Page 34 of Love Sick

I shrug. “Not to me.”

Why is it so satisfying to get under her skin?

“God forbid someone on this planet doesn’t like you, Julian.”

“You guys!” Alesha waves hands at both of us. “Friendsgiving is not the time for thisthingyou do.”

Grace’s affront fairly sparks around her. “There’s nothing. It’s mutual loathing.”

Kai gives a wide-eyed whistle, shifting his gaze to his plate. “Anyone else unsure whether they should be uncomfortable or turned on?”

Um. What the hell?

I’d say something to shut that down, but I refuse to look away from Grace, unwilling to let her win the staring contest. She mouths,I don’t like you, at me. I don’t react, glaring at the shimmer in that hazel without blinking. The lines between her eyebrows smooth out. Neither of us move.

Annoying habits aside, she is stunning. When her temper heats and she crawls out of her shell…

I have a knack for setting off that temper. Do I do it for the flush in her cheeks? The twist of her pert mouth? The way her breaths grow deep like I imagine they will when—

“Julian!” Alesha shoves a bowl of potatoes at me.

I clear my throat and take them, doing my best not to look at Grace for the remainder of the dinner. Eventually, Kai rises to leave for his shift, but Raven stops him. “Wait. We need to draw names.”

Kai and I trade wary glances.

“Draw names for what?” I ask.

“Holiday exchange. Duh.” Raven shakes her head like she thinks we’re both stupid.

“Oh yeah. I forgot.” Alesha stands to grab a sheet of paper, then tears it in five pieces. “Everyone write your name.” She offers me the paper.

I hedge. “Do we have to?”

She sends me a stern Alesha-stare. “Yes.”

Sighing, I obey. When she offers me the bowl of papers to choose from, I don’t have to look to know whose name I’ve drawn. Radar is on high alert.

Her loopy handwriting looks nothing like my typical doctor-scrawl. Its elegance fits her like a surgeon’s glove.

Grace.

* * *

Traveling to Florida in November is an unpleasant trial in patience with old people. The snowbirds have no sense of urgency, but at least I’m not going through Orlando International with the Disney crowd.

By the time I’m home, reclining under the sun-dappled shadows of palm trees dancing over my closed eyes, I’m ready for a beer and a nap. Instead, my gaze travels over the red, white, and black spiders that weave their webs at the top of our lanai, reminding me of Grace Rose, while five women pepper me with questions. I hold them off best I can, but my mother’s pleas for me to move home cannot be ignored.

I rub my face and beg for patience. “Mom, I can’t quit. I’ll be done in a few years and I’ll find a job here. I promise.”

She fans herself, blond hair clipped up and tousled in the breeze, rocking in her outdoor recliner. “If you meet some girl and move farther away from me, I’ll have a heart attack. Is that what you want, Julian?”

Tori sends me a knowing grin as she pulls a beer out of the outdoor fridge, tossing it to me.

I snap the tab open and hand it to Mom. “I’m not meeting anyone, okay? Stop panicking. You’re being melodramatic.”

“Yeah, Ma,” says my oldest sister, Lauren. “Let BB live his life. He’s a hotshot doctor now.”

Lauren’s two kids—my only niece and nephew—are swimming with her husband, Ben. They squeal as Ben launches them in the air, water sprinkling over us when they land. Lauren beams at them.

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