21. Judgment Call

21

Judgment Call

Brighton

Wednesday, May 31 st

8:33 p.m.

There is nothing I enjoy more than minding my own business.

But it doesn't look like that's going to be an option.

"Would you prefer I walk you to wherever you were headed?" Dax dips his chin toward me in the original direction I was going.

I uncoil my arms from my chest and try to relax my stance. It's not like Dax is intentionally trying to set me on edge. I just wish he knew the half of it.

Luca's nagging voice reminds me of the importance of not being alone. Not that anything suspicious has happened since Carrie, nor would it happen again—much less to me—but now I'm second-guessing my need to get fresh air and my stop at Yogi's.

Do I look like a pretentious jerk and say goodnight despite his chivalrous gesture, or try to explain I'm supposed to be more cautious and shouldn't have run into him in the first place?

With everything hanging in the balance, what would it matter if I added another bad decision to the list? Sure, it might put everything in jeopardy, but what else do I have to lose?

Screw it. After the last couple of weeks, this chapter of my life is called "my turn," and I'm going to be one hundred percent unapologetic about it. I need something to take my mind off the shit show taking place at the hospital. Some adult conversation that doesn't center on cancer, malpractice, and murder would do me some good.

"You'd be with me," he adds, as he sips on his straw and tilts his head toward the entrance of the park as he continues toward it. "Either way."

"But how do I know I'm safe?" Visions of that night pop into my mind, and I try to force them away. I yawn, dreading the constant replay of what happened to Carrie when I close my eyes. And the last thing I want to do is go home and be by myself.

"You're not any safer on your own." It's crushing to hear the truth like that.

The sound of hurried footsteps has me whipping around. The frustrated crowd is parted behind me as if someone had forced their way through, but there are no signs of the offender. Something about it sets me on edge.

I jog to catch up and grab Dax's forearm, on edge and hyperaware. "Did you see that?" His gaze follows mine toward the people on the sidewalk as he gives me one of his best smiles.

"Probably somebody in a rush." His eyes land on my fingers pressing into his skin. He smirks. "It's okay. I don't want to be alone either."

We're close enough that I can see the dark cut of his lashes, the faint freckle in the divot beneath his nose, and the trace of scruff along his jaw. The scent of sweat mixed with a warm, earthy tone fills my nostrils. It takes a second for me to regain my composure, but he's too perceptive.

My grip loosens, and I take a step back, stuffing my hands into my scrub pockets. "I'm adding this to my list of bad ideas."

"Me?"

This is probably the least bad thing that could happen tonight.

He laughs. I swear he can hear my heartbeat increase from a mile away.

The light turns green, and we continue across the street.

"What else is on the list?"

"Just this." My eyes shift to him as we make our way onto the path leading into the park.

"That's surprising."

I stop, placing my hand on my hip. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Dax scratches his head, stopping a few feet ahead of me, and turns. "How is hanging out with me a bad idea?"

"It's not. That's not what I meant. Let's start over." The silence stretches, and he waits me out. I squeeze my eyes closed and count to five.

"Over?"

I close the space between us, extending my hand. "Hi. I'm Brighton." I emphasize the use of my first name, hoping he gets the gist.

His attempts at muffling his laughter are pathetic.

"Come on." I give him a playful shove. "I'm being serious."

"About hurting my feelings."

"I would never." My laughter is light, and I try to school my expression of faux offense.

"Kidding." He takes off further into the park. "I'm starving."

The pond at the southeast end of the path comes into view as I follow him. He grins as he steps off the path and over the black single-chain railing.

"You can't go back there."

"Ask me if I give a fuck." I get a flippant grin.

"Those are there for a reason."

"I know." He continues through the low-lying plants and drops onto the hilltop above them, patting the grass beside him for me to join. "You coming?"

I hesitate, at war with myself and my inane need to follow the rules. This wasn't a good idea. I pull my fingers to my mouth and nibble on a nail. My eyes bounce from Dax to the people passing beside me on the path.

"There's no ‘barrier police' in the park. At least not this one," he says, frustration lacing his words because of my indecision. He unties his bag and pulls out the tray. He goes about preparing a wasabi and soy sauce mixture before ripping open a set of chopsticks. He smirks, stuffing an entire slice of sushi into his mouth. "Mmm."

