Or maybe I’m really naive.
There’s only one way to find out.
“Are you hungry?” I ask.
“My answer to that will always be yes.”
I motion to the back of the building. “We have food. And drinks. And it sounds like Dillan has fired up the karaoke machine.”
We fall in step together, going through the rows of empty desks. “Is this a regular occurrence?”
“Parties? Kind of. We always celebrate a successful launch, and doing stuff like this keeps up morale in the workplace.”
“All I want is an eight-hour shift.”
“How long do you work? I know residents have crappy hours.”
“Usually around eighty hours a week.”
I give him a horrified look. “How is that legal? You’re all doctors, so you know how bad it is to not get enough sleep.”
“Yeah, I’m shortening my life so I can extend it for others.” He’s joking…kind of. “I worked nineteen hours before getting on a plane to come here.”
“Ouch.” No wonder he looks so tired. “And you landed this morning?”
“Yeah. I landed at O’Hare around six this morning.”
“Ohhh, that’s a rookie mistake. Fly out of Midway next time. O’Hare is crazy busy. Or just drive. It’s like four hours from here to Indy. Traffic permitting, at least.”
“Noted. I did consider driving, but wasn’t sure if I could stay awake.”
“That’s sad.”
He shrugs. “It’s been my life for the last several years. I’m used to it. Though my ideal vacation would be any quiet hotel room with a comfortable bed.”
“That’s mine too, though I’d prefer that room to be in a Disney hotel.”
“I’ve never been.”
“What?” I give him my best I-can’t-fucking-believe-it look. “We’ve been a few times, and the last trip, all my stupid brothers thought they were too old and too cool to go to Disney. They missed out.”
“I remember that. You went our junior year over spring break and Dean had a party at your house.”
“No way.”
“Yeah. It got out of control and Weston had to come shut it down. He was just a rookie cop then.”
“Oh my God. And no one ever found out. I can’t believe Wes didn’t tell me!”
“I probably wasn’t supposed to tell you. It seems like it was so long ago.”
“Were Logan and Owen there?”
Archer raises an eyebrow. “Why do you think it got out of control?”
“I wish I could give them hell for this!”
“There might be pictures. I know some were taken.”
Archer tells me about the crazy things that went down that night as we go back to get cake and drinks. We take it into the hall, away from the noise. And right now, I’m forgetting to be mad at Archer.
“There you are,” the man Archer came in with says. He looks from Archer to me, curious but not questioning anything.
“Quinn,” Archer starts. “This is Dr. White. And this is Quinn.”
“Nice to meet you,” I tell Dr. White.
Holding a beer in one hand, he tries to put this all together. “You’re in charge here?”
“More or less.”
“And you two know each other?”
“Yeah,” Archer answers. “I’ve known Quinn since my freshman year of college, but I didn’t know she worked here.”
He didn’t introduce me as his buddy’s sister. I grit my teeth and force another smile. I need to stop.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Archer tells Dr. White. “Have fun.”
Dr. White smirks. “Oh, I will. And you too. It was nice meeting you, Quinn.”
I turn to Archer as soon as we’re alone again. “You said ‘doctor’ instead of his first name.”
“I know. Fine. We do like saying it. Sometimes I’ll purposely ‘forget’ to take my lab coat off when I run errands after work so people know I’m a surgeon. I’m not proud to admit that, but it’s true. Happy now?”
Giggling, I bring my drink to my lips and take a sip. “I like this side of you, Archer.”
“What side?”
“The honest one.”
He moves so his leg touches mine. “I am honest.”
“Really?” I don’t mean to sound as bitchy as I do. Maybe I’m still a little mad at him after all.
“Yes,” he breathes, eyes trying to convey what he won’t say.
I don’t budge. An apology goes a long way, buddy. Looking away, I stick my fork into my cake, carefully slicing off a flower made of frosting, and put it in my mouth. A few seconds tick by and neither of us speak.
And a few seconds turns into a minute. And another, until my cake is gone and I have nothing to occupy myself with. I turn to Archer, telling him—for real this time—that I need to get back to my office.
“Can I take you out to dinner?” he asks before I have a chance to get a word out.
“Like a date?” I blurt. Shit. I wish I had more cake to stuff in my mouth to keep me from talking. Though his answer could change everything.
“Do you want it to be a date?”
Damn you, Archer. Every time I think the ball is in his court, he throws it back at me.
“Depends on where you take me.”
He grins, and I hate that I want to impress him. “Considering I’ve never been here, you might not want me to be the one picking where we go. Unless you like pizza, because the one restaurant I’ve been to so far was good enough to go back to.”
“I do like pizza.”
“Well, then.” He stands and offers his hand. “Shall we? Or do you have to stay?”
“I should probably walk through and pretend to be social.” I finish my water and take his hand.
“You never answered me,” he says, his deep voice rattling everything inside me.
“About what?”
“Do you want it to be a date?”
I swallow hard, throat suddenly thick. This is the type of pressure I crack under, and it’s always because I put said pressure on myself. I get ahead of my own thoughts and end up saying something I regret. “What do you want?”
“You’re Dean’s kid sis. He’d give me shit if he found out I was in Chicago and didn’t check up on you.”
Archer is right. Dean would be pissed. Logan and Owen too. Eve
n Weston…and my parents. Archer is basically part of the family, and it’s not like he’s being rude. So why is my blood starting to boil?
I look at him out of the corner of my eye, frustration building. God, I hate that I want him. I hate that I want him to see me as more than his friend’s little sister.
I just wish I could hate him.
“Yeah, he’d be pissed for sure.” I toss my empty plate in the trash and my cup and fork into the recycling and wait for Archer to do the same. Not saying a word, we walk to the party. With each beat that passes, I’m tempted to break my own rule of not drinking at work.
We’re pretty casual around here. Some may even accuse us of being too hipster or crunchy for a company that develops software. We have drinks and massages at the office, and anyone without children are welcome to bring their pets on ‘bring your child to work day.’ As long as work gets done, anything goes.
But since I got promoted, I’ve tried to uphold a certain standard and make sure I stay professional at work. I’m far from uptight and have often been caught dancing to the Disney Descendants soundtrack in my office. Yet I don’t like to drink at work because I’m the type of person who says she’ll have one shot of whiskey and then keep drinking until I’ve had five.
“Quinn!” Marissa, a co-worker and my best friend in Chicago, sets down her empty cup and opens her arms. “Yes! I was hoping you’d stop working and—who is this?”
“This is Archer. My brother’s friend,” I introduce. “Archer, this is Marissa. She works with me.” I shake my head. “Obviously. We’re at work.”
Archer smiles, eyes lingering on me a moment longer than I’d expect from someone who’s only here out of loyalty to their best friend.
“The Archer?” Marissa whisper-talks.
I flash her a you’re-talking-way-too-loud glare and give her the tiniest nod. She hooks her arm through mine.
“Do you have a drink? No, we need to fix that. I’ll bring her back in just a second,” she says to Archer and spins me around. “What the hell is he doing here?”
“I don’t know. Wait, actually I do. He’s in town for some doctor convention. Medical doctors, not Doctor Who doctors.”