Page 5 of Love Sick

He grins, little dimples appearing in his cheeks, kind crinkles around his eyes. “Hey.”

A portion of my anxiety unwinds. “Hi. Sorry.” I glance at my leg. “I’m wearing your drink.”

His dark stare locks on my ankle, then slides up my leg in a way I canfeel, like his stupidly attractive hands are on my skin.

Whoa. Is it hot in here?

“Not a problem,” he says. “Though I think I ruined your shoes.”

I groan, staring at the sad stain in the silk bow at my ankle. “I loved these shoes.”

He winces. “I could spill some on the other shoe. Make it match?”

“Oh, you’d be good enough to do that for me?”

“Anything for you, er—” He lifts his eyebrows, clearly hoping for a name.

“Oh, I’m Grace.”

He holds his hand out, smiling. “Julian. Ruiner of shoes. Just please don’t tell my sister. If she finds out I killed a pair of heels like that, she’ll disown me.”

I give him a little laugh. “Your secret’s safe with me. So, wait. Are you Julian Santini?”

His smile falters, and his warm hand falls away from mine. “You’ve heard of me?”

I give him my full grin. “Of course. I’ve memorized all my co-intern’s names. You’re Julian Santini. The email said you went to LECOM?”

“The Bradenton campus.” Those dark brows knit together. “You’re one of the interns? You said your name was Grace?”

An awkward giggle bubbles in my chest, and heat rises in my cheeks. “Oh. I go by my middle name. My parents are hippies. They named me Sapphire.”

The smile drops off his face. His entire demeanor changes as he straightens. “You’reSapphire Rose?”

“Er… Yes.” I take a step back.

A disbelieving laugh precedes a sharp, almost cold appraisal of my face. “Of course you are.”

My head jerks at his sardonic tone. “Of course—what?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing. Nice dress, by the way. Matches the shoes. Sorry about that.” He lifts his near-empty cup and retreats. “I have to refill—”

The crowd swallows him before he finishes.

Shocked, I glance around, meeting the eyes of a few strangers who smile politely before returning to their own conversations.

He…he left? Why?

The knot of anxiety in my chest tightens, then tugs on my tear ducts. I paste on a smile and make my way through the kitchen, passing by Asher with my drink. I lift a finger to keep him from following as I slip into the connected dining room and outside to the empty patio.

A firepit roars beside a table full of ingredients for s’mores. I bypass it all and step around the side of the house, letting the warm brick dig into my back.

Two tears spill, and I swipe at them, breathing through the bleak sense of loneliness and affront. Whatwasthat?

Around the corner, the door opens, and the voices of a few party guests drift toward me. I shrink farther into the shadows at the side of the house.

“Dr. Levine is lit tonight,” says a female voice.

A deep contemplative voice answers. “It’s taken me three years to decide, but I’m positive he and his wife are swingers.”

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