Crossing the Line

by Kendall Ryan

  “That sucks,” Teddy says.

  I nod. “That it does. Like I said, we had fun.”

  “You’re not usually one to give up so easily, though. So, what gives?” Owen asks.

  I sigh out an exhale. “Not giving up. Just wanting to respect her space. If she says she doesn’t want anything more, I have to be okay with that, right?”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” Owen says.

  Landon lets out a loud groan. “Damn, chicks are confusing. I take back everything I said about wanting a girlfriend.”

  We all laugh, but my laughter sounds hollow, and I wonder if the guys can tell how much I wish things could be different between me and Bailey.

  Because Bailey as a girlfriend? That would be pretty freaking amazing.

  18

  * * *

  Open in Case of Emergency

  Bailey

  Of the dozen or so internal medicine residencies I applied to, the family medicine clinic at William Simmons was by far the most competitive. The hours are so much better than working nights and weekends at the hospital, and with only two slots open each year for just over a thousand applicants, it was a long shot. A pipe dream. A best-case scenario.

  And now, as of today, it’s my reality. My very tiring reality.

  I’m barely halfway through my first day and am prepping to see my eighth patient. I stifle a yawn as I flip through his medical records. It looks like he’s just here for a standard prescription refill, so it shouldn’t take more than ten minutes. Meaning I’ll have fifteen precious minutes to eat lunch before my next patient. My growling stomach rejoices at the thought.

  “Dr. Erickson? Your next patient is ready to see you.”

  I smile at my medical assistant, following her gesture toward examination room two.

  Am I tired? Yes. Am I hungry? Yes. But hearing a medical professional call me Dr. Erickson makes it all worth it. I can tell that accepting this residency was the right thing, and I have a feeling these years are going to be some of the best and most rigorous of my life.

  I’m in and out of the examination room within a few minutes. The medication in question, it turns out, is for seasonal allergies, so there are no complications in getting his prescription refilled. I power through the patient documentation, then hand it off to an assistant for filing.

  Time to scarf down last night’s leftover spaghetti and summon the energy to make it through to five p.m. When all is said and done, I’ll have logged a full ten hours here today. Which can only mean one thing—I need coffee. Lots of coffee.

  I head for the kitchenette and dig out my plastic container from behind the multitude of brown bags and carryout boxes crammed on the shelves of the communal fridge. Sixty seconds in the microwave ought to do it to reheat this, just enough time for me to fire up the single-serving coffee machine that’s blinking at me from the counter, indicating the water is already hot and ready to go. Thank God. I’m fairly confident that, through the power of caffeine, I am capable of doing anything.

  Well, almost anything. Since returning from Coronado, there’s been one thing that I absolutely can’t do—get Asher Reed out of my head. Even now, watching my leftovers spin in the light of the microwave, my mind wanders to the barbecue nachos I made with Amber and Courtney. The look on Asher’s face when he tried a bite was absolutely priceless. I could have kissed the barbecue sauce right off his lips.

  Ugh. Knock it off, brain. Can I go five measly minutes without something reminding me of our California trip?

  So far, the answer to that question has been a big fat no. The universe seems to be taking any and every opportunity it can to steer my thoughts off of my work and back to Asher.

  When my first patient of the day was wearing a San Diego shirt, I thought it was just a coincidence. But then my second appointment was with a young boy who had sustained a concussion at hockey camp. Message received, universe. But even the smaller things, something as innocent as the color of my bright blue scrubs, has me daydreaming about his eyes.

  I can’t escape it. Asher Reed is living rent-free in my head full-time, and it’s emotionally draining me.

  The microwave beeps, and I gather my coffee and steaming container of noodles to carry to my office. Might as well enjoy a few minutes of peace and quiet before launching into the second half of my day.

  But one look at my desk, and, sure enough, my thoughts are right back to Coronado. Why? Because there’s a bright red shoe box staring at me from the center of my desk. Crap. I forgot I brought my emergency kit with me this morning.

