Page 61 of A Brush with Love
Dan’s arms wrapped around her waist, fingers dancing up the notches of her spine, his touch stitching her pieces back together. Dan pushed his face into her neck and inhaled deeply.
“Whatever you want. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 19
HARPER
Harper felt lighter. Freer.
Dan now held a piece of her, and instead of feeling tethered and crushed, she felt something like joy at the release of the burden.
He led her from the bathroom, guiding her along the outskirts of the party toward the door. His warm hand splayed across her back anchored her focus, keeping her calm. The night was a disaster, but maybe it could be salvaged.
As they maneuvered around the last clumps of bodies, a blond head bobbed in front of them, blocking their escape.
Or the night could get a million times worse.
Jeffery Giles leaned against the wall, a smirk curling at his lizard-thin lips.
“Harper, what a surprise to see you in the real world. I almost didn’t recognize you without a textbook glued to your nose,” he said, eyes flicking up and down her body, “What dragged you out of your hole?”
“Oh, I get it,” Harper said, slapping a hand to her forehead. As exhausted as she felt, she dug into her energy reserves to muster up some sarcasm. “You’re making fun of me for studying so much. How disarmingly original. I’m shocked it came from you.”
“Harper, sweetheart, I would never make fun of you. I think it’s adorable how hard you try to keep pace and come in second. I guess learning just doesn’t come as naturally to some.”
Dan tensed behind her. “You can’t talk to her like that,” he said, his voice filled with warning. He slid an arm across Harper’s collarbones, holding her close against his chest. “Why don’t you step aside. We’re trying to leave.”
“And who areyou?” Jeff said.
“That’s Dan Craige,” Travis chimed in, squeezing through a circle of people to clap a hand on his brother’s shoulder. They shared a weighted look, and a slimy sense of understanding crossed Jeff’s features, making Harper’s stomach curdle. She didn’t know what knowledge passed between them, but anything that gave Jeff such gross satisfaction couldn’t be good.
Harper looked around, trying to figure out the best way to push through the interested crowd eyeing them.
“Dan,” Jeff said, drawing out the name. “I’ve been waiting to meet Callowhill’s biggest letdown. So sorry about your dad, by the way. Always sad to lose a modern-day hero.” He turned his greasy grin back to Harper. “What hypocritical company you keep, Harper. I thought you got off trashing legacies like us.”
Uneasiness trickled down Harper’s spine and she looked at Dan for understanding. He wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she shot at the brothers, trying to keep her tone even.
“Come on, Harper, let’s get out of here.” Dan laced his hand through hers and tugged her toward the door.
“Oh, how hilarious, she didn’t know. Guess I gave the whiny bitch something else to complain about.” Jeff’s voice was lowered and directed to Travis, but it caught right in that rare pause between songs and conversation, where a single noise becomes a room’s focus.
Harper’s body tensed as Jeff’s words slapped her skin.
Bitch.
It ricocheted across the room, splattering against the walls and dripping into puddles on the floor. It made her feel so small, like her body was folding in on itself.
A tense silence descended, fracturing through the party like a spider web of cracked glass.
And that silence, that pretense of surprise, hurt Harper even further. It wasn’t like the sentiment behind Jeff’s comment was shocking or new, it was just more direct than the constant stream of sexism that flowed through medicine.
It was present in the way advisors looked surprised when she said she wanted to do surgery, asked her when she’d find time to have a family. Evident in the way men spoke over her, ignored her. Grossly obvious in the way older attendings told her being cute helped with interviews, winking like it was some sort of inside joke, eclipsing her hard work with the fact that she was a woman. All of it thrown around so casually and subtly, it left her wondering if she even had a right to be offended, or if she was just being “too sensitive,” as women were also frequently accused of. She turned slowly, hating how her stomach swooped and skin prickled with embarrassment—silent, evil questions of her worth trying to snake into her brain—hating the tears pricking at her eyes as she forced hers to meet Jeff’s.
“I imagine it must be difficult to have masculinity so fragile you feel the need to take cheap shots at me whenever you can. Does it keep you up at night?”
Jeff let out a nervous laugh, looking around at the room. “Oh, come on, it was a joke! Obviously, it was a joke. Everyone’s so sensitive anymore.”
