Brain Games

12. Bite Me

I walk down to the main lobby to meet Ashlee, rolling and tucking Brad's shirt into my jeans to try to make it pass as my own as much as I possibly can. Because I know if Ashlee finds out it's his she'll give me so much shit for it, and that's the last thing I need right now.

In the lobby, Ashlee sits on one of the many benches, braiding the strands of the red streak on the underside of her black hair. As I approach her, her bored gaze lifts and she stands, giving me a look that says finally. "Took you long enough," she comments.

"Bite me."

The side of her mouth lifts up in amusement. "Who shit in your coffee?"

I roll my eyes. "Where's Patrick?" I ask, the two cousins typically joined at the hip.

Ashlee begins walking towards the door and I follow. "I had him go ahead to EBS to secure a table. If you thought it was crowded after the first day, you should see it after the first week."

"Oh joy," I say sarcastically.

When we arrive at EBS, Ashlee's statement proves to be true. The bar is packed with more people than the last time we were here, after the first day. There are fewer first year residents here this time, but the number of nurses and doctors has nearly tripled, all probably needing a stiff drink after babysitting and guiding all the new residents this week, especially after one of the most dangerous holidays where the traffic of the ED is exceptionally high.

Ashlee stands on her tippy toes to scan the bar for Patrick, finding him and dragging me to him by the arm. She pulls me through the crowd until we reach a high top table Patrick seems to be guarding with his life. When we approach, his shoulders sag in relief.

"Finally," he rushes out in a reassured breath. "Do you know how many people I had to ward off for this table, especially the chairs? People are vultures. And then the annoyed, pitying looks they give me are fucking brutal when I tell them they can't have any of the chairs because my friends are coming. Like, damn. Chill out. It's like they think I'm lying and hogging everything to myself."

I stifle a laugh at his misery. "Well thank you for manning down the fort."

He smacks a hand on the table top, giving me an appreciative look for noting his efforts. "Damn straight."

"Oh don't get all buddy buddy with her," Ashlee chimes in. "She's the reason we're late in the first place." She climbs up onto one of the high top chairs, making a displeased face. "You know how much I hate high tops," she complaints. "Couldn't you have gotten a booth?"

Patrick's dark brown eyes narrow into slits, first glaring at me, then Ashlee. "Seriously? Excuse me for the limited options," he says, sarcasm dripping from each word. His narrowed gaze swings back to me. "Maybe if you two would have gotten here a little earlier we'd have more options."

"Bite me," I grumble out, climbing up into a high top chair, my feet more than a foot off the ground. When I'm settled, I realize too late that the chair is too far away from the table for my liking, and I awkwardly try to scoot closer. Still sitting, I grip the bottom of the seat and throw my body forward, making little progress, less than an inch closer to the table. I huff, jerking my body forward repeatedly, probably looking like I'm seizing, to try to scoot to the edge of the table.

Suddenly, my chair glides forward smoothly, and I nearly break my neck to look back at who pushed me forward. I'm met with rich brown eyes, perfectly tousled, silky black hair, and a grin that's toothpaste commercial worthy.

"There you go," Brad says smugly.

"Bite m—" I start, but instantly stop after recalling his reply to that phrase not even thirty minutes ago.