He took a sip of his bourbon, letting the liquid pool under his tongue before swallowing and enjoying the pleasant burning warmth as the liquor made its way down his throat.
“And?” Brae prodded, because he was a jackass. A somewhat psychic jackass.
“And something happened today and I wanted to tell someone,” Eric admitted, turning his glass this way and that in the low light.
“It sounds like it was something good, so spill it already, bro. I don’t have all day. I do actually have to look at some lines before I go out.”
“I think I might’ve met someone. I mean, I knew her before. But…not like this.”
“Who is she?”
“The mother of a couple of my peds patients. Divorced,” he said before Brae got the wrong idea.
He knew some people were non-monogamous and that was cool but it had never really appealed to him. Yeah, he liked to play with lots of people because med fet and age play made his brain burst with all the good chemicals, but a long-term romantic partnership? His family? He’d always seen himself with just one woman.
“So how’d that happen? You run into her at the grocery store, reached for the same grapefruit or something like that?”
“No. Definitely not. She was here with her kids for their annuals and she puked on my exam room floor.”
Braeker busted out laughing. “A more perfect Eric Southerland meet-cute couldn’t have been scripted. She sounds like exactly your type. Aw, man, it’s gonna be fun to make that toast at your wedding.”
“Fuck you,” he replied mildly, and took another sip of his bourbon. “She’s got really severe migraines which her ex has never taken seriously and she’s been running herself ragged trying to take care of her sons and…”
What else to say? “I tucked her in upstairs and I don’t think I want her to ever leave”? When he put it like that, it sounded kinda bonkers.
“Have you got her in your inpatient room?” Brae asked, a sly note in his voice.
“How did you—”
“I’ve met you, Eric. You like women who need you, who you can nurse back to health and dote on. Seriously, I’m not sure why you haven’t proposed already.”
This was why he’d called Brae. Yeah, his friend would mock him, but the mocking covered up an undercurrent of understanding. They’d been friends for a long time, since before Braeker had left to try his luck in Hollywood, and they knew each other real well. He didn’t bother trying to deny he’d started thinking seriously about Devaney. Why bother when that was precisely why he’d wanted to talk to someone?
“Mostly because while she’s been pretty pliable for the last couple hours, I have no idea how she’ll feel once this migraine is over. She needs me now, but what if she doesn’t when she’s back to 100 percent? I don’t want her to be sick, obviously—I’m going to try to get her in to see a specialist who might be able to help—but yeah, being responsible for her, making her as comfortable as possible, feeling like she trusts me to know what’s best…I like it.”
He paused to take another sip of his bourbon, letting the liquor singe his tastebuds.
“But if she’s only going to be into this for a few days a month, that’s not going to work. Especially since she shares custody with her asshole ex and she has the kids during the week. She’s not the kind of mom who will ditch her kids for a guy and I wouldn’t want her to be. It just makes less time for all the pervy shit I’m into, that’s all.”
Brae laughed again and Eric smiled.
“I don’t know, man. You’re pretty persuasive. Convinced me to move out to LA to shoot my shot and I knew you’d have my back if I failed. That made it a lot easier. So give her that patented Southerland charm. And if that fails, tell her you know me.”
“I don’t think that would help my case,” he observed wryly.
“Oh, no, it won’t. But maybe she’ll be into me.”
“You fucker,” Eric laughed. “Why don’t we talk about you and your love life, huh?”
“Non-existent. Now tell me more about this woman. What’s she like? I want to know everything.”