“Like you said, we’re going to be around each other more now that you and Drew are back.” She cut him a not so convincing smile.
“No. I’m single.”
She hummed in response, not wanting to admit what she’d been looking for in his answer.
“What about you?”
She stalled, not sure if he was truly asking her relationship status or if it was something else she was missing. She didn’t want to assume and then look weird.
“What about you?” he asked more pointedly this time. “Are you single, or is there a Mr. Uptight you hide down in the library.”
“I’m not uptight.”
“You're the most tightly wound person I have ever met.”
“Ugh.” She rolled her eyes and continued to eat her meal. She normally would have taken it home, and she wasn’t quite sure why she hadn’t just gotten up the second Jess had placed it in front of her, but here she was, sitting beside Newbie-Asshole Callum Barker, stuffing her face without a care in the world.
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
“I’m single,” she blurted out with a mouthful of chicken.
“You also didn’t answer my other question.”
“What was that?”
“Why do you want to be a doctor?”
Her pause dragged on longer than she’d intended, but she wasn’t sure whether to give some sarcastic half-assed answer or to tell him the truth. Her fight was almost gone and she was close to cleaning her plate.
She settled on the truth.
“I want to make a difference. I want to help people. Sara was a doctor, and she would let me come hang out at the hospital to get away. It was like an escape. So, I guess I just gravitated toward it.” She hadn’t meant to divulge that much information, but for some inexplicable reason it all just came rushing out.
“Is Sara your sister?”
She knew he was just trying to talk, but she didn’t want to go there. Not with someone she found barely tolerable at best.
“No.”
There was an awkward silence for a few minutes before she decided to break the tension. If he was making an effort, she could at least match his energy.
“What about you? Master bartender by night and tattoo artist by day?”
He chuckled a little before responding, “I’m not a bartender.”
She almost choked on her chicken.
“What?”
“Tattoo artist, yes. Though, not so much anymore. I spend most of my time on the business end of the shops now. But, no, I'm not a bartender. Or, at least, not in any official capacity.”
Her brows creased in confusion and she fully turned in his direction for the first time. “That doesn’t make sense. You were hired here and you made my drinks in the bar. You are wearing the
black shirt and–”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I always wear black shirts, and the dress pants are just because I want to at least look slightly professional while I’m here. I could wear another shirt if I wanted.”
“I don’t understand.”