Page 23 of Rush
My phone buzzes while I'm chopping vegetables. It's Chloe.
Chloe: Clubhouse tonight? Just low key.
I stare at the message for a long second.
I should say no, should stay home and give Rush space like he clearly wants.
But I've never been good at doing what I should.
Me: Yeah, I'll be there.
Chloe: Great. See you around eight.
I finish making dinner and eat while reading a journal article, but I can't focus.
I keep thinking about the way Rush grabbed my wrist Wednesday night, the heat of his hand, the way his eyes dropped to my mouth.
He wanted to kiss me. I know he did.
And then he ran.
Tonight, I'm not letting him run.
I show up at the clubhouse around eight wearing jeans and a black tank top. It's warm inside and I'm in the mood to be comfortable. The old ladies wave me over and I join them. Gráinne's telling a story about a patient who came in with something stuck somewhere embarrassing.
We're all laughing when I notice Rush at the bar.
He sees me and his expression doesn't change, but his posture does—shoulders tensing slightly, jaw tightening.
Good. He should be uncomfortable.
I excuse myself and walk over to the bar, position myself right next to him.
"Hey," I say.
"Hey."
"You avoiding me again?"
"No."
"You sure? Because you look like you want to bolt."
His mouth almost curves. "I'm not going anywhere."
"We'll see." I order a wine, and when it comes I take a sip, then I look at him. "So are we going to talk about it?"
"Talk about what?"
"Wednesday night, the hallway, the almost kiss."
"There's nothing to talk about."
"Really? Because it seemed like something to me."
He takes a drink of his beer and doesn't answer.
"You're terrible at this," I say.
