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Plausible Deniability

Dax

Wednesday, May 31 st

8:17 p.m.

I’ve learned a lot in the past few weeks. Things I didn’t want to learn, but here I am, learning them. And the thing I will never admit to anyone is how desperately I wish I could take this burden from Liam.

I don’t think I could say those words out loud. I would take his place—fill his shoes—in a heartbeat. But I don’t want him to think I see him as weak. Because that’s not what I think. He’s strong. He can do this.

I just don’t want him to have to.

My stomach groans in protest as I place my hand on Yogi’s handle, and the woman on the far side of it swings it open. The bell jingle catches my attention a second too late. She crashes into me, and everything happens in slow motion as she fumbles to hold the bag slipping from her arms.

Cruel, cruel universe.

She rights herself, but not before she drops her drink on the sidewalk, the liquid splashing across my shoes.

“I’m so sorry.” Her eyes stay trained on the mess at our feet. We both bend to grab the cup, and our fingers graze.

She yanks her hand away as our eyes meet and rubs the spot where we touched. Her eyes fall to my mouth, and she takes her sweet time before shifting them back to mine.

“Dr. Fields, I was just thinking about you.” It’s not entirely untrue. Any thoughts of Liam produce thoughts of her. Seeing her brings back our last conversation like a movie scene inside my head. Okay, I should apologize. It’s not like the malpractice was an easy topic to traverse, but how am I supposed to go about explaining I shouldn’t have bombarded her like that?

“Mr. Blakely,” she says, half a grumble.

“It was all good. Promise.” I stand, extending a hand to help her up.

Her eyes bounce from my hand to my face as she stands, not accepting my offer. She mumbles something I can’t make out, and I lean closer, catching the last couple of words.

“Eight point one billion people . . . seriously?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

She continues to brush herself off, ignoring me.

Her disinterest is intriguing.

My eyes stay glued to her.

Yet, she pretends I don’t exist.

This is new to me.

I take the empty cup from her hand. “We got off on the wrong foot.” I give her a smug grin and avoid the apology I owe her. “How are you?”

“Fine, until this.” She points at the puddle at our feet. I try to make eye contact again, but she averts her gaze, reaching for the cup. I keep it away from her, trying to get her to look at me.

She’s flustered, and I’m honored. I get this response from most women, but she didn’t seem bothered by me any other time I’ve been around.

“Eight point one, huh?” I let her have a breather as I make my way past her and into the restaurant. “Want a refill?”

“A refill would be great. Thanks.” She relaxes as she follows me inside, fixing her eyes on anything but me. I’m flattered, I am, but I can’t resist poking fun.

“Do you need a kiddie cup?”

Shock registers across her face as her mouth drops open, and she huffs, placing a hand on her hip. “So I don’t get too much?” The tension in her shoulders disappears, and I get a humorless smile.

“You shouldn’t have more than you can handle.”

She smirks.

Game on.

“Get one for yourself while you’re at it, on me. For all your troubles,” she says, not bothering to keep the irritation from her voice.

I clasp a hand over my heart. “That’s sweet of you.”

She rolls her eyes, the corner of her mouth lifting.

“Did you roll your eyes at me?” I fight the urge to take her over my knee but stop the idea before it fully forms. Not the right place or the right time. Definitely not the right person.

Off-limits. Off-limits. Off-limits.

“Semantics.” She taps a finger on her lower lip, studying me. “I recognize you from somewhere.”

“Liam’s brother.” I point a finger at my chest.

“Is that right?” She rolls her eyes. Again . I get twitchy palms. She narrows her gaze, and her bottom teeth nibble on her plump, glossed lip. “Somehow, I forgot.”

“Ouch. I’m that forgettable, huh?” A part of me is dying to know what that bottom lip feels like pressed against mine, but I push the thought away along with the other dirty things that pop into my mind.

The rosy hue on her cheeks transforms into a deep crimson tint.

I get to her.

And I like it.

Pay attention. Stop staring at her like that, Dax. Shit.

“No, definitely not.” She goes silent as she pulls her hand to her mouth, nibbling on a nail.

“It’s the face.”

She studies me, her fingers still near her mouth. Confusion creases her brow.

“I get that a lot.”

Her forehead puckers with no idea what I’m referencing.

I can’t believe I have to be so obvious. “You recognize me because . . .”

She chuckles into her hand. “Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Her hazel eyes rove over me, and she fiddles with the gold ring on her pinkie finger. “It’s from somewhere else, though, nothing to do with Liam. I’m usually the one who . . . hey, did you redirect the conversation? What the hell?”

I throw my hands up in surrender. “Me? Never.”

