“We’re working together,” Lucas corrects. “And I’d like to think we’ve matured since then.”
I meet Ben’s eyes over Lucas’ shoulder and shake my head. “We haven’t,” I mouth.
By lunch, we’re out of raffle tickets and my hand hurts from puffing up the blood pressure cuff. Thankfully, the barbecue cook-off started a few minutes ago, finally driving attention away from our booth.
I sit down and yank my stethoscope from around my neck.
Lucas takes the seat beside me.
I can smell smoked brisket and my mouth waters.
“Hungry?” he asks.
It’s the first bit of normal conversation he’s directed at me and I’m too scared to look at him. The intrusive thoughts haven’t diminished—they’ve grown worse. On Tuesday, he kissed me. On Wednesday, he spotted me at a singles event. On Thursday, he toyed with me in the lab. On Friday, he caged me inside my office and then I almost came onto him at Madeleine’s party. I am breaking the pattern. Saturday will be different. I am going to take those intrusive thoughts and bury them six feet under.
“Not going to talk to me?”
I shrug.
He ignores my silent treatment. “How was book club?”
I can’t resist any longer. I turn to him and he’s staring down at the spot where my denim shorts have ridden to my upper thigh. His eyes are the color of toasted walnuts today, dark, just like they were after our kiss. I heed their warning and stand, leaving Lucas to man the ship alone.
It feels good to put distance between us. Each step I take away from him gives me hope. Control. I wander through the barbecue cook-off, using the crowd to shield myself from the unsettling truths trying to stuff themselves into my brain. Did I give Lucas the wrong information about the booth so I wouldn’t have to share credit, or was it because I knew I couldn’t trust myself to be around him? At one point, I even found myself watching Lucas while he tended to a curvy brunette, wondering if he thought she was pretty. I was so perturbed by the sight that I didn’t register the fact that my old classmate Beau’s fingers had turned blue from how hard I’d inflated the blood pressure cuff on his arm. Right, well, his fingers were probably blue before he came to our booth.
I walk around the fair. Twice. I eat a barbecue sandwich and then double back and stand in line again to get one for Lucas. I’m two people away from ordering when I realize what I’m doing and bolt. I do not care about Lucas’ hunger.
When I finally make it back to our booth, I’ve been gone for too long—Lucas is packing up his stethoscope and blood pressure cuff.
“Where are you going?”
Was I really gone all afternoon? I look up and the sun is still high in the sky. He’s bolting early.
“Talking to me again?” he says, tossing me a knowing smile.
I hate when he does that. Smiles.
“Are you leaving?”
I realize I’ve stepped closer and am gripping the handle of his bag to rip it out of his hand and make him stay. I let go and step back.
When I speak again, I ensure my voice is even and normal. “I mean, it’s fine if you are. I was just wondering.”
He shakes his head and stands. “I got a call from Dr. McCormick. He needs me to go up to the clinic.”
“What for?”
“One of his close friends is headed there. James Holder. Remember the guy that came in with flu symptoms last Monday? Apparently it’s gotten pretty bad.”
“Well I’m going with you.”
“You can’t.”
I roll my eyes. “Like hell I can’t. You’re not going to go save the day and leave me here. Besides, half the people whose blood pressure we take end up going to the Twinkie stand anyway. I think we’re losing the battle.”
“Fine. We can ride over together.”
My mom dropped me off at the fair and the clinic is over a mile away. I consider declining, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of thinking he makes me uncomfortable.
“Yeah, fine. Whatever.”
I tell Lucas to hold the duffel bag open at the end of the table, and then dramatically sweep the leftover swag inside. My cheap pens end up in the trash when Lucas isn’t looking.
His truck is old, black like his soul, and in need of a major facelift. I’m surprised he’s kept it all these years. His parents gave it to him when he was sixteen and he used to spend time fixing it up when we were in high school. I give the clunker a fifty-fifty chance of making it to the clinic without breaking down.
I open the passenger side door and stare inside. It has one long bench seat filled with items that belong to Lucas: an extra stethoscope, running shoes, workout clothes folded neatly on the passenger seat. Lucas moves them, but when I hop up and take a seat, I’m engulfed by him. His scent. With a spine-tingling shiver, I realize I am in his lair.