Marry Screw Kill(7)

“I would agree with you there.” I rub the back of my neck, remembering where I’m heading for the next four weeks: Rochester, Minnesota.

I’ll survive, but I’d prefer a vacation in a warmer climate like Miami, where the girls wear next to nothing. The beach and bikinis would be a great distraction before I hit the books for the next hundred years. Well, more like eight, but coffee, exhaustion, and shit hospital food loom in my future and Rochester doesn’t sound like a place to throw a final bender.

In the end, having a summer internship at The Clinic on my résumé equals gold in the medical community—thank you, Uncle James. Let the fun begin.

“It’s okay if I invite a few friends over, right?” Not turning around, Bentley takes several photos of the view with his cell phone. This is the first time I’ve let him loose with the keys to my place, and I may live to regret this decision. He promised I could ask anything of him in the future and he would grant me my wish—my own personal southern genie.

“Sure.” I watch his fingers fly over the screen of his phone, betting he’s sending the photos along with my address to his friends now. “Just remember this isn’t a frat house at Ole’ Miss.”

Bentley and I met when we were fifteen at an elite boarding school in Connecticut. He flew in from the heart of Mississippi. I strolled there from Manhattan. If the average person compared our backgrounds, they’d say we had nothing in common. We soon found out we were both ambitious about two things: getting in to a prestigious med school and the hottest girl’s pants. We’ve been wingmen ever since.

“Where did you say you’re going?” He pivots away from the window and heads back to where I’m standing by the front door next to my packed suitcase.

“Rochester, Minnesota.”

“Jesus.” He shakes his head. “I might feel guilty knowing you’re out in the middle of nowhere while I’m overdosing on tits and *.”

“Please buy me new sheets, or maybe even a new mattress, before I return. Along with finding your own apartment.”

After high school, Bentley and I deferred our college admissions and lived one crazy ass year in Australia. We separated during undergrad, though. He headed to his family’s alma mater, Ole’ Miss, and I rebelled, choosing Columbia despite the two generations of Harvard graduates in my family. Now, we’re back together in the same city, officially starting our first year of med school at Columbia this summer.

“I’m looking for an apartment in this building. Maybe next door. I want this view. I’m thinking it has a way of impressing the ladies.” Bentley waggles his brows and I have to laugh at his display. Somehow, his southern charm wins out over his corny humor—and believe me, it’s corny as hell.

“I feel like a parent leaving town knowing the kids are going to turn the place into Spring Break Central.” He only smiles at me.

“I’ll be careful, Dad.” He pats me on the shoulder, but I brush off his hand. “Whoa. Lighten up.”

“Just do me a favor. Don’t text me about the sex you’re having. I’ll be lucky if I see any skin above the knees.”

“Poor, Sin. How will the women handle it without you here?” Bentley mocks.

“All right. I’m outta here,” I say, reaching my limit of his so-called good-natured jabs.

I yank the telescoping handle on my suitcase and open the door. “There are plenty of Magnums in the nightstand, though they’re probably too big.”

“Hey!” Bentley shouts out as the door closes behind me.

I pull my luggage to the elevator and smile. I love having the last punch. Then I realize he’ll be the one smiling when I get home and find an empty box of condoms. Fucking Rochester.

As I exit the elevator into the lobby, Henry, my favorite doorman, signals to me. I make my way over to his station and wait for him to get off the house phone.

“Yes, ma’am. I understand. A taxi will be waiting out front at precisely two.” He pauses, then continues. “You’re welcome, Mrs. Lawry. It’s my pleasure.”

Back to nodding, Henry smiles at me while rolling his large, hazel eyes. I can’t hold back the laughter. His good temper has its limits, after all. Henry breathes a sigh of relief when the call finally ends.

“Mr. Elliott, are you heading out, sir?”

“For the millionth time, please call me Sinclair.”

“Mr. Elliot, you know I’m required by management to address you formally.”

“Well, I’m no longer a resident here, Henry, since I’m moving to Minnesota for four weeks. I’m just a common man on the street.”

I reach out to shake his hand. “Henry, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Sinclair.”

Placing his hand in mine, Henry replies, “It’s nice to meet you, too, Mr. Elliott.”

“Come on, man. I bet you know more about me than most people in my life.”

“Surely, you’re closer with that blond lady friend of yours?”

“Rachel? We have a pretty professional relationship. But I guess on some level she knows me.”

“Professional? Is she a … you know?” Henry winks at me and I put two and two together. He thinks Rachel is a hooker.

“Oh shit, no! She’s a fellow pre-med student,” I laugh, knowing how hilarious Rachel would’ve found Henry’s question.