Now's my chance. If I'm going to make a run for it, I've got to do it now. Not only should I heed Luca's warning, but it's not smart to get involved with Dax any more than I already am.

I open my mouth to protest when he groans in satisfaction, and it's one of the most enticing sounds I've ever heard.

He pretends his sushi is the best thing to touch his tastebuds with an over-the-top emphasis on savoring it as he chews.

And it almost works.

The rustle of a bush a few feet behind me sets my decision in motion. I narrow my eyes to see what it is but decide I couldn't care less. A shiver races up my back as the hair lifts on the back of my neck. I can't shake the feeling of being watched. I swing my leg over the chain and rush through the plants, dropping a couple of feet away from Dax on the grass.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I thought I saw someone. Just my overactive imagination playing tricks on me." I untie my bag, yank out my tray, and grab a plastic-wrapped fork.

"You're joking." He gazes past me, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

"Nope. Starving." I pause, trying to get my heart to stop galloping in my chest. I gaze between the tray in my right hand and the fork in my left. I shake my head and shift my gaze to anything besides the man staring at me.

"You can't eat sushi with a fork. That is a crime." His playful tone sets me at ease.

I set the tray in front of me and prop it open, a smile twisting my lips. "I don't like messes."

"Surely you can use chopsticks. You're a surgeon. You're good with your hands, right?"

I shrug, egging him on, but there's a quiver in my voice as I speak. "Just because I'm good with my hands in one way doesn't mean I'm talented in other areas. I've never tried chopsticks. I prefer not to fail, so I don't try."

"That's ridiculous. You don't try new things at all?" He throws his head back, cackling.

I ignore him, stuffing a roll into my mouth, jumbling my response. "No, I don't like to fail. And I always try new things. I'm here with you, aren't I?"

"Touché."

"I weigh my odds before going out on a limb. Let's say I don't fail well ."

"I could show you. I bet you could do some amazing things with those hands." His offer gets him an untainted heat I can feel spreading up my neck and onto my cheeks. I let my thoughts run undisciplined. There's something unabashed about how he's acting toward me that has my brain in a storm of confusion. But I'm not going to let him see how he's affecting me.

I shove the unopened chopsticks toward him. "Fine. Show me how to use the damn things."

His knee bumps against mine as he closes the distance between us. Both of us freeze. A static awkwardness fills the air. It lasts a second too long.

Switching gears, he pretends it didn't happen. "Give me your hand."

He takes hold of my right hand, bending my fingers into the correct position, ignoring the sensations pulsing between us while feigning indifference.

"I'm a lefty." I place the correct hand in his palm. I can't shake the feeling of eyes burrowing into the back of my head as if someone is lurking in the nearby bushes. But every time I think I hear something and turn, it turns out to be nothing.

Dax follows my gaze and smiles, brushing off my unease. "That explains a lot."

"Rude." My tone draws attention from some of the park guests, but my focus remains on Dax.

"I meant nothing by it," he says with a quiet laugh, a blatant attempt at lowering my defenses. He continues to maneuver my fingers. "Hold them between these two fingers and use this one for leverage." He demonstrates the movement with his sticks after dropping my hand.

I bite my tongue and try to get the chopsticks to cooperate as I try to ignore my frustration.

"If you scrunch your face up any harder, you're going to have an aneurysm. You don't need to try so hard." He tries to suppress his laughter, but he loses the battle and gives up trying to help me.

"I quit." I hurl the sticks across the grass. I shut the container of my tray and stuff it back into the bag.

"It's nice to see you're not good at everything. Makes you a little more human."

"Ouch. I should go." I chuckle to myself. That's a painful view for him to have of me. It makes sense with him only seeing me in one setting, but I thought my bedside manner was a little more approachable than he conveys.

I grab my bag and stand, second-guessing my decision to join Dax. I shouldn't have given in to my want for a break from what's going on at the hospital and crossing the line with one of my patient's family members. I glance toward the trail and catch the eye of a couple of onlookers staring in our direction at the sound of my voice.

"You're causing a scene," Dax says through bits of laughter.

"Am I embarrassing you?"

"Not at all."

"Too bad."

"Why do you want to embarrass me?"

