Page 155 of Love Sick

Her face scrunches and her voice breaks. “I hate that I hurt her.”

I finish the weird cucumber-lemonade cocktail the server recommended, unsure what to say. I hate that she did that too, but I’ve probably heaped it on enough.

By the end of the morning, I’ve all but forgiven her, even though I’ll never forget. I’m far too mushy and have no ability to hold grudges. Grace would call me a softie and smile.

God, I miss her. And that’s Alesha’s fault. Alesha and some mysterious villain from Grace’s past.

I should stay mad. I should be furious. I’m too numb to manage it.

Before we part ways in the parking lot, Alesha hugs me. “I’m going to talk to her today.”

“Good luck with that.”

A melancholy laugh answers me, and she reaches into her giant purse, jingling her keys.

I turn toward my truck but hesitate. “Hey, Alesha.”

Her eyes are still wet from tears.

“Apologies are well and good,” I say, “but we’re not really okay, you and me.”

Her eyebrows lift.

“I lost the girl I love because of you. This—this will take me a minute.”

Her full lips pinch and she gives a stiff nod. “I understand.”

I leave her in the parking lot and head home.

The BrOB-GYN hangout that night is a welcome distraction. Maxwell brings a ridiculously expensive bottle of Glenlivet that impresses even Dr. Levine. Most everyone is out on the deck smoking cigars, but I linger inside after refilling my glass. The empty cookie jar atop the fridge kindles a smile.

When Asher enters with three empty glasses, he pauses. “’Sup?”

“Nothing.” I point at the jar. “Just thinking about the condom prank.”

He chuckles. “His face was priceless.”

We exchange places so he can refill the glasses and I wander into the connected living room. While he works, I study the rainbow art above his sofa.

I’m not a gynecologist. I’m a vagician.

“Where’d you really get this, Asher?”

He glances at the poster, a subtle smirk lifting one edge of his mouth. Hands busy with the bottle, he tilts his head. “A patient gave it to me.”

I laugh. “What? Really?”

“Yeah.” He leans against the kitchen counter, gaze matching mine. “It’s kind of a weird story. At the end of first year, I had this patient who came to me with severe pain with sex.”

My eyebrows lift.

“She was in tears, man. Wanted so badly to have a baby, but her pain was… I couldn’t even touch her. I did so much research on it. We tried everything. Topical creams. Physical therapy. Vaginal Valium. She saw pain specialists and tried vaginal lasers. She even went as far as seeing a fertility specialist, thinking if she could just be inseminated, it would be easier.”

“Jesus.” I glance at the poster again.

“Yeah. Her husband was supportive, but it was all just so—sad.” He shakes his head. “So, we got a little unethical. She bought a bottle of Botox from some local medical spa and brought it to me. Begged me to try it.”

I laugh. “You did it?”

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