  I heave a sigh as I plop down in my desk chair, shifting the emergency kit to the side to make room for my lunch. But I can’t enjoy a single bite without my gaze venturing over to the shiny stethoscope stickers reflecting light all over my office.

  I barely manage three bites before I set my fork down and dig my phone out of my purse, pulling up Asher’s text from the day we arrived home.

  Hey Bailey - Thank you again for coming with me this week. I had an amazing time with you.

  A short and sweet message that I’ve reread a hundred times, and yet failed to respond to. But what is there to say? The week we shared was amazing, and the sex was out of this world. But now what? He has his own busy life, and I have mine.

  And I’m not stupid—I know his life involves late nights surrounded by puck bunnies at the bars. I’ve seen the guys in action way too many times to play dumb. Whoever isn’t locked down with a serious girlfriend can have his pick of any hockey groupie he wants.

  Asher is no exception to that rule. In fact, his reputation of being a tough guy on the ice just makes him all the more appealing to the girls who flock to him the second he steps into a bar. I’ve watched him take home more than a few girls in the time I’ve known him.

  But the Asher Reed I spent the week with at his grandmother’s house was nothing like that. He was sweet, attentive, and sensitive, always helping Lolli and Tess around the house, even when they told him that he and his injured leg should take it easy.

  How could the player from the bar scene, the bad boy on the ice, be the same guy who I watched tear up at the birth of his niece, the one who confessed to me that the song “Over the Rainbow” makes him emotional? I told myself what we’d shared was fun, but very temporary. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t mourned the loss of his touch, our conversations, the easy laughter we shared, and more than anything, the loss of how I felt simply being around him.

  I push my lunch to the side of the desk and pull the emergency kit into my lap. Yes, it’s only day one, but this totally qualifies as an emergency. I’m emergency-level confused. And if there’s anywhere I can find answers, it’s in here.

  Shifting the contents of the box aside, I fish out one of the notes of encouragement hidden at the bottom. Each piece of stationery is folded in half, hiding the message and the name of whoever wrote it, so I pick one at random, unfolding it to reveal a note in neatly scrawled handwriting.

  Bailey,

  You’re the smartest, most beautiful girl I’ve ever met. Whatever it is you’re dealing with, you can handle it.

  xoxo, Asher

  My heart leaps into my throat, but my eyes stay trained on those x’s and o’s. Is this a sign? A coincidence? Whatever it is, I don’t have the time to figure it out. There’s a knock on my office door—it’s my medical assistant again, looking at me expectantly with a clipboard in her hands.

  “Your next patient is ready for you in room four, Dr. Erickson.”

  Already? I check my watch. Yup. Fifteen minutes have come and gone.

  Time sure flies when you’re trying not to fall in love.

  19

  * * *

  Try Not to Fall

  Asher

  The hollow ache in my chest hasn’t gone away.

  And no, it’s not just because the sex with Bailey was good. Although, for the record, it was so good it could make a man want to get down on one knee and propose. Speaking of . . .

  “How�
�s the wedding planning going?” I ask Owen, needing a distraction.

  We’re all hanging out at Justin’s place tonight. Owen moved out a while ago and into a new condo that he shares with his fiancée, Becca. Justin is hosting a little get-together tonight—there’s food and beer and music playing low, kind of reconfirming his place as a bachelor pad—even though I’d bet my left nut that his girlfriend, Elise, will be moving in soon.

  Owen gives me a quick nod. “It’s tight. Becca and her mom are doing most of it. I tried to give my opinion once and they didn’t like my suggestion, so now I’m happy ‘staying out of it.’” He uses air quotes with his fingers as he says this.

  “What was your suggestion?” Justin asks with a smirk before shoving a shrimp into his mouth. This ought to be good for a laugh.

  “I wanted a dunk tank. Thought it’d be fun . . . mix it up, ya know? So the reception isn’t so stuffy.”