"Even the playing field."

"Didn't know this was a game. In that case, Dax, one; Brighton, zero ."

"How'd you get a point? And when did we start keeping score?" I narrow my eyes at him before dusting myself off.

"I got you to come with me on a date. And I'm always keeping score."

"This isn't a date. And that's not fair."

He reaches toward me and takes the bag from my hands, opening it as he leans back and props himself up on his elbow. "I'm a stickler for rules. My game, my rules. What is this?" He lifts a bite of sushi, inspecting it as he muddles the line on acting appropriately.

I snatch the tray of sushi from him and spear a piece with the end of a chopstick. "Delicious. It's delicious. That's what it is."

After a second or two of awkward silence, I open my eyes and find Dax staring at me, his mouth open.

I grin and watch his face for a reaction. "Point."

"For what?" He pushes to a seated position, a scowl on his lips.

"That." I jab a finger toward his face and chuckle. I wish he could see his expression. I bet he has no clue that I got him to blush.

He shakes his head as if he's coming out of a daze. "That's not how it works. I calculate the points. That's the rule."

"Says who?" I wipe the back of my hand over my mouth and close my container.

"Me."

I narrow my eyes. "Why didn't that earn a point?"

"Because"—he struggles to come up with a good reason—"you know what? You can have a point. You wanted to even the playing field."

"You wanna know what I want?"

He freezes, and his eyes grow.

"The rules. I wanna know the rules," I say as I struggle to keep the annoyance out of my voice.

"There aren't rules."

I sit beside him and inspect a piece of his meal as a means of distraction. "Is that sashimi?"

"Sushi."

I shake my head. "It's raw."

"Yep."

"Sushi refers to the rice and how it's rolled. That's sashimi. Another point, B."

"I don't know if useless information qualifies as a point."

I hold up a finger on my right hand. "You get a point for trying to teach me how to use chopsticks." I hold up a finger on my left. "And I get one for knowing the real meaning of sushi. Two points for me. Half a point for you."

"You don't get to give points. Especially to yourself. And your math's not adding up."

"How is that fair?" I tie a knot in my plastic bag, ignoring the math issue.

"You get a point for your knowledge. But I get a full point. It's not the teacher's fault if the student is incapable of learning. And what happened to my point from earlier?"

"I wanna know the terms for point delineation so I can decide if I want to play." I reach across him, keeping enough distance between us to ensure we don't touch, and shove my wadded-up napkin inside his open bag. "This isn't me trying to inflate your ego."

"Don't worry, it's not." He flashes me an ornery grin as he takes the bag and stands.

I swear, if he winks at me one more goddamn time, I'm going to . . .

"But that does." His grin turns into a cocky smirk. "Point."

Heat climbs my neck as I step over the chain and back onto the path. My heart slams against my ribcage. "Don't flatter yourself. No point. I'm immune."

"To this?" His eyes zero in on me. "Your body says otherwise."

"That's not fair."

"How do you figure?"

I struggle to produce a credible reason. Dax affects me in every sense of the word. But he doesn't need his suspicions confirmed. And no one but me needs to know.

"Because it's not true." I pull my shoulders back, creating more distance between us, the heat of his stare still strumming across my skin.

His eyes trail from my cheeks to my neck, to the neckline of my shirt, and downward. "But it's not cold."

I throw an arm over my chest with a groan of embarrassment, shocked and at a loss for words.

He huffs out a laugh, and it earns me a wink. "Bet you didn't think hanging out with me could be this fun, huh?" He stands and continues onto the path, mumbling to himself. "Time with Dax—where wasting time is considered time well-wasted."

"Do people always let you have your way?" I ask as he falls in line beside me.

He drops his head to the right in consideration and comes to the obvious conclusion. "Yeah."

"I want rules."

"Like what?"

"Rule one: you get a point if you get the upper hand. Rule two—"

"Upper hand, as in pulled one over on the other person? Or upper hand, as in the advantage in skill set or intelligence?"

I consider this for a moment as we start toward the park's exit. "Both. Rule two . . ."

"It's only fair if I get to suggest rules too. I get this one."

"Fine."

"Rule two, you get a point for getting the other person to do something they were unwilling to do or unaware of, like this date."

