JACK

I hate it when she’s right.

Last night, I started reading the book Allie forced on me. The one with the old school cover and high school English class written all over it. Pride & Prejudice.

The thing is, I’m normally a slow reader. I’m used to reading medical manuscripts with terminology peppered throughout that requires I keep a dictionary by my side and a bookmark in the bibliography. I double and triple check any sources that I don’t automatically trust. It takes me hours to get through a chapter.

Not this time.

This time, I’m flying. I breezed through the first chapter, and then, to my surprise...I wanted to know what happened next.

Again, here surfaces the issue with me being a slow reader. I’m impatient, and I didn’t want to wait to find out what happens, so I needed to compromise. Enter stage right: my local Red Box.

I’d rented the film with the best of intentions. I’d just find out the ending tonight, and later, I’d go back and catch up in the book. I’d popped a bag of popcorn and uncorked a bottle of wine, and now suddenly the wine’s almost gone and there’s nothing but kernels left in the bowl.

My eyes scroll through the final credits, and my mind begins to ponder how I can possibly convince Allie Jenkins that I’ve read her beloved book when, really, I spent my Saturday night alone watching the film.

It’s exactly a week after my last failed date, and although my heart may not be all aflutter after the movie, maybe it did one little flutter.

Or a thump. You know, something manlier than a flutter.

Or maybe it’s heartburn.

We’ll never actually know because I don’t plan to admit this flutter business to anyone. As a doctor, I should be able to figure out whether I have heartburn, yet for some reason, I can’t put my finger on what’s happening to me.

I’m sitting on my couch, staring at the screen as the movie automatically restarts. I should get off my ass and find something to eat, but I’m still trying to figure out that feeling in my gut. Maybe I should call a friend. Maybe I should check myself into the ER. Maybe I should—

A knock on the door startles me from my emergency self-diagnosis.

“Open up!” Allie calls. “Move it, or your egg rolls will be on the floor, Darcy!”

I scramble toward the door, but she beats me to it. She shoves her key in the lock and twists, stumbling head first through the entry and just barely dropping the Styrofoam containers and plastic bags onto the coffee table.

I’m caught, mid-stride, en route to the television. Before she can whirl around, I shut off the incriminating evidence on the screen. If Allie sees that I’ve been watching the movie, she’ll never believe I’ve read the book. Probably because she knows me and my impatience—and she’d be right again.

Thankfully, since Allie seems to need more calories than any man, woman, or child I’ve ever met, she’s too focused on cracking the lid open on the orange chicken to have noticed the opening credits rolling behind me.

“They were out of our favorite sauce tonight. This is why we shouldn’t do Saturday night dinners. Sunday. It’s always less busy on Sundays, leaving more for us,” she says, turning to find me staring guiltily at her. “What are you looking at? Are you wanting to use a fork again? I told you to practice with chopsticks.”

“I’ll use the chopsticks,” I mutter, making my way back to the couch. “I thought we were doing Sunday?”

“Don’t you want me here?” she jokes. “I moved our dinner to tonight because you have plans tomorrow.”

When I give her a blank stare, she exhales loudly.

“Your work has a kickball game tomorrow, and I think you should go.” She crosses her arms. “It’ll be good for you.”

“I’d rather skip the game and we keep our date.”

“I gave up my Saturday night to come and hang out with you. Do this one little thing for me, pretty, pretty please.”

“The only plans you hold steady on Saturday nights are with the Bennett Family Vineyards and Apothic Red Crush.”

“I have more friends than my wine bottles.”

“Name them.”

“Aimee,” she starts, then chooses to ignore me, rummaging around in that bright blue suitcase of a purse, an embarrassed glow creeping on her face. I think that I hear the names Ben and quite possibly a Jerry mumbled into her bag.

“What are you doing?” I lean over, my arm brushing against hers as I strain to see what’s in that magical purse of hers. “Can I help?”

“Nothing,” she snaps, then shies away. “Forget it.”

“Aha! You brought your friends.” Gently, I pull two bottles of wine from the bag, one from Bennett Family Vineyards and the other named Red Crush. “Didn’t feel like sharing?”

“The only reason I came over here tonight was because I hate opening up my own wine,” she says, stubborn as she pops a piece of chicken into her mouth. I suspect it’s so that she doesn’t have to talk more. “Red Crush first, please.”