  This earns him snickers and laughs from the guys all standing around the kitchen island. The girls are in the living room, while the guys have stayed near the food.

  “Yes, because when your bride spends all day getting her hair and makeup done, the obvious thing she’d want to do next is get dunked into a tank of cold water,” I say with a dry chuckle, which sends the guys into laughter again.

  “Shut it,” Owen grumbles. “We could have raised money for charity or something.”

  I roll my eyes. “It’s your wedding, not a team event, dude.”

  “True,” Owen says.

  “This kinda shit is contagious, you know.” Teddy waves his hand in the direction of Owen and Justin. “You’re next, right, Brady?”

  Justin’s cool expression doesn’t give much away, but his mouth twitches with a smile. “Elise is young. We’re fine taking our time.”

  “That’s cool,” Teddy says with a lazy grin. “Sara and I don’t necessarily want to wait, but we’re also too busy to think about planning a wedding. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if we just flew off and eloped one day.”

  That would fit their personalities well. They’re both a little impulsive. Both a little wild. They made a freaking sex tape in college that none of us knew about. Until recently, that is.

  “What about you, Landon?” I ask.

  Except for me, he’s the only single one left in our crew. Well, besides our captain, Grant. But Grant’s a cranky bastard, and I can’t really picture him settled down and being all domestic with somebody.

  “Someday, for sure,” Landon says. “But until the right girl comes along, I’m fine waiting.”

  I can’t help but wonder if he means waiting, as in, well, waiting. Waiting to have sex. I’ve never seen Landon with a girl before, and the few times the guys have tried to persuade him into hooking up with a puck bunny, he turned bright red and made some excuse to take off. Then again, maybe I’m reading too much into it. Maybe he’s just choosy and waiting for the right girl like he said.

  “My dad was married four times,” Landon says. “And after watching him go through four miserable divorces, I’d rather wait for the right girl and just do it once.”

  We all nod at this sentiment.

  Thankfully, no one asks me about Bailey, because if they did, what the fuck would I say?

  Actually, I spoke too soon, because when I wander to the fridge to grab another beer, Owen follows.

  “You heard from Bailey yet?” he asks, keeping his voice low.

  “Nope,” I say, twisting open the top of the bottle and taking a long swig. It does nothing to ease the tight feeling in my chest.

  Becca approaches the kitchen to fix herself a plate. Owen, being Owen, bites off a chunk of a chicken wing and plants a barbeque-laced kiss on her cheek. Becca groans as she grabs a napkin and begins wiping her cheek vigorously. I chuckle as I watch their interaction.

  She gives him a pointed look, an annoyed smile on her lips. “If I have to listen to you chew for one more minute, I’m going to throw you out the window.”

  My eyes widen. “It’s good to see the romance isn’t dead.”

  Owen only chuckles as though he’s amused by this, and then swats her behind as she leaves the kitchen. “Love you too, angel.” And then he goes right on eating like nothing ever happened.

  But I can see he’s turning over our conversation in his head. It’s not over, even though I wish he’d just let it drop. There is no me and Bailey.

  “Anyone heard from Bailey? Aubree, what about you?” Owen calls to the group of girls seated along the sectional.

  I know what he’s trying to do, and even if part of me appreciates his concern, the rest of me is a little annoyed. Bailey. Ghosted. Me—plain and simple. I should probably move on and get over it, but I’m still wallowing in denial. And Owen, being one of my best friends, can apparently smell it on me. The scent of desperation.

  Aubree looks up, her expression measured as her gaze swings from Owen’s to mine. She’s hard to read, mostly because she’s always so composed, but there’s a slight twitch to her mouth.

  I can’t help but wonder if Bailey told her about our hookup. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Part of me hopes it was memorable enough to share with her best friend, but the rest of me wants to keep our situation private.

  “I have. She’s been busy.” Aubree’s gaze swings my way again. “She didn’t come out tonight because she’s not feeling well.”