"This is not a date." I roll my eyes. "Rule three—"

"How many rules do we need to have?"

I deliberate for a couple of seconds. "I can work with two."

He gives me a sideways glance. "If you think of something else, we can add it, but you can't call point and then make up a rule. I don't play well with cheaters." He pokes my shoulder and gives me a shit-eating grin. "Clean slate?"

I extend my hand. I try to make my tone sound bored as I stop beside him. "Phone."

He walks past me and joins the crowd, ignoring my request, before he stops to wait for me to catch up. When I do, he whispers, "What makes you think you deserve that sort of access?"

"Just wanted to make things even."

He focuses on the intersection and the group of people around us, but it's obvious he's preoccupied with me.

"That's not fair." His breath tickles my ear.

"Especially when you don't play by the rules."

" That's not one of the rules."

The crosswalk light changes and the crowd floods the intersection. We join the flow as Dax slides his hand into my back pocket, causing every fiber in me to tense.

Halfway to the other side, I gather my courage and reach back there to see what's inside. I stare at Dax's phone in the palm of my hand and a jolt of excitement courses through me.

He gives me a toothy grin as we make it to the other side. "Zero, seven, two, five."

"I believe that calls for a point," I boast. I enter his password and shoot myself a text before handing it back.

"For what?"

I present the screen. "This," I say, pointing at the text:

Unknown number: That was too easy

"Well played." He nods in acceptance. "Well played."

"You mentioned needing the best doctor in the nation on speed dial. Figured I could help in that department. Smile." I take a picture of him before he knows what's happening. I grin at the photo. I caught him off guard, but he's still gorgeous. "To add to your contact info."

"My turn." He holds up his phone, and I block the camera with my hand.

"Remember the patient-doctor line I'm not supposed to cross?"

" I'm not your patient. And that makes no sense." He holds up the screen, showing my text.

"There's still a line—let's call it Liam. And you can have my number, but not my face. I'm still trying to figure out why I agreed to join you tonight."

"Because I'm irresistible."

"And full of yourself." My eyes flicker toward him. "This was a better option than going home to eat by myself. Hope I don't live to regret it—"

"I promise you'll never regret spending time with me. I don't disappoint."

My mouth drops open, and I tear my eyes from his, letting them linger on our footfalls as I try to keep my discomfort off my face. "You can't say stuff like that."

"Point." He winks at me and uses his finger to lift my jaw.

I consider tucking my tail between my legs and disappearing as we make it to the sidewalk and stop at the light. But when Dax glances at me, the smug smile still on his lips, there's no way I can let him win. Not if I'm going to stand a chance.

"You consider this fun?"

"Amongst other things."

His words unleash the frustration that's been building over the last few minutes. "I have clinic tomorrow. Thanks again. Tonight was"—I try to find the correct word—"interesting."

Surprise flashes across his features as his brows knit together. "I've never heard that one before."

The sound of screeching tires at the intersection catches our attention. Dax grabs my arm and yanks me into his chest as a white Civic races around the corner and out of sight.

"Fucking idiots. You okay?"

I nod as he releases my arm. "Thanks for saving me." Even though I was nowhere close to the curb. "I'll see you at Liam's follow-up."

He shakes his head. "I have a photo shoot this weekend."

"How long will you be gone?" I try to hide the disappointment in my voice.

"A couple days. Why?"

"Liam shouldn't come to his appointments alone." I twist the ring on my pinkie finger before pulling my thumbnail to my mouth.

"Be honest with yourself. You'd miss me."

"Are you always this arrogant?"

"I prefer the term confident. Maybe you'll remember how you recognize me next time we run into each other." He joins the crowd and crosses the street, continuing to walk backward in the opposite direction of where I'm headed, a smug look on his face.

A car parks on the side of the street where Dax is headed, running into the curb with its tires and catching my attention. The person seated behind tinted windows watches him for a second too long before turning right at the light. I let the absurdity of it roll off my back. I'm sure this isn't the same white car as it was seconds before. Why am I letting things go to my head?

"Is that a challenge?" I holler after him as he retreats.

"I don't think you have it in you."

"Dare to make a wager on that?"

He grins. "It'd be worth a couple of points. You could take the lead."

"Deal."

He winks.

And I melt.