I move to the kitchen, pop the cork out, and pour a gallon-sized glass of wine. Allie prefers if we only use a single glass and “share”. Somehow, this makes it easier for her to pretend we’ve shared the bottle, when really, I’ve had one sip to her three. As for the cauldron-sized glass? She bought it for “me” last year on my birthday; I’ve never used it without her.

By the time I return with a goblet of Red Crush, she’s got her shoes off, legs folded over one another, and a hand on the remote. As she clicks the television on, I dive between her and the screen. “Why don’t we chat for a minute?” I say, too breathless. “Catch up?”

She frowns. “You never want to talk. You complain if I talk for more than five minutes in a seven-minute interval. Come on, I brought your favorite movie.”

“But—”

Allie is one of those people who always gets her way. With me, at least, which is why she turns the TV on despite my greatest attempts to block the signals with my body.

As it flickers to life, she leans over her purse again and withdraws a DVD of some fast-paced new car chase movie. It’s brainless, flashy, and entertaining. With a pleased grin, she shoves it toward me.

I don’t have many guilty pleasures in life. I have a motorcycle, yes, and I eat Chinese food once a week because my best friend—I’m not naming names, but she’s in the room with me—ignores all of my warnings on the amount of MSG in this chicken.

Aside from that, I spend my days and evenings at the hospital. In my spare time, I read articles, studies, and other journals specific to orthopedic surgery. I exercise the recommended five days a week, and I drink more than eight glasses of water each day.

The one habit I can’t seem to kick are these stupid movies.

That and my motorcycle. And Allie, but she’s a habit I prefer to hold onto forever.

“But...” Again, I start to argue, but it’s too late.

“Oh, you...” A slow grin creeps across Allie’s face as she peers past my hip. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?” However, the music from the opening credits resumes then, blowing all hope of a cover. “Now that,” I say, pointing to the screen. “Is a coincidence.”

“Right.”

“It’s not my fault,” I argue lamely. “The book was actually good.”

“Yeah, which is why you were supposed to read it.”

“I started to, but—”

She lets out a furious sigh. “You were supposed to read a book, Jack. Something that doesn’t describe love and romance and sex in terms of anatomy and bone structure.”

“There’s sex in this book?” I ask, slightly deterred from my argument. “Tell me more.”

“I’m talking about romance in general! Romance is not necessarily about sex.”

“Pretty sure the two are connected somehow.”

“And that’s why you haven’t held onto a date.” She pats the seat next to her on the couch. “Since you have it, there’s no way we’re not watching it. Eat before the food goes cold.”

I sit, mostly because the idea of hanging out with Allie is far more appealing than hosting an empty house on Saturday night. My condo has everything a grown man could possibly desire except for one thing money can’t buy. Warmth.

The only time this place lights up is during my Sunday night dinner dates with Allie. Somehow, it grows a little less cold, a little more lively, and a little bit more like home...until morning when the emptiness resounds ten times worse.

The beginning credits roll—again—and I settle onto the couch. I inch forward, struggling through the first few bites of food with an awkward chopsticks pattern before finally settling into a rhythm. Next to me, Allie works through the chicken with a fury, as if she’ll never have another meal again. The whole time her eyes remain fixed on the screen.

She giggles at something on-screen, points with her chopstick. “Did you see that?”

I turn to look at her instead—it’s my favorite thing when she laughs. I don’t know anyone who laughs quite like her; it’s as if she puts her whole mind, body, and soul into it. Everything—from the gleam in her eyes, to the shake in her shoulders, to the gentle, tumbling sound—moves with her, sounding like joy packaged into a cute little blonde.

I’m hoping desperately her sense of humor will rub off on me. One of my last girlfriends broke things off after informing me I was far too serious for her tastes. I don’t know how to be less serious, but I figure if anyone can teach me, it’s Allie.

“So, did you talk to her yet?”

“Who?” I shove a piece of broccoli in my mouth to stall.

“Caroline.”

“Of course I’ve spoken with her; we work together.”

“Come on, why haven’t you asked her out?”

There’s a new nurse at the hospital named Caroline, and Allie’s got it in her head that she would be the perfect date for me. I heartily disagree. “I don’t date co-workers.”

