Page 54 of Clinically Awkward

“Revolutionary.”

“I think I might see her again.”

I stared at him. “You say that every time.”

“This time is different.”

“You said that about the last three.”

“Those were practice rounds. Destonie—with an ie—is the real deal.”

“You don’t even know her last name, do you?”

He paused. “That’s not the point.”

“That’s exactly the point.”

“The point is that I had a fantastic evening with a beautiful woman who appreciated my charm and wit and—” He stopped, narrowing his eyes at me. “Wait. Why are we talking about me? We should be talking about you. Who’s the mystery woman?”

“There is no mystery woman.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not⁠—”

“You’re whistling, Quinton. Whistling. You’re basically a walking rom-com montage right now. Just admit it. You got laid. You had a fantastic night. You’re in an inexplicably good mood despite the fact that it’s Wednesday morning and you work with Julien.”

He wasn’t wrong.

I was in an inexplicably good mood. Despite the fact that I had woken up at 3:17 AM to an empty bed and a cold apartment and the devastating realization that Vivian had snuck out without so much as a goodbye. Despite the fact that I had spent the next three hours staring at my ceiling, replaying every moment of the previous evening, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened and whether I’d completely destroyed our friendship. Despite the fact that I currently had a semi hard cock that refused to go away because every time I thought about the way she looked at me, the way she tasted, the way she said my name when she—Stop. Focus.

I needed to find Vivian. I needed to talk to her. I needed to know why she left. And I needed to do all of that without Fitz noticing that I was internally spiraling. “I’m just in a good mood,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Is that a crime?”

“It’s suspicious.”

“I had a good night. That’s all.”

“Doing what?”

“Things.”

“What kind of things?”

“Personal things.”

“Oh my God, you definitely got laid.”

“Fitz.”

“Was it someone from the clinic?” His eyes widened. “Oh my God, was it Winnie?”

“What? No!”

“Because if it was Winnie, I need to know. I’ve been working on that for months and if you just swooped in and⁠—”

“It wasn’t Winnie.”

“Then who?”