  “Bailey’s sick?” I ask, rising from my spot on a bar stool to get closer to where Aubree’s seated.

  Bailey probably picked up something at the new doctor’s office. That place has got to be crawling with germs. I hate the idea that she’s been working her ass off all week and is now too sick to enjoy the weekend. That’s some fucked-up karma right there.

  “She’s just not feeling well,” Aubree says without providing any further details.

  Since Aubree isn’t exactly being forthcoming with the info, I wander back over to where Owen’s standing by the appetizers.

  “I’m gonna go check on her,” I say, my voice low.

  “You sure?” Owen asks, his brow creased.

  I nod. “She took care of me that week in Cali. It’s only fair I return the favor, if she really is sick.”

  And, jeez, is it weird that part of me hopes she actually is sick and not just avoiding coming to a place she knew I’d be tonight?

  He holds out his fist for me to bump. “Right on. Good plan.”

  I hope he’s right.

  • • •

  Fifteen minutes later, I’m looking for street parking in front of Bailey’s building. An SUV pulls out, making space, and after parallel parking at the curb, I stroll up to the door, hoping I’m not making a huge mistake.

  When I ring her apartment, it takes her a minute to answer.

  “Hey, it’s Ashe . . . I heard you were under the weather.”

  “Oh. Hey,” she says, her voice unsteady, followed by a long, pregnant pause.

  Okay, so it’s not exactly the warm greeting I was hoping for.

  “Can I come up?” I hold my breath while I wait for her answer, realizing her next words mean the world to me.

  “Yeah, of course. Apartment 301.”

  The buzzer sounds. When the front door unlocks, I head upstairs with a renewed sense of purpose.

  When Bailey opens the door to her apartment, I can’t help the smile that stretches my lips. She’s dressed in her pajamas, and her hair is damp from the shower.

  “Are you okay? Can I come in?”

  She opens the door wider and motions me in.

  “I heard you were sick, so I came to help. What’s wrong?”

  She makes a face like . . . well, like the expression you make when you stumble onto a dark corner of a porn site and see something you didn’t want to see. “Do you really want to know?”

  “Of course I do.” I’m starting to think Bailey has no idea how I really feel about her.

  “You might as well come sit down then . . . before I totally freak you out,” she adds under
her breath.

  Totally confused, I follow her into the living room, where she sinks onto the couch and pats the seat next to her. I sit beside her, wondering what’s going on.

  “Are you going to fill me in, or . . .”

  She inhales and lets her breath out slowly, as though she’s annoyed about something. “I have anemia because of really bad periods.”

  I train my features so that my eyebrows don’t jump up on my forehead. It dawns on me that Aubree never actually said that Bailey was sick, just that she wasn’t feeling well.

  “I promise that doesn’t scare me off. I grew up with three sisters, remember?”

  She lets out an uneasy laugh. “That’s true, but still. This is a little TMI.”

  I take her hand and give it a squeeze. “No such thing as too much information between us.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I highly doubt that.”

  “So, are you okay?” I lace her fingers between mine and stroke the back of her hand with my thumb.

  “I’m fine. It’s just annoying more than anything. The medical term is menorrhagia. You can run away screaming now.” She grins at me.

  “Nah. I’m not gonna run away.” I have no idea what she’s saying, other than I’m pretty sure that once a month her vagina tries to kill her. I shift on the couch so I’m closer. “In fact, I think it’s time for me to nurse you back to health, just like you did for me.”

  She gives me a mocking look. “Do I need to remind you that I was the one who re-sprained your groin riding you too hard?”

  I laugh. “That was totally worth it, and you can do it again anytime you want. Just name the time and place.”

  Bailey smiles. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

  While she visits the bathroom, I fire off a quick text to Owen. By the time Bailey returns, I have my game plan all ready.

  “So, listen, if you want me to go, I will. But if you want to hang out for a while, I would love that too,” I say. The last thing I want to do is force my company on her.