“She could probably transfer departments.”

“Even if I were interested in her, I’m not putting either of our careers in jeopardy. There are plenty of other fish in the sea.”

“I’m glad you believe in the one.” Allie rolls her eyes, then pulls two fortune cookies from the bag and shoves them both on her plate. “Just think about it. A doctor and a nurse—how cute would that be? You guys could hand out miniature stethoscopes at your wedding. And your kids! Just think of how healthy your kids would be!”

“Mini stethoscopes?”

“To listen to the sound of two hearts beating together in l-o-v-e!” Allie fans herself, then pretends to swoon. “Okay, fine. I’m still working on the details. But we have options. Remember those lollipops doctors hand out to kids after appointments? Those could be your party favors. We’ll get your names stamped all over them.”

“No.”

“C’mon, daydream with me, Jack!”

She clasps my knee with her hand, and I can’t help but flinch. I don’t know what’s gotten into me since I saw her in that dress at the restaurant, smiling at me like we belonged together. It’s as if my brain waves have shifted, and suddenly the brush of Allie’s skin against mine sets off an electric current that leaves me warm all over. I’ve tried to go back to the way things were, but it’s seeming more impossible by the day.

“I’m not a dreamer,” I say, once I can speak again. I push the food away so I don’t choke on it—just in case she decides to touch my leg again. “I’m practical.”

“But Caroline. Don’t you like her?”

I’ve never given Allie any indication of liking Caroline. The only thing I can think of is that I once mentioned to Allie that Caroline was very capable at her job. Apparently, Allie had interpreted that as a sign I wanted to marry her.

“I am not interested in dating Caroline,” I reiterate, “and I am certainly not interested in having you plan a wedding for us.”

“It sounds to me like you’re just scared. Wait until she meets the new and improved you. Jack Darcy two-point-oh. Once you’re done with Allie’s Romance Academy, you’ll woo her so hard she won’t know what hit her.”

“I don’t want to woo anyone.”

“Wooing can be very effective. Exhibit A: watch and learn, will you?” Allie picks up the remote and flicks the volume up a few notches. “Watch a master at work. Are you done with your chicken, by the way?”

I push the food over to her, and she has the remainder of food polished off in seconds. Standing, I grab the containers and haul everything to the kitchen.

Once alone, I lean against the counter and take a few breaths to shake off that electric zing. My muscles are more tense than normal, and it seems I can’t suck in a full lungful of air.

“You’re missing the show!” Allie yells. “And I’m going to finish the wine if you don’t get back here.”

I return, finding Allie wrapped in the soft, fuzzy blanket she bought me as a housewarming gift. It never leaves the arm of my couch. Her eyes are wide and bright, and for a second, those blue eyes hold me captive.

I sit gingerly on the couch beside her, and she snuggles up against me without looking away from the screen. It’s more comfortable this way, she claims. Easier on the neck.

I have to disagree. My vote says that it’s incredibly hard to watch a movie with a beautiful woman wrapped all around me, even if she’s just a friend. In fact, I spend half the time reciting a medical dictionary in my head to keep everything PG-13.

Eventually, a half hour passes, then an hour, and Allie sighs as something romantic happens on-screen. Her sigh brushes over my hand, and I edge away from her.

She senses the movement and wiggles into a laying position, kicking her feet over my lap and propping her head on the armrest. Her eyelids are drooping, and it’s at this point at every one of our Sunday dinners that Allie falls prey to a food coma and sinks into a blissful sleep on my couch.

Allie falls asleep almost immediately. For the second time today, I’m stuck watching the end of Pride and Prejudice by myself, wondering what that little thump of my heart means. I debate throwing back a few Tums just to be safe and rule out heartburn.

Once the movie is over, I pull my eyes from the screen and look down at Allie. She sleeps with an adorable half-smile on her face, and it’s my favorite part about our evenings together.

My hand comes up, casually brushing a strand of hair from her face. It sticks to her cheek, so I brush it again, and then a third time, and then I figure I might as well just run a hand through her hair because my fingers are already tangled there.

She shifts, moaning a soft sound. I’m sweating bullets, wondering what’s happened to me. It’s not usually like this. I mean, the eating until we’re comatose and falling asleep is, but the level of attraction I’m feeling toward Allie is off the charts.

