Page 57 of Love Sick

I like that last option best, if I’m honest.

She’s too good for him. Too good for all of us. That shy smile, that pervasive intellect, that quiet kindness—she deserves someone great.

Oh god. Whatisthis? Is she some kind of enchantress who’s poisoned me in her favor?

Ignoring the inner turmoil, I shoot him a look. “You think maybe that has more to do with you than me? If I remember correctly, her first impression of you was overhearing you say you wanted her to suck you off.”

He waves his hand, the movement smearing in my influenced vision. “Everyone knows I’m all talk.” He shakes his head. “Whatever. If you say there’s nothing, I believe you.” Then he winks. “I’ll find the key to turning her on eventually.”

When I first met him, yeah, I thought he was a prick, but Asher has more to him than I originally thought. He knows how he comes across when he says shit like that, but it’s completely at odds with how he behaves—the compassionate patient care, the ingrained sense of justice, the way he goes to bat for residents treated unfairly. He acts like he sleeps around, but drunkenly confided he hasn’t been with anyone since his fiancée broke his heart a year ago. Asher’s a decent guy, but in this moment, I hate him.

Not even the drugs and alcohol in my system can distract me. In slow motion, the image plays out, a horror movie in my mind. Grace smiles at Asher while unzipping his jeans, dropping slowly to her knees. Venomous heat erupts in my chest, and I squeeze my eyes shut, desperately searching for anything to make that image go away.

A snarling, primal animal wakes, immersing me in a deluge of jealousy I’ve never experienced, not even when my last girlfriend slept with my med school classmate.

My hands clench as I stare into the fire, fantasizing about throwing Asher into it.

Maxwell nudges my arm, leaning close to murmur, “Chill out, bro.”

Yep. This is going to be a huge problem, and I don’t even know what started it.

I lurch to my feet and head inside for an unneeded bathroom break. As I stand alone in the kitchen, the cookie jar of condoms on the fridge catches my attention and rapture dawns. Grace will know it’s a joke, but I grin maniacally as I imagine her spine-snapped-straight, nose-in-the-air pseudo-affront when she opens the text. I take a picture of the jar and send it to her, followed by the typical caption.

Me:Found this. Made me think of you.

Sapphire:Don’t you know anything about being slutty, Julian? My dirty affairs go bareback.

I stare at the wordbareback, and a host of ungodly images flood my mind, each of them imprinting desires I don’t want deep into the highest-functioning areas of my cerebral cortex, bypassing the more primitive locales.

Fuckity fuck, fuck, fuck.

This is a problem.

Grace

APRIL, YEAR 1

An hour-long PowerPoint barely scratches the surface of the issues encompassing female sexual dysfunction. Regardless, I furiously type into my Google Doc while third-year Mila Tischler lectures from the head of the conference table.

The slides on orgasmic dysfunction and hypoactive sexual desire remind me of my own sexual repression. The memories of what I did for Matt still make me want to vomit. I can’t believe I did those things simply out of fear he’d leave if I didn’t. Even when they hurt. When they made me cry.

A great cost, but a priceless lesson learned: love is a figment and believing in it will hurt you.

Why do I allow him so much power over me? Years later, and the whisper ofice queenstill reverberates in my subconscious. It’s illogical, and I want to heal. I want to move past it, but I just…can’t. Instead, I drown out the voice with overindulgent color-coded notes.

Some insults simply cut too deep to heal. Some insults bleed forever.

As usual, Julian sits across from me, listening without taking notes. Nothing but the Slytherin mug sits before him. No notebook. No laptop. Not even a pen.

He’s wearing glasses.

They arenothot.

Yes, huh. He’s got Clark Kent vibes, girl.

Ugh. How is it fair that glasses make him cuter?

Where’s my spare kryptonite?

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