Just One of the Guys(62)

I sigh and look out the window. “Well, I have these little figurines on my desk, you know? From…well, from Lord of the Rings, okay, and don’t say anything about it because I already know I’m a hopeless nerd and don’t need you to point that out.”

“As long as you’re aware,” he says, his eyes crinkling.

“So anyway,” I continue, “I always have them in a certain order, right? But yesterday, they were in a little circle. It was weird.”

“Maybe the cleaning people knocked them off by accident and just put them back that way,” Trev suggests.

“Maybe. I don’t know. It’s just that they had…oh, crap, it sounds so dumb.”

Trevor laughs. “Please tell me.”

I roll my eyes at myself and obey. “Aragorn was lying in the middle of the circle, facedown, and all the other characters in this particular series have weapons. So it looked like all of Aragorn’s little friends were killing him. Sort of.”

“You need to get out more,” Trevor states.

“You asked, you jerk.”

Before I realize it, we’re on my street, pulling up in front of my sweet little house. “Do you want to come in?” I ask. “Have a beer, maybe watch the game?”

“Thanks but no, Chastity,” he answers. “I’ve got…um…plans.”

I pause, my hand on the door handle. “Are you back with Hayden, Trevor?”

He doesn’t answer right away. “Not exactly.”

“Not yet, you mean?” My voice is tight.

He sighs. “She’s mentioned that she’d like that, yes.”

“What about Angela? I thought you were dating Angela.” I’m gripping the door handle so hard it hurts.

“Well, I’ve been out with Angela. I wouldn’t say we’re dating,” he says.

“Would she say that?” Trevor doesn’t answer. “Don’t lead her on, Trevor.”

“I wouldn’t do that, Chas,” he says quietly, staring straight ahead.

“You wouldn’t mean to, but you might.”

He looks me straight in the eye. “No. I wouldn’t mean to.”

“Make sure you don’t,” I snap. Then I take a deep breath. “Look, Trev, I know you’re a good guy and you can be with whomever you want. Just do it right, okay? Sorry if I sounded like a shrew. Thanks for the flowers, thanks for the ride. I’ll see you around.”

He nods. I jump out of the truck and haul Buttercup out of the back. “See you!” I call, running into the house, my dog flopping beside me.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

AS I LEAVE EMT CLASS LATER that week, I’m accompanied by an unfamiliar sense of pride. Yes, pride. I’ve always been a good student, and suddenly, I’m acing all the checklists on taking a patient’s history, remembering what order to assess which systems, knowing the physiology we have to memorize in order to pass our written test. Suddenly, people are asking me for help, leaping at the chance to be my partner, much to Ernesto’s annoyance, since he considers me his exclusive property.

Maybe dating Ryan Darling has caused some medical savvy to rub off on me. More likely it’s just that I don’t have to see real injuries just yet. Don’t actually have to help someone who’s writhing in pain. Smell the smells that go along with injury and illness. See the twins, Blood and Gore. I swallow. Soon, our practicals in the emergency room will come up, when we have to spend an entire shift in the E.R. I’m hoping my nurse will just tell me to stay out of the way, coward that I am.

I unchain my mountain bike from the rack and shoulder my backpack. I need to run home and grab Buttercup, then head out again. I’m babysitting Dylan because Elaina has a date. I feel a little guilty about enabling my friend to go out with someone who’s not my brother. But Mark has brought his problems on himself, and I love Dylan, his tendency to bite me notwithstanding.

Several pain and shriek-filled hours later, I gaze down upon my nephew as he sleeps in his crib, his mouth open, eyelashes feathered on his pink cheeks, snoring just a little. He looks like an angel. I know better.

“I love you, Dylan,” I whisper, stroking the delicious cluster of curls at the back of his head. He is a breathtakingly beautiful child—black hair, dark blue eyes, dimples like Mark, curls like Elaina. Of all us good-looking O’Neills, I’d have to say that Dylan is probably our most stunning, an Irish–Puerto Rican specimen of pure beauty. Of course, then there’s Claire, whose apricot cheeks are a study in poreless perfection. And Olivia of the coppery curls. And let’s not forget Graham’s giant eyes and infectious laugh…or Christopher’s elfin smile…or pink-and-cream Jenny. Okay, so I’m a doting aunt.

I hear Elaina’s car in the garage, give Dylan a final kiss and trot downstairs.

“How was your date?” I ask as she puts her keys and purse down.

She bursts into tears.

“Lainey! What happened? Come on, sit down.” I lead her to the living room. She sits down, grabbing a tissue off the coffee table first.

“Did you clean up in here? It looks nice,” she weeps.

“Honey, what happened?” I ask.

Elaina blows her nose and wipes her eyes. “Oh, Chastity, it was fine. Nice guy, all that crap. I’m never seeing him again.”