“That’s not fair.” She smacks my arm, twisting her lips into a smirk.

C’est la vie, Dr. Fields.

“I model,” I whisper as I lean closer to her ear.

“No.” She ignores my proximity as the line ahead of us moves forward. She cocks her head to the side, no longer entranced by me, more interested in figuring out why I look familiar. Maybe Instagram? No, she doesn’t seem the type. I order two teas, handing her a cup and taking the other as I add an egg drop soup to our order of sushi.

She nibbles on the end of her straw and pulls it free from the wrapper before slipping it into the lid, gulping while lost in thought. “Is that for Liam?”

Most things running through my mind stop when his name rolls off her tongue.

Most.

Not all.

Not the way her lips part before she exhales and reconsiders what she’s about to say.

Or the way she fidgets with the ring on her pinkie finger.

And most definitely not the way pity fills her eyes moments before she changes the direction of our conversation.

I nod, averting my gaze.

“How are you doing with everything?”

“Fine.”

“Fine, as in you have a grip on everything? Or fine, as in leave you the hell alone?”

I grin, amazed at how she reads the mood with ease. “I’d never be rude enough to tell you to leave me the hell alone, but that’s actually a great idea.”

She analyzes me with a crease between her brows. “If you ever want to talk, I’m available.”

“Liam and I are gonna be fine. Did you forget he has the best doctor in the nation, and I’m about to have her number on speed dial?”

She rolls her eyes again, but the smile on her lips stays put. She didn’t say no. This could work in my favor.

My phone buzzes. I know who it is before I pull it from my pocket. “Liam,” I say, covering the mouthpiece with my hand, “speak of the devil.”

“And he shall appear.” Liam finishes my sentence with one of his favorite quotes from The Dark Knight Rises.

Dr. Fields smiles as she points over her shoulder and walks in the opposite direction, whispering, “I’m gonna go.”

I hold up a finger, asking her to wait. “Liam, give me a sec.”

“Did you get lost?” he asks.

She pauses a couple of steps away, but it looks like she’s ready to bolt.

“No. I’ll be home in a while. Need something else?”

“Nah. What’s taking so long?”

“I’ll fill you in when I get home.”

“Don’t forget the crunchy strips.”

“Got it.” I hang up before she can make her escape. “July,” I say, not ready for our time together to end. I want to cement us in this moment.

“What?” She stops at the door, and I get a frown of confusion.

“I was in a calendar. The month of July. Maybe that’s why you recognize me.”

“Like a firefighter calendar?” Bits of laughter break each word. She takes a long draw of her tea.

“But with less clothes.”

“July. Wow. Okay. Thanks again.” The corner of her mouth twerks up, my new favorite shade spreading across her cheeks.

There’s something about a woman deep in thought.

Could be trouble.

Could be fun.

How her face scrunches in disapproval makes me curious about which one it is.

She doesn’t give me time to figure it out before she pushes against the door. “Have a good night.”

“It was nice running into you, Dr. Fields. Let me know when you figure it out.”

She gives me a grin and a dismissive nod.

My heart seizes.

“I’d let you call me Brighton.” She juts out her chin. “But only friends and family call me that.”

Her play on my words stings, and I chuckle. “Got it. And what do your enemies call you?”

“Dangerous.” She doesn’t skip a beat.

“Interesting. I don’t find anything about you to be dangerous.” I stop beside her at the door and reach forward, trying to brush a loose strand of hair out of her face.

She leans away from my touch, her brow creasing as she goes rigid. The tension from earlier returns. Her knuckles turn a shade of white as she tightens her fist on the plastic bag, taking a step through the open door. “You don’t know me.”

“Yet.”

Confusion would be an excellent way to describe her expression.

It’s there, and it’s gone.

She replaces it with hesitancy. And curiosity.

“Is that a threat?” She lifts her drink to her mouth, sucking on the straw, her eyes softening as they meet mine.

“I’d like to think of it as a promise,” I say, taking her words as a challenge. I wasn’t expecting this side of her, and I enjoy watching her squirm.

She contemplates what this could imply, pulling another sip from the straw. “And what if I’m not interested?”

“No one said you had that option.”

She gurgles and chokes on her tea, her eyes the size of golf balls. She hunches over, trying to catch her breath. She sets her cup and bagged plastic container on the floor.

My panic sets in as I glance around the restaurant. Everyone’s eyes are on us. I pat her on the back as she coughs. And coughs. And coughs.

What do I do?

She coughs some more, clears her throat, and stands. Her skin is a darker shade of red, one I’m not too fond of, and her eyes are wide. Her chest heaves as we stare at each other. She watches me for an extra beat before laughter bubbles out of her.

