Page 63 of The Scars I Bare
“I will kill you,” he threatened, pointing a finger in my direction, still unable to make eye contact with me. “They taught us things in med school. I could make it look like an accident.”
“That’s a lie,” I said. “What about—”
“Dean! I swear to Christ—”
“What the heck is going on in here?” Cora shouted in the midst of my laughter and Jake’s tears.
“Dean’s a messed up dude; that’s what. I’ve got to go get ready for my first patient,” Jake said, giving me a look that said he was definitely going to poison my coffee later.
Cora suspiciously eyed me as she got her coffee for the morning. “What was that all about?”
I leaned against the counter and watched her, still chuckling under my breath. Still thinking about that kiss. “You know how things between Jake, Molly, and me are never weird?”
“Yeah,” she answered, mimicking my behavior on the other side of the counter.
“I think I just made it weird.”
“Is everything okay?” She looked concerned, pushing off the counter to come to my aid.
“What? Oh, yeah. This is what friends do. We give each other shit.”
She didn’t look entirely convinced.
“He’ll be fine. Promise. He’s probably in there right now, devising a plan to get back at me.”
“And you’re not nervous?”
I thought about it. “Hell yeah. But that’s half the fun. Did you have a better drop-off today?”
My sudden change in conversation topic had her reeling. “Um, what?”
“School. Sorry, I didn’t transition well. Did dropping off Lizzie go better today?”
She nodded. “Yes, much. I am still working on my epic mom speech, but I definitely felt more in charge today.”
“Well, you didn’t come in here with those laser-beam eyes, so I figured it had to have gone at least a tiny bit better.”
“It did,” she replied. “Although, when I saw you two yelling at each other like schoolkids, I thought the laser beams might be required.”
“Nah.” I shook my head. “All in good fun.”
“Says you. Jake looked like he’d seen a ghost.”
I laughed, remembering our conversation. “Probably something a lot scarier, but yeah.”
“You ready for another day of data entry?” she asked, taking a sip of her coffee before she set it on the counter.
She then began her morning routine, something I’d grown fond of watching every single morning. She first stowed away her purse in one of the empty cabinets before grabbing the green sweater she wore to keep away the chill during the day. And, finally, she gathered up all that lovely dark hair, twisting it into a knot on the top of her head.
I’d fantasized what it’d be like to watch her do this every morning. To lie in bed and carry on a conversation while she was brushing her teeth in the bathroom. Maybe we’d have a quickie in the shower…
“Yep. Totally ready,” I finally responded, realizing I hadn’t said anything for a full thirty seconds. “But, hey, before I begin my fascinating day, can I ask you something?”
She’d just finished securing her hair with a bobby pin, and she turned to give me her full attention. Her big brown eyes stared into mine, and I felt that dopey awkwardness again. The loss for words, the fumbling sensation that I was free-falling without a net.
“Date,” I blurted out.
“Date?” Her eyebrow rose.
