Brain Games

30. Drop It

"What are you doing?" I ask, appalled, taking a step to the side—away from Ashlee who just intently snuck up behind me and sniffed me while I was charting. I discreetly smell my armpit, now self-conscious.

Ashlee frowns, leaning heavily against the desk. "You smell like your normal soap and shampoo."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"Yes."

I blink at her once, twice. "Um, sorry?"

"Don't say sorry to me, say sorry to yourself. You smelling like you only means you're probably not getting freaky with the neighbor again, and that's a damn shame."

I roll my eyes, exasperated, while mentally wiping my brow, thankful I remembered she has the nose of a bloodhound. While I may have showered in my own shower this morning, I made sure Brad ran back over to his own place to shower (after we spent the full night together, again, at my place this time), afraid Ashlee might sniff him out if he used my stuff or we cross contaminated soaps and she'd be able to put two and two together.

"Sometimes I swear you're more invested in my sex life than I am," I mumble sarcastically.

"What sex life?" she jabs playfully.

Oh, Ashlee... if only you knew.

"Ha ha," I say dryly, playing into her assumption of my seemingly nonexistent sex life.

She turns, leaning back against the desk on her elbows, eyes scanning. "Hmm, what about him?" she asks, nodding her head towards a guy leaving a patient's room. "Tall, dark, handsome, brought flowers to whoever he's visiting," she lists.

"Has a wedding ring," I point out flatly, noting the gold band on his left hand before turning back to chart.

She frowns, eyes continuing to scan. "What about..." she trails off, not picking back up her sentence.

I glance over to see her frown deepened, a tight knot between her perfectly sculpted brows. I follow her gaze down the hall to find Brad in a heated but hushed conversation with Dr. Larson. My head jerks back in surprise, and I fully turn around to watch the show.

Both men stand off to the side of the hallway, quietly arguing. They stand toe to toe, eye to eye, getting in each other's faces. It's almost comical, how they're almost mirror images of each other; hands firmly on hips, spines straight, matching veins ticking out of their foreheads, neither one willing to back down.

Dr. Larson says something with finality, causing Brad to clinch his jaw and tightly cross his arms over his broad chest. He stews in his anger for a moment before reluctantly caving, spitting out the word fine.

Dr. Larson's eyes sparkle with an ounce of triumph, his strung tight posture relaxing. He claps a hand over Brad's still tense shoulder, steering him down the hall in the direction of the neurosurgery department.

Ashlee and I stare after them for a long moment in silence, trying to piece together what we just witnessed.

"What the hell was that?" Ashlee speaks first, voicing my exact thoughts.

"I have no clue," I admit, shocked to have seen Brad speak that way to a superior, let alone the best neurosurgeon in the world. Someone that can launch him to success.

"I guess Patrick really wasn't being over dramatic when he said he saw them fighting the other day."

I swallow thickly, forgetting all about that. "Yeah."

"Odd," Ashlee says, shaking her head.

"Very odd," I agree.

*