The only person I had ever had that kind of bond with was Faith, and now that she had her own family and husband to take care of, I felt more and more on my own. Watching this mismatched group of men and women, seeing the bride and groom who were so clearly determined to overcome everything just to be together, made me feel out of sorts, achingly jealous, and as it throbbed in my blood I felt like I needed to go. I couldn’t take it anymore. And just like Nash said, I knew, had no doubt that he would have brought me home without complaint, and I just couldn’t get my head and my heart to line up on what they thought about that. On one hand, I wanted to take his nice-guy facade at face value, but I had been burned by my misconception of him before and I didn’t think that was a risk I wanted to take again. I didn’t know that I could handle being disappointed by him again now that I was just starting to get to a point where I wanted to think he was different than he had been all those years ago.

As I watched him walk down the aisle, so big and handsome, so colorful and distinct, there was no question that I wanted him. I felt desire, was unquestioningly aroused whenever he touched me, whenever he looked at me with those unforgettable eyes. I wasn’t used to that, and to all the heat and confusion that Nash Donovan had once again brought into my life. The buildup was coiled so tight inside of me that it was like a spring ready to snap … and snap, it had taken me right along with it.

If my colossal freak-out at the wedding wasn’t bad enough, my confusing reaction only seconds after the only orgasm given to me by another person was enough to make me want to change my name and move to an island nobody had ever heard of before. Bursting into tears after sex was nothing new for me, even if these had been tears of gratitude rather than disappointment. But the way I freaked, the way I had run away like I had never run before, and maybe most shameful, the way I had callously left Nash with an unmistakably unsatisfied erection made me question my own sanity.

Obviously the other guys were wrong. There wasn’t anything wrong with me sexually. I wasn’t frigid or cold … if Nash had gotten me any hotter last night, we would have melted together. Apparently I just needed the guy to be covered in ink, pierced in some unusual places, and tied to my past and the heart of my lack of confidence in the most devastating of ways in order to have an orgasm. He was beautiful, all dusky skin, corded slabs of hard muscle, and strong planes and valleys of sexy perfection. He was not a small guy, anywhere, and where I thought that would be intimidating, it just made me feel slight and exceedingly feminine next to him. It made me want him more.

On top of everything else I was kicking myself over, I still didn’t get a look at the rest of that tattoo. I knew my thumb and forefinger barely fit around the circumference of his erection when he was aroused, that the metal he sported was blazing hot from being so close to his body, that he looked way better in white boxers than black because of his darker skin tone, that his eyes turned purple not just when he was mad, but also when he was turned on. That damn tattoo was still a mystery, though, and all the while I was lambasting myself, calling myself every foolish name in the book, I was still trying to piece together what it might look like.

I managed to get through the holiday shift with no incidents, and aside from Sunny asking me what was wrong every five minutes, it was preferable to listening to my mom scream and moan about her life and the way the holidays were playing out for the Fords this year. I was dodging Dr. Bennet left and right because even though I promised to go out with him and I didn’t want to disappoint Sunny, my instincts were screaming at me to cancel my date with him. I was too unnerved, too off-kilter after what had happened with Nash, to think I could get through the date unscathed.

When it was time to go home I looked at my phone and winced when I saw I had a missed call from Nash. He didn’t leave a voice mail, but there was also a text that simply said:

Merry Xmas Saint.

I owed him an explanation. I knew it, but I just didn’t think I could do it. I had a difficult time expressing myself clearly when the subject wasn’t embarrassing and undignified. How was I supposed to tell him that not only was he the first guy I had ever been with that made me feel that good, he made me want to actually have sex? How was I supposed to explain that I didn’t want him to be the guy that made sex fun, made me want it, because of the awful things he said a lifetime ago and the way they made me feel? How did I go about explaining that I didn’t want to like him, didn’t want to feel anything for him after the abysmal way his flagrant disregard for me in high school had left me feeling for a lifetime? Would he even understand that because of the younger him, because of those painful moments tied directly to his actions, I normally hated the idea of being n*ked around another person, loathed being exposed and vulnerable, so sex for me was always confusing and awful?

I couldn’t explain it to him when I couldn’t even get it to make sense to myself. When had all my dislike for him morphed into something that had me jumping him the first chance I got? And did that mean I was ready to forgive him for the sins of the past? I didn’t have answers to those questions and thinking about them made my head hurt.

I didn’t text him back that day, or the next, when he asked if I was okay, or the next, when he asked if we could talk. I straight up ignored him. Phil had decided that if he was well enough to attend Rule and Shaw’s wedding, he was well enough to try his luck moving his care home, so I didn’t have to worry about running into Nash at the hospital anymore. That thought made me want to cheer and howl in frustration at the same time. But by the weekend he wasn’t texting me anymore, and I resigned myself to the fact that whatever symphony of self-destruction I had created had played its last note. Since I was the composer, I had nowhere else to lay the blame.

Time flew and all of a sudden it was the beginning of the following week and my date with the good doctor had arrived. I wanted to go even less now than I had when he first asked me. I would have backed out, made some kind of excuse and played dead if only Sunny hadn’t been hounding me about it every chance she got. I’d also made the mistake of telling Faith about it, more for her support than anything else, but she was tickled pink about the prospect of me dating anyone, so she was nudging as well. I was stuck and all I could do was power through it.

