
I have no idea if I'm free then, but I'll move around things if I have to. More than a small part of me wonders what it would be like if this were a real date, not a fake one.
“Is it okay if I get your phone number so we can talk about details?” Apparently, there are definite perks to this plan—getting Lucy’s digits is a nice bonus.
“Sure thing. Here, give me your phone.”
As I hand her my cell, none other than Sam strolls by.
Of course. Perfect timing. The literal clash between my past and the woman I’m very much starting to crush on. Why does the universe seem to want a laugh at my expense?
Flushing, I wave to Sam, who waves back as she continues on, presumably to her desk. Lucy glances at us, eyebrows raised as she types in her number.
“Great, I’ll, uh, call you later?” I say, massaging the back of my neck.
Before Lucy can respond, one of the ER docs calls out, “Hey, Lucy! Why don’t you see the patient in room 5?”
“Of course, Dr. Simons! I’ll head there now,” Lucy calls out and then turns to me, shooting me a wry grin. “Duty calls. Yeah, send me the deets later.” Then she pauses. “And Jake?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.” Lucy’s eyes are warm. And then she’s gone.
Jesus. What just happened?
