Page 22 of The Wrong Husband

I stare at the message that came through a few hours ago.

The knot of tension at the base of my neck tightens. If I reply, it’ll only encourage him.

I told Drew we’re over, but he shows no signs of having accepted it. I always knew he was more dependent on me, but surely, he should have begun to come to terms with it by now.

I rub at my temple. I should have told him I didn’t feel the same way when he asked to move in with me.No, I should have cut off this sham of a relationship before it even started.But I'm so used to going along with things to keep the peace…Not anymore. Not the new me.

"Phoenix, did you hear my question?"

I look up with a start.

My friend’s faces stare back at me around the table. I’m at The Fearless Kitten, a coffee shop in Primrose Hill where myfriends hold their book club meeting. They’ve been begging me to join them for months, but I’ve resisted.

What with work and the situation with Drew, I’ve barely had the energy to finish my shift, come home, and fall into bed. Of course, it would help to talk through my Drew situation with them…but I haven’t felt ready.

Perhaps, meeting the walking bad decision with ocean eyes and a smirk built for trouble this morning made me feel alive again.

It reminded me I have a life outside of just the ER and my home.

I do have friends who care for me.

And they’ve been wanting to meet up with me for months. So, I accepted their invitation.

"You asked how my day was?" I turn to Zoey.

She nods.

"High-intensity, prolonged exposure to high tension situations, with intermittent periods of caffeine administration. My prognosis: survival, but barely," I deadpan.

She chuckles. "An understatement, given the black circles under your eyes and the hollowed-out cheekbones. I’d wager you’ve lost weight since I last saw you…which was—” She frowns. “More than six months ago.”

Well, duh!I've been stressed out enough about the situation at home to not eat or sleep properly, so it’s not surprising I look terrible. And damn, has it been that long since I met up with them? I’m a terrible friend.

"It’s been intense."I’m also the master of understatements.

But I don’t want to whine about my life. Really, compared to the starving millions in the world, I have it easy—not withstanding troublesome ex’s and gorgeous walking-orgasms—I mean, strangers.

I take a sip of my dirty chai latte and savor the taste of the spices. Cinnamon and star anise. It’s almost as heady as the scent of the man I treated at the ER.

It’s true; I’m not looking to date right now, not when I’m still not over my last relationship. But I’m tempted to make an exception, forhim.

The two times I met that stranger, it felt like I’d been knocked off my feet. Like I’d been shot up with a cocktail of dopamine, oxytocin, and endorphins, and was spinning into the stratosphere.

It’s like nothing I’ve experienced in my life. It would get complicated with him very quickly. Which is why I told him I don’t date.

Now, I’m regretting it.I wish there were a way I could see him again.

If for no other reason than to confirm to myself that I didn’t imagine my physical reaction to him.

Besides, I'd love to know if it was a coincidence he landed in the ER just a few days after I saw him rescue that cat. Thinking about him is a distraction—one I welcome, as it takes my mind off the possibility of the ER closing.

Not to mention, I have no idea what to do about Drew not moving out of my place.

My other friend, Grace, looks at me closely. “Zoey’s right. If exhaustion were an aesthetic, you’d be the poster child."

“Thanks?” I wince. "It’s been nonstop at the hospital.” I drain the cup of tea and place it back on the table.

"That’s because you’re too busy saving the world," Zoey says in a soothing voice.