“Were you gonna let me die?” She bends at the waist, placing a hand on her knee as she grabs her bag of food and the drink. “That wouldn’t be in Liam’s best interest.”

“I didn’t . . . I’m sorry . . .” My eyes bounce around the restaurant, trying to pass the blame on someone else.

She sucks in air. “I can breathe. I enjoy breathing.”

“Are you okay?”

“I needed a good laugh. Thanks.” Her smile spreads from ear to ear. “And this is not an option,” she states, pointing between us. “Ever.”

I’m shocked by her brazen tone and like that she blushes when we touch. But it’s all replaced by discomfort when I give her one of my best smiles.

“Say hello to Liam.” She doesn’t allow me to respond before disappearing out the front door, the bell jingling in her wake.

I struggle between wanting to chase her and needing to stay for Liam’s soup, a sense of urgency I haven’t felt before, but luckily, my number gets called, and I grab our food. I’m out the door and on my toes in search of her while I weave through the crowd. My stomach growls, and my mind ping-pongs between spending time with Liam versus Brighton. I’m drawn to the appeal of the latter.

The blinking pedestrian crossing sign grabs my attention at the intersection ahead, and I swear it’s her brown hair swaying in the wind in the crowd ahead. I bump into people as I pass and apologize, stopping a couple of feet short of her.

“Brighton?” Her name rolls off my tongue like it belongs there, and I’m curious if she’ll call me out for following her.

She freezes, caught off guard. I was right. The horde keeps going. She turns. It’s so slow it feels straight out of a film. I continue forward until I’m beside her. I reach out, my fingers grazing across her elbow, and her gaze drops to my hand. The zing coursing between us is unmistakable. And the look in her eyes confirms I couldn’t have made it up.

When she takes a step back, it’s clear I violated some invisible boundary. She shakes her head, her mouth opening and closing, but no words come out.

“I wanted to say sorry.” I hold out a hand, a peace offering.

She stares at it. “For what?”

“Last time we talked.” My eyes linger on the flush of her cheeks.

“No need. I get where you were coming from and understand if Liam has a change of heart. I wouldn’t say I’d blame him.”

“Like changing doctors?”

Two lines appear between her dark brows, and her smile falters. “If that’s what he wants.”

“You took that all wrong. I’m sorry I put you on the spot. I can only imagine how difficult everything is, and I didn’t mean to make it awkward.”

“I figured someone would ask eventually,” she says with a casual shoulder raise.

I wonder how she’s holding up regarding the doctor. I doubt she’d tell me. Seems like she prefers to appear strong, whether or not that’s the case. I don’t have a lot to lose here. It’s a fifty- fifty chance I’ll get a yes. And I shoot my shot. “Wanna eat? With me?” I point over my shoulder toward Central Park.

Something about how the rosy hue fills her cheeks as she tries to hide her discomfort makes me desperate to find more ways to make her smile. But there’s a small part of me—very, very small—that knows I shouldn’t be doing this. Taking things further is a big no-no. I need to focus on Liam and how this would affect him. Not how badly I want to get to know her better.

Her eyes bounce between my hand and the park, the internal debate clear on her face. “That’s not appropriate.”

“I’m just a guy asking a girl if she wants to eat at the park. Nothing inappropriate here.” I clasp my pinkie and thumb, holding up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

She chuckles under her breath. “Wouldn’t that be a conflict of interest?”

“My interest or yours?”

She shakes her head, the grin on her face growing. “Liam’s.”

“Liam doesn’t have any interest in this.” I point between her and me. “No pressure.” I back away from her and head down the sidewalk, trying to act unaffected. I’m attracted to her on a whole new level, but not enough to beg.

I glance at my watch. Liam will survive without food for another hour. I’m sure no one ever starved to death while waiting for dinner, despite their claims otherwise. The slight pang of guilt at my decision disappears, knowing I may never get a chance like this with Brighton again.

“I shouldn’t.”

Her words cause a pause in my step, and I turn, but I don’t stop walking backward. “I don’t bite.” On a first date. “But it’s probably better for you not to travel alone, considering what’s been going on in the news.”

She grins at my play on the situation and settles a hand on her hip, reflecting on the truth behind my words. “Going into the park with a stranger doesn’t seem like a smart idea, not to mention I was alone when we bumped into each other.”

She takes a couple of steps toward me, and I pause, waiting for her to decide. I can’t make out the details of her expression from here, but I can sense the roll of her eyes in her tone. “Good point. I didn’t realize I was still a stranger.”

She crosses her arms over her chest and smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “A couple of conversations doesn’t make us friends.”