Page 48 of Deeply Examined

“Do you want a drink?” I ask West. “I can get you another gin and tonic.”

“That would be great, and a glass of water, too. Thanks.” He chews his food with his head down, one arm curled protectively around the plate.

Tracy waves at me from across the room as I walk over to the bar. She’s talking to a short man, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s her small-dick husband. Vienna sausage. I’m not getting that image out of my mind for alongtime.

Everyone waited until after dinner to refill their drinks, so there’s a line. I take my place at the end, behind a tall man about my age. He’s good-looking with brown hair cut short and a well-fitted tux. He glances back at me, and we exchange the pleasant half-smiles of strangers. I figure that will be the end of it, but he does a double take and turns to me with a soft, “Good evening.”

“Hello,” I answer back, my attention drifting past him to count the number of people ahead of us.Six. I tap my foot, impatient to go back to West.

The stranger notices. “Are you in a hurry?” he asks. “You can cut in front of me if you need to.”

I force myself to still. West will be fine waiting, I remind myself. He won’t lose it without me. Heck, he might not even notice I’m missing. “No. That’s kind of you to offer,” I tell the man. “It’s not necessary, though. I can wait.”

We move forward a couple of steps. I expect him to turn around and ignore me, but he doesn’t.

“Do you work at the hospital?”

“No. I’m a teacher.”

He quirks his head, wrinkling his brow, until I explain, “My friend works here. He asked me to come with him.”

“Ah, well that was nice of you.” He smiles warmly. “A teacher. What an important profession. I wish it were paid that way.”

“You and me both.” I give him a rueful smile, remembering my old apartment with Brad screaming at the door. Maybe if I had lived somewhere nicer—safer—that wouldn’t have happened.

“How about you?” I ask, attempting to hold up my side of the conversation. “Do you work in the hospital?”

He holds up both hands like I’m about to rob him and grins. “Guilty as charged. I’m an interventional cardiologist.” He sticks out his hand and says, “Dylan. Nice to meet you.”

The line inches forward as I introduce myself.

“Have you been here before?” Dylan asks, indicating the conservatory with a wave of his hand.

“A couple of times,” I answer. “Once I brought a group of kids from the Student Council on a field trip. I had them bring paper and colored pencils. They sketched a copy of their favorite piece of art. They liked it and spent over an hour working on their drawings, which was longer than I had expected.”

“Sounds like a wonderful activity thought up by a wonderful teacher.” Another smile from him. His cologne is nice, woodsy with a hint of spice.

We move up in line, with him walking backward, while we talk about how great the gala is, how the weather had been so cold, and how he prefers beer, but I like wine. I don’t miss the appreciative glances he sends over my body and how every time we go forward he steps a bit closer. Normally, I’d be flattered, maybe even interested, but right now all I am is annoyed.

The bartender talks to each person in front of us, flirting with the women. I want to scream at him to hurry up. West is waiting, and I have so many things to say to him. I want to tell him how proud I am that he’s donating all that money. I want to ask about those other women bidding on him. I want to know why we never have sex.

When we finally get to the front of the line, Dylan orders his beer and then turns to me. “I’d offer to buy you a drink, but since it’s an open bar that kind of defeats the purpose.”

I laugh politely. “That’s okay. I can get it on my own.”

He moves aside and waits while I order my drink and West’s. I shuffle to the side while the bartender makes the gin and tonic.

Dylan’s eyes drop to my lips and then to my bare shoulder and finally to my chest. We’re crowded together, hemmed in by the wall on one side and the line of people at the bar on the other. It’s claustrophobic, the press of strangers and Dylan, whose elbow rests against mine.

“Jessica.” He reaches an arm around me and pulls me close, bending his mouth to my ear like he needs to be in this position for me to hear what he’s saying, but that’s bullshit. I could hear him just fine before he touched me. I stiffen at the contact, my stomach turning over uneasily.

“I’d love to take you out sometime. Is there any way I can get your number?”

“Thanks for the offer, but no.” I pause and then say, “I’m kinda seeing someone right now.”

Dylan’s wide smile dims. “That’s a shame. What can I do to convince you?” His thumb caresses the bare skin of my shoulder. I shudder at the sensation, a quiver that he mistakes for desire.

“See?” he says, drawing me closer so that our hips touch. “We have instant chemistry. I knew it the first time I saw you.”

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