Page 10 of Clinically Bewitched
I was ready. Ready for chaos, ready for change, ready for whatever the universe had planned.
Las Vegas, here I come.
My soulmate was waiting.
Chapter Three
Julien
Thursday night...
I folded my dress shirts with surgical precision. Which was appropriate considering I was a surgeon. Each fold was exactly three inches, sleeves tucked at precise ninety-degree angles, collars aligned perfectly. White shirts on the left, blue in the middle, and the single gray shirt I’d packed for variety on the right.
“You know they have irons in hotels, right?” Vivian, my annoying sister said from her position on my bed, where she’d been lounging for the past twenty minutes like some kind of particularly annoying house cat, trying her best to get on my nerves.
“I’m aware.” I placed the gray shirt in my suitcase, adjusting it so it sat flush against the blue ones.
“So this whole”—she waved her hand vaguely at my suitcase—“origami situation is just for fun?”
“It’s not origami. It’s efficient packing.”
“It’s obsessive.”
“It’s organized.”
“Jules, you’ve been folding the same pair of pants for five minutes.”
I had not been folding the same pair of pants for five minutes. It had been three minutes, maximum, and only because the crease wasn’t sitting properly. But I didn’t bothercorrecting her. Vivian had never understood the importance of precision.
She reached out and poked one of my perfectly folded shirts.
“Don’t touch that.”
She poked it again.
“Vivian.”
“What? I’m not doing anything.” She dragged her finger across the collar, deliberately messing up the fold.
I closed my eyes and counted to ten. Then to twenty. Then I considered counting to a hundred but decided that would take too long and I had a schedule to maintain.
“Why are you here?” I asked, refolding the shirt she’d just violated.
“Because you’re leaving for Vegas in the morning and I wanted to give you a pep talk.”
“I don’t need a pep talk.”
“You absolutely need a pep talk. You’re going to Las Vegas—Las Vegas, Jules—and you’re packing like you’re attending a funeral.”
“I’m attending a medical conference.”
“You’re giving one talk. One. The rest of the weekend is free time.”
“Which I’ll spend reviewing the latest research on—”
“Oh my God. Stop!” Vivian sat up, and I recognized the expression on her face. It was the same one she’d worn when we were children, and she was about to launch into one of her lectures about how I needed to “loosen up” and “have fun” and other concepts that had never made sense to me… well, that or tackle me to the floor.
I just wasn’t sure which one yet.
