Boxer looked at Amanda, and his smile widened. “Hey. Are you having a girls’ night?”
“We were supposed to,” Amanda said blithely. “But I left my husband at home with a two-year-old, who decided to get sick on my one night off this week. Sorry, Linden, I’ve got to bail.”
My head swiveled to hers, and my gaze narrowed. I had no idea if she was telling the truth or if she was using her child as a convenient excuse to push me into Boxer’s vicinity.
“I hope Daphne feels better,” I said.
“I’m sure it’s just a twenty-four-hour bug,” Amanda said, all but admitting her crafty nature. “I’m sure you can find someone else to entertain you.” She looked pointedly at Boxer.
“I just finished up my shit,” Boxer said, taking the empty stool next to mine. “I’m free as a bird, with nowhere to be.”
“Lucky how that worked out.” Amanda grinned and then quickly hugged me. “Cheer her up, Boxer. She needs it. See ya later, Linden.”
With a wave and toss of her brown hair, she strode toward the elevator.
“So,” Boxer said, reluctantly pulling my attention back to him.
I sighed. “So.”
“Could she have been more obvious?” Boxer grinned.
“I don’t think so.” I shook my head.
“Why do you need cheering up?”
“What are you doing here?” I fired back, ignoring his line of questioning.
“Here? You mean at The Rex?”
“Yeah. It doesn’t really seem like your scene.”
The bartender approached and asked Boxer what he wanted to drink. “Club soda, thanks.” He shot me a wink. “I’m following your orders, Doc.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“I’m here because I’m buddies with the man who runs The Dallas Rex.”
I raised my brows and looked in the direction of the table where Boxer had been sitting. His friend was no longer there. “You’rebuddieswith the man who runs the hotel? Do you always drive an hour and half to hang out with your buddies?”
“Sure, why not? It’s not that big of a deal. I make the drive a couple of times a week. Now, why do you need cheering up?”
I skimmed the rim of my martini glass as I replied, “Tough day at work.”
“Yeah? Tell me about it,” he invited.
I frowned. “You want to hear about it?”
“Yeah. I’ll listen, if you want to talk.”
Did I want to? Or did I want to forget and drown my sorrows in another expensive cocktail?
I gestured to the bartender and said, “May I have another vodka gimlet, please? Thanks.” I finished the rest of my drink and pushed the empty glass across the bar.
“I lost a patient,” I said finally. “Early thirties. He left behind a wife and a couple of young kids.”
“Fuck,” he said. “That’s gotta be rough.”
“Yeah,” I said with a sigh. “Today was not a day I enjoyed being a doctor. Today I felt like I failed.”