“Yeah,” I said. “And yes. I’ve got a younger brother.”
“Are you close?”
“In age, or relationship?”
“Both.” Luka took a sip of his coffee, but his gaze was fixed on mine.
“No, not really. Jonathan is four years younger.” My tone was clipped. We were night and day different.
Luka’s focus sharpened. “Tell me about him.”
My forehead wrinkled with skepticism. “You want to know about my brother?”
“You’re an easy read, Addison. What’s the deal with your brother?”
I scowled, not enjoying how good Luka was at cutting straight through my subtext. I was too hungover and off balance to muster much of a fight. “Jonathan’s senior class elected him homecoming king last week.”
“And?”
How was I going to explain it? My gaze wandered away to glance out the window. Beyond the large, pristinely maintained back yard, the house backed up to a golf course. Of course it did. I squinted against the sunlight, which made my headache throb.
“Tell me why that bothers you,” Luka said. This time his tone was more forceful.
I sighed and swung my focus back to the man who kept me on edge. “Because things come easy for him. He doesn’t struggle to make friends. He always knows the right thing to say and the right thing to do.” I sounded jealous, because I was. “Everyone loves Jonathan.”
“You struggle to make friends?” He asked it lightly, and I had said it, but it stung, regardless. I didn’t want anyone pointing out what I didn’t excel at.
So I didn’t answer. Instead I grabbed a bagel from the tray of pastries and busied myself slathering it in cream cheese. No one was as driven or focused as I was, or had priorities as warped as mine. Therefore, I struggled terribly to make friends.
“Vasilije is the same as your brother. And that’s . . .” His voice was surprisingly low and hesitant, but then his expression firmed up. “Friends are overrated.”
I considered his statement critically. It sounded like a defensive response a person without friends would say. And although I told myself I didn’t need friends, I also didn’t believe it.
Luka hadn’t touched the large spread of food. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you usually go home on the weekends?”
Randhurst wasn’t a suitcase school, where the students went home on Fridays. It was private, and expensive, and had offered me the largest scholarship out of all my choices. It pulled from all over the country, was large and nice, and there was plenty to do with the campus being only an hour outside of Chicago. It was enough of a draw that students typically didn’t want to leave.
Plus . . . “No. I don’t have a car.”
“Where are you from?”
I chewed a bite of my bagel and swallowed slowly. What was with the twenty questions? “Mokena. It’s a suburb on the south side of the city.”
“I know where it is.” He took another sip of his coffee and set the mug down with a soft thud. “Why pre-med?”
“Why does it feel like you’re interrogating me?”
He blinked slowly, and his eyes were so damn calculating, it made my heart race. “Maybe that’s what this is now. You’re the one who’s defensive while I’m just trying to make conversation.”
I didn’t believe it for one second. There was an angle he was playing at, I was sure of it.
“Or maybe,” he continued, “I’m working up to ask you a question I’m pretty sure will make you stop talking, so I’m trying to get what I can out of you before that happens.”
Chapter
Six
I tensed. “What? What question?”
Luka looked annoyed. “I just told you, we’ll work up to it. First, I want to know why you want to be a doctor.”
My appetite waned as I stared at him. Perhaps the morning had thrown him off. Maybe he was one of those people who couldn’t get going until they had a cup of coffee, because now the Luka from last night was back in full force. The dark edge in his eyes and the commanding tone filled his voice, which was so good at pushing me.
“Do you already know what kind you want to be?”
“Yes,” I said quietly. “A surgeon.”
His face filled with surprise, and then the corner of his mouth lifted in half of a smile. “Oh, I see.”
“What do you see?” My tone was laced with sarcasm.
“You don’t want to go into the medical field to offer comfort and compassion. You’re doing it for the challenge.”
I swallowed a breath. How in the hell? I faked disdain. “What are you talking about?”
“My cousin’s a nurse and she hates surgeons. Says they all have God complexes in the operating room.” Luka put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “They live to cut.”
I sighed. “I understand what you’re saying.” I’d seen it with my own eyes at the hospital where I volunteered. “A lot of surgeons can be arrogant jackasses, but it’s necessary. You want confidence from the person who’s going to have to cut you to help you heal.”