“My mom is a massive, unforgivable bitch. That’s where I get it from.” I rest the side of my face into my hand, elbow propped on the table. “It’s hereditary. That’s why Summer is so nice. Her mom, Sofia, was the best. I don’t remember her that well, but I remember her being fun. I remember her smiling a lot. Deep down, I can’t blame my dad for fucking the nanny.”
Theo watches me, riveted by the story of my upbringing. We’ve resorted to sipping our shots of tequila after tossing two straight back.
“And you know what the worst part is? When she got knocked up, my mom fired her. Like it was her fault alone. And I loved Sofia. The nanny that came after was mean. Like my mom wasn't just punishing my dad by hiring her, but punishing me too.”
Most people look at me with pity when I tell them this story. But Theo just looks entertained.
“God. I knew Kip was a wild card. But this . . . he’s a pig.” He chuckles out the last word, disbelief lacing his tone.
My dad is a top sports agent, and apparently, he represents Theo. A little tidbit I didn’t know until tonight. I knew he’d been Rhett’s guy, and when Rhett hung up his cowboy hat or whatever you say when a bull rider retires, he got his protégé in with the man who made him famous.
“Yup.” I pop the p before tipping the tall shot glass back and taking another sip that burns down my throat. A comfortable and unfamiliar heat blooming in my chest.
I can’t remember the last time I got properly drunk. Rob would tell me I wasn’t “appreciating the flavors” if I drank his wine past a certain volume and I was too damn busy busting my ass professionally to cut loose. Studying. Picking up extra shifts. Being on call.
Trying to keep up with my mom’s expectations of me.
“So, Sofia gets pregnant with Summer. Kip tells your mom.”
“Marina,” I correct, because over the years I’ve shifted to using her name. Or Doctor Hamilton, since we spend almost every day working together. “Her dream is for me to become an accomplished plastic surgeon like her. If I’d taken that route, maybe I’d still be calling her mom. But the chaos and unpredictability of the ER feels like home.”
“Is this all real? It’s like you’re recounting a soap opera to me. Sometimes my mom tells me about the plot for The Young and the Restless, and I swear I’ve heard this before.”
I scoff, wishing my mom would call and talk to me about something as mundane as a soap opera. The alcohol hums through my veins and I just keep going, processing out loud rather than in my head for once.
“I defied her for the very first time in my life, after years of being her puppet, and she turned that cruel side on me without even thinking twice.” My head shakes and Theo stares at me with those dark eyes, looking a little stunned. Probably hard to imagine when you have a mom who hugs you and tells you about her favorite trash TV.
“I wonder if that cruel side is as hereditary as Summer’s nice side, you know? Like maybe that facet of my personality is just waiting to rear its ugly head. I don’t want to be like my mom, but I worry I already am.”
“I think the fact that you’re even worried about that means you’re not like your mom at all.”
I take another sip. He’s sweet. I’m not that reflective though. I’m just drunk and loose-lipped.
“Yeah. I’m a mess. Marina would never allow herself to end up where I am.”
His hand slides across the small, circular high top, his strong fingers tapping against my elbow. “Hey, hey. Sitting here with me isn’t that bad.”
My head tilts further as I let my gaze scan him lazily, if a little drunkenly. “No. I agree. You’re pretty easy on the eyes.”
Under normal circumstances, I’d cringe at myself for saying that out loud. But nothing about sitting in this small-town hotel bar is normal.
“Woah.” He rears back a little, holding both hands up, a dramatic expression gracing his perfect features. “I said you should give being nice a try, not excel at it.”
My lips curve up slowly. He’s funny.
It strikes me I haven’t spent time around a lot of funny people in my life.
Smart. Academic. Accomplished.
Funny and nice have been very low on the list of traits I look for in the people I surround myself with.
“Am I a snob?” I wonder out loud, brain hiccupping all over the place.
“If you are, I like it.”
My eyes roll and I shift on my stool, feeling like I might slide straight onto the floor if I keep leaning on that hand.