I had a similar argument with the doctor that I had with Nash about wanting to take my own car, only instead of being Nash and using gentle persuasion and unflappable logic to get me to ride with him, he looked at me disapprovingly and pointed out how odd it would appear to his friends if we showed up not together. It wasn’t an argument I wanted to rehash with someone so concerned about appearances, so I reluctantly agreed, and he told me he would pick me up at my apartment. I told him we should just leave from the hospital since the party was in Cherry Creek and it was closer, but again he gave me a look like I was silly and didn’t know how dates worked.

So there I was at nine P.M. on New Year’s Eve, it had been exactly seven days since my disastrous date with Nash, and instead of trying to make polite conversation, or figuring out how to make the most of my time with Dr. Bennet—Andrew—I found myself in the passenger seat of his very nice SUV pondering what Nash was up to. After all, it was New Year’s and that meant kissing at midnight.

I sighed heavily and started when Andrew stopped the steady stream of conversation he was having with himself about himself. No doubt about it: the doctor was his own biggest fan.

“Everything all right?”

I forced a smile and fiddled with the ends of my hair, which I had left down and put into giant, loose curls.

“Sure. It’s just been busy at work and with the holidays. I’m a little beat.” And I’m obsessing over a guy I shouldn’t be, but I didn’t think he wanted to know that part of it.

“Did you always want to be a nurse?”

“Yep. I like nursing, like the rush of the ER, but mostly I wanted to help people.”

“Ahh, you’re one of those.”

I lifted an eyebrow and looked at him out of the corner of my eye. We had stopped in front of an opulent town house in one of the wealthiest suburbs of the city. My stomach dipped. I could already tell this was going to be dreadful. We had been doing just fine when he didn’t need me to join in on the chatter.

“One of what exactly?”

“Those people who went to nursing or medical school based on ideals and fuzzy feelings of giving back.”

What? People went into these fields for reasons other than compassion and concern for the well-being of others? Since when? I was dumbfounded, so I had to ask, “Why did you go?”

He chuckled and made his way out of the car to open my door. He offered me his hand, which I begrudgingly took. I didn’t like how soft, how perfectly manicured it felt next to mine. Those were hands that handed out plain white business cards all day long.

“I went because I wanted a good job, something that was secure, something that had status and prestige attached to it. Don’t get me wrong; I love medicine, love healing, love being in the hospital all day, but honestly, if I could do the same thing and not have the same level of interaction with patients, I would. It gets old after a while, you know? Treating people that are often suffering from nothing more than their own dumb choices. My long-term plans involve going into private practice. I think that has to be the way to go so I can pick and choose the types of patients I want to treat. There won’t be any more cheating husbands with vindictive wives or kids falling off of bikes for me.”

That attitude was ridiculous, and if I was someone else, maybe I would have had the right words to tell him that. Instead I waited until he turned around and rolled my eyes at the back of his perfectly styled head. It was a good thing he had his job and his looks going for him because it was pretty obvious to me this man was shallow as a rain puddle. He might be nice to look at on the outside, but I was starting to see his insides were pretty unappealing, which had me thinking of Nash yet again.

His looks were so dynamic, so in-your-face. Yes, he was good-looking, but it was in a really complicated way; you had to look past all the things on the outside that made him stand out from the norm to see how beautiful he truly was. His insides, though, I had long thought were devious and nasty, but what shined out of his periwinkle eyes was nothing but forthrightness and sincerity … that was the most beautiful thing about him. If anyone saw the two men I had agreed to dates with together, I knew instinctively most would look at Andrew and ask why I wasn’t trying to snatch him up, but Nash … to me, he was the real prize … he was something unique and special in a way that I was having an impossible time letting go of, even twisted up about the past like I was.

“I hope it won’t make you uncomfortable, but some of the young ladies attending this soirée are women I’ve had relationships with in the past. Typically, all the relationships ended well, but you never know what showing up with a beautiful new woman on my arm will inspire.”

I wanted to kick him in the shin, or maybe mess up that ruthlessly gelled hair.

Seriously, not only was I going to have to spend the evening in a room full of strangers, but I was also going to be used as live bait for him to dangle in front of his exes. Oh boy, didn’t that sound like fun?

“I’m pretty quiet. I don’t exactly mingle well.”

“Just smile and look pretty.” He winked at me and I had to clamp my teeth down on my tongue to avoid telling him I thought he was superficial and all-around icky. He was making my skin crawl, and when I recalled the way Nash made it burn and quiver, I wanted to find the nearest exit and find my way back to the Victorian on Capitol Hill. I was such a mess.

It was apparent as soon as we walked in the door that my role for the evening was to be Bennet’s show pony. He never once told people I was a nurse, never mentioned where I went to school or how we really knew each other. He just flashed me around and kept telling me to have a drink and smile. For the most part, everyone at the luxurious shindig seemed just as self-absorbed and fake as the good doctor was, so my only saving grace was that no one expected me to say very much. I just nodded and muttered noises that made it sound like I was interested and tried to remember it was just one date and it would be over soon. Sunny would be happy and I could move on with my life.