Page 7 of Obeying

"You forget I'm the one who actually knows how to lead people, Maxwell." She starts ticking things off on her fingers, each sounding like evidence in a courtroom. "President of the Student Surgical Society for two years. I organized the skills labs, I mentored the first-years, and I ran the free clinic schedule every semester. All you've ever done is show up, score the highest, and leave. Being a department head isn't just about being the best. It's a responsibility. It's looking out for your team." She tips her chin up. "Something you clearly lack."

She says it like a dare. And she's not wrong. I never cared about any of that, content with being the top student. It was always enough. But Kristen Portland has this talent for making me care about things I never planned to, and right now she's standing there with her chin up and her cap sideways, and I'm actually thinking about what it means to lead people instead of just outperforming them.

She'd love knowing that. I'm not going to tell her.

"You underestimate me, Portland." My glasses slip, and I adjust them. "You know, once I set my mind on something, I get it."

"Ha! That's me, not you." She jabs a finger at my chest. "Also, that's not fair. You can't become head surgeon just because it's my goal."

"I don't see how that's unfair. You make it sound so appealing. Plus, the chief surgeon is the top position." I shrug. "And I always like being on top."

Her eyes narrow. That flush of annoyance is creeping up her neck, and her lips are pressed tight. I'm going to miss this face. Whatever comes after med school, whatever residency looks like, I'm going to miss the exact expression Kristen Portland makes when I've gotten under her skin, and she's deciding whether to argue or throw something.

"Well, it doesn't matter," she says, crossing her arms tighter. "Because I'll clearly get there first. Not you."

"Want to bet?"

"You're joking."

"Scared?"

Her chin comes up again. There it is. "Hell no." She squares her shoulders. "Fine. If I win, you have to announce to the whole world that I'm the best and that I've always been better than you." She pauses, then adds, "And a car."

I almost laugh. I have to press my lips together to keep it in, because she just attached a car to a declaration of intellectual dominance like a kid adding dessert to a Christmas list, and it's so genuinely her that it spreads a strange warmth through me.

"You know what, I'll buy you a car as a consolation prize when I win."

"Don't patronize me, Maxwell. I'll win that car fair and square."

I chuckle. I can't help it. "Fine. Fine." I pause, and then I step closer. Close enough that I have to lean down slightly to meet her eyes. She doesn't move back, but I catch the shift, the small stiffening of her shoulders when she sees how near I am. "But if I win, if I become head surgeon first." I hold her gaze. "You have to marry me, Portland."

Her eyes go wide. She steps back, and there's a flush on her cheeks that wasn't there ten seconds ago.

"What?" She blinks. "Are you kidding? Why the hell would I want that?" She crosses her arms again. "Don't tell me you like me."

I shrug. "Maybe I do. Or maybe I just want to annoy you for the rest of your life. Both seem equally rewarding."

If I were to paint her right now, I'd paint steam coming out of her ears. How red can a person get again?

"Something wrong?" I tilt my head. "Not feeling so confident all of a sudden?"

"I'm plenty confident. You're just insane." But she hasn't said no. She's flustered and annoyed, and her arms are crossed so tight she might cut off her own circulation, but she hasn't said no.

"You realize that's years from now. You could forget. Or we could both be in relationships."

I sigh. She's always so logical. "You really are no fun sometimes." I adjust my glasses, pretending to think. "Fine. Amendment. If we're both single by that time, you marry me. And no, I won't forget, because we're keeping in touch. Obviously." I look at her. "Who else am I going to brag to about my achievements? Who else am I going to tell when I'm already the head, and you're still catching up?"

She should be telling me to go to hell. Instead, she smiles, and it's slow.

"Fine," she says. "Deal."

"Deal." I hold out my hand. She reaches for it, and we shake once. "Actually, no. A handshake is boring."

She narrows her eyes. "What do you mean, boring? A handshake is perfectly⁠—"

I pull her in and kiss her.

It's quick. My free hand rests on her back, and her body stiffens with surprise for about a second before it softens, just barely, and then I pull back.