“Why are you rolling your eyes?” He tosses his shot back and signals to the bartender for another. The man’s lips purse in disapproval, like he thinks we don’t need another round. And I almost laugh.
I’m so tired of everyone’s condemnation.
“You don’t like me.”
“I do.” The way he dips his chin is sure. It hedges no room for debate.
I toss back the last of my tequila, a droplet of it spilling out and landing on my lip. For a moment, the world stops when Theo’s eyes land on my mouth. On that drop of golden liquor. And when my tongue swipes out to clear it away, to end his attention, his gaze heats in a way that’s unfamiliar.
Because men don’t look at me like that.
Not the one I’m married to.
And definitely not ones like Theo.
The crash of glasses from behind the bar has all the sounds around us screeching back to life, like someone just jammed down on the play button after hitting pause.
A nervous laugh crests my lips and I glance over at the bar where the tired-looking bartender is cleaning up a mess of broken glassware.
“I like you, Winter. As a person.” Theo’s eyes are so intent on me. It’s unnerving. “Why does that make you so uncomfortable?”
“Do you always just say what you mean all out in the open like this? It’s fucking weird.” My eyes narrow. “What’s your angle?”
“I don’t have an angle. I’m just a nice guy having a drink with a likeable girl.”
Two more shots of Anejo drop between us, but neither of us glances up. I’m too busy staring at the peculiar man sitting across from me.
“You’re a manwhore. Who is younger than me. And you look like that.” I wave a finger over him.
“And I still like you.”
“And I’m an unhappily married twenty-eight-year-old—”
Theo interrupts me with an eye roll. “Mention our two-year age difference like it matters again, and I’m going to mock you mercilessly.”
I lick my lips. “Fine. I’m an unhappily married woman with an entire storage locker full of baggage. I’m just trying to make it through a residency that no one approves of.”
“I approve,” he replies, without show or flash, just saying it like it’s a fact.
“You approve of me. But you don’t like me. That makes a lot more sense.”
He grins now, taking a swig of the liquor, and my eyes drop to watch his throat work as he swallows. The tawny skin, the dark stubble, the pronounced bump of his Adam’s apple.
Who knew a man’s thyroid cartilage could attract me?
“No, Winter. I like you. Stop telling me I don’t.”
A wry laugh twists my lips as I drink and inspect the charming little bar. A sort of old-world Victoria allure graces the space. A perfect fit for the elegant boutique hotel.
“I’m not likeable, Theo. People don’t like me. Not really.” I hold up a finger and give him a wide-eyed look, signaling that now is not the time for him to barge in with his tongue-wagging nice-guy act. “People respect me because I’m smart. Or because I’m accomplished. But they don’t like me.”
The man across from me stares. I can see him turning my words over in his head. It tilts back and forth as though he is considering everything I’ve just said.
“I think I like you because you are a heart-stopping, jaw-dropping type of beautiful.”
My face reveals nothing. No one has ever complimented my looks over my brains and I . . . I don’t even know what to make of it.
“Are you fucking with me?” I blurt.
“Nah.” He leans back in his stool, biceps bulging in a distracting way as his eyes peruse me with appreciation. “I definitely like you because you’re hot. And because you enunciate your swear words so clearly. Did you know that people who curse are more honest and trustworthy than people who don’t?”
My jaw unhinges and then I feel it. It’s foreign, but there’s no stopping me. I drop my head onto my crossed arms on the table and burst out laughing. The laughter hurts my throat as I try to silence it. It leaks from my eyes no matter how hard I try to keep it in. It shakes my shoulders as it overtakes me.
And the deep baritone of Theo’s laugh joins me, twisting with mine like a symphony.
“But I’ve also had a lot of concussions. So my judgment could be off,” he adds through the laughter.
I’m just drunk enough, just wrung out enough, that I laugh even harder. “Fuck,” I gasp, sitting up and wiping at my eyes.
“Yeah, you need to give less of those.”
“What?” I reach for the tequila, needing to lubricate my throat after my laughing fit.