I pray she didn’t catch me running a hand through her hair. I might have inhaled, too, because whatever scent she wears is intoxicating. It’s no wonder I can’t hold onto a girlfriend; I might have just sniffed my best friend’s hair. If that doesn’t qualify as awkward, I’m not sure what does.

Luckily, she doesn’t seem to have woken. But my heart pounds as she rolls over once again, brushing her foot against me in her sleep.

Brushing against my length, I should say. That’s one of the many words substituted for penis, according to Allie’s romantic collection of books. I’ve thumbed through them a time or two out of curiosity, and it’s amazing how many words there are for one basic reproductive organ.

A reproductive organ that is noticeably at attention this evening. My nerve endings are on fire, and my heart is thumping in a way that has nothing to do with romance and everything to do with basic human desire.

Her blonde hair is scattered across the couch, and her lips—so full and tantalizing it’s a miracle I’ve never truly noticed them before—have shaped into a stubborn half pout that can only be described as cute. A pout so perfect I can’t resist a long, indulgent peek at them.

Eventually, I turn my attention to the ceiling and begin reciting everything from the Pledge of Allegiance to the multiplication tables. Recalling dictionary definitions of medical terminology gets me through midnight, which is about the time I realize I’ve been sitting here while Allie sleeps for almost an hour.

I don’t want to wake her, but I do need some sleep. So, as she gives a dreamy little sigh, I scoop her into my arms and prepare to stand. However, instead of waking her like I’d anticipated, Allie merely snuggles closer.

“That feels nice,” she murmurs. “Let me stay here, Jack.”

The beat of my heart sounds like a conga line as I stand, pulling her to my chest, and move toward the bedroom. She’s no heavier than a bundle of feathers, even with all the food she put away this evening. I may be a medical professional, but I cannot for the life of me figure out how Allie Jenkins eats like a rhinoceros and maintains her sweet little figure.

She’s perfectly proportioned, in my opinion. Big blue eyes and plenty of curves, all packed into a petite, slender frame. I don’t have a ton of guy friends, but any who’ve seen her have admired her from afar—always hesitant to get too close due to the nature of our friendship.

Our friendship, I tell myself, wondering why the world is sending me signals that friendship is no longer enough for me when it comes to Allie. We were happy being friends; we worked together. Like she said, I make a mess of dates. I refuse to make a mess with Allie.

I arrive in the bedroom with her clinging to me like Velcro. I have to peel her arms from around my neck as I lay her in my bed. I pull the covers up and over her as she wiggles underneath, and then I watch for an extra moment to make sure she’s comfortable. Finally, when I’m convinced she’s down for the count, I shut the door and head for a long, cold shower.

Afterwards, I dress quickly and shuffle to the couch in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. I flop down and kick my feet up, settling in for the night.

This sleeping arrangement is so regular I’ve considered getting a second bed. Allie always insists that she should take the couch while I take the bed, but she’s always too far zonked to actually argue with the arrangements. She’s even taken to leaving a pair of shorts and a t-shirt in my drawers that she slips into before we start the movie so she doesn’t have to change into pajamas.

After much thought, I opted against purchasing a bed for the guest room. I’ll leave it as an office that I don’t need. After all, if there was a guest bed, I wouldn’t have an excuse to curl up on the couch and pull her fuzzy blanket up to my chest. It smells just like her. Floral, like springtime and rain. Roses and sunshine. Sweet and fresh.

I pull the blanket to my chin and click on the TV. The end credits are still rolling from our earlier movie session. I debate flicking to a new channel, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I decide that it’s time I take Allie’s class seriously. I need to get a handle on this thing called love, and I need to find it...for my own sanity.

Because this business with Allie is driving me insane.

She’s never given me any indication that she’s interested in me as anything other than a friend. So, my first order of business is to get rid of this wild fantasy my mind has conjured up of the two of us together because if I don’t, I’m sure to unravel, and that wouldn’t be pretty. I mean, I sniffed my best friend’s hair tonight while she slept. It’s seriously time for me to get a grip and move on.

I click play for the third time tonight. What the hell? I’ve got nothing to lose.

Romance, here I come.