Page 36 of Dr. Attending

“Wow. Thanks—”

“Second of all,” he interrupts, wetting his lips before continuing. “I wasn’t trying to pick you up.”

His blatant rejection shouldn’t make my stomach twist, but it does. I force myself to look away, feeling him track me as I place my glass in the cup holder and drop into the seat at the corner of the hot tub.

I lean back against the cushioned headrest, letting out a long exhale as the jets pound against my back. This should be relaxing because the hot tub is secluded on the far edge of the deck, hidden behind the outdoor fireplace. It’s always been my favorite place to unwind over the years, but with every second of silence that passes, both my pulse and my temper begin to rise.

It’s absolutely ludicrous that he’s acting like he’s not interested in me. I saw the way his eyes undressed me last night in the hotel room. I felt his arm wrapped around me in my sleep last night. There’s no way that I’m going to let him play the alpha-male card, because if anyone isn’t interested here, it’s me.

My eyes snap to Weston’s smug face. “You know what I find funny?”

“No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

I laugh, though it’s not laced with any humor. “You didn’t seem to have a problem trying to pick me up when I was eighteen.”

Weston exhales sharply, dragging his fingers through his hair. His body stiffens, his shoulders squaring like he’s bracing for impact.

“What?” I prod, my voice cutting through the thick air. “Am I too old for you now? Or was it only fun when I had a boyfriend? I know you’ve never been one for honoring a relationship.”

It’s a low blow because I know that he and Cassidy worked things out, but I can’t help myself. It feels phenomenal to finally confront him about this.

Weston’s jaw tightens, and for once, he looks uncomfortable.

Good—heshouldbe uncomfortable. What he did back then was fucked up, and he knows it.

The memory is still crystal clear after all this time.

It was the night of July Fourth, and we were sitting around the campfire. Parker had passed out after getting trashed on the boat that afternoon, leaving Weston, my sister, and our boyfriends to hang out.

I’m not sure who suggested the game, but we ended up playing truth or dare.

At the time, I was just as drawn into Weston’s orbit as everyone else was, and for some idiotic reason, I wanted him to like me. So, when it was my turn to pick, I chose dare, probably because I wanted to prove to my brother’s new friend that I wasn’t the stuck-up princess that he thought I was.

My sister happened to be much more tipsy than I was, and she seemed to think it would be hilarious to dare me to kiss Weston. I remember looking to my boyfriend for his approval, but he had run up to the house to grab a beer, or something. So I decided to go for it, figuring that a peck on the cheek wouldn’t be a big deal.

And it probably wouldn’t have been . . . if had been just a peck.

But Weston turned his head at the last second, and his lips brushed mine instead. I pulled away immediately—or at least Ithought I did. But according to my boyfriend, who apparently saw the whole thing, I lingered. A little too long.

I wasn’t surprised when he ended things with me the next day.

Embarrassed? Absolutely. But not surprised.

Because the truth is that I wanted Weston to kiss me, just for a second. I fell for his ridiculously magnetic pull and ruined a two-year relationship for nothing more than his amusement. And that tiny, fleeting moment of recklessness has haunted me more than the breakup ever did.

My sister and I never spoke about it afterward, probably because she knew how humiliated I felt. But Weston? He never let it go. He made snide little comments when nobody was around—jabs that I would expect from an immature teenage boy, not a grown man who was ten years older than me. I bit back my responses, and after years of my refusal to engage with his teasing, he eventually moved on.

But I never did.

And judging from the tight line of his jaw and the way his hazel eyes flick away from mine, apparently he didn’t either.

“What’s wrong, Wes?” I ask, crossing my arms. “Don’t like reminiscing on the good ol’ days?”

“Caroline.”

His tone is almost regretful, but I don’t believe it for a second.

“That’s what I thought,” I taunt. “Same old bullshit. Well, don’t worry. I learned my lesson. You couldn’t pick me up if you were the last man on earth.”

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