A Match Made in Vegas Read Online Crystal Kaswell

Categories Genre: Alpha Male Tags Authors: Crystal Kaswell Advertisement1

Advertisement2

"If you don't notice in time?"

"I could hurt myself," I say.

For the first time in our conversation, his expression darkens.

"Not like that. Not on purpose." Thankfully, I've never struggled with the self-destructive impulses that haunt the men in my family. "By working too hard. I gave myself an ulcer in high school." My cheeks flush. "I never told anyone that."

"And what if that happens? You work so hard you make yourself sick?"

"Then I'll be sick," I say.

"Then?" he asks.

"I will be surrounded by doctors," I say. "So I'll get help. But the answer might be the same. I might have to drop out of the program."

"Is that the end of the world?" he asks.

"Yes." But it's not. He's right. The world will keep turning. My heart will keep beating. The city will keep humming. "No. It will just feel like it."

I swallow hard. I look to the stars. The big silver moon. The light is just enough to cast an ethereal glow. Or maybe that's the pool. It feels wrong for this conversation. But it feels right too.

He sits there patiently, waiting for me to come back to him.

There's a safety to it. A safety I want to embrace. I want to throw myself into his arms and dissolve there.

But I can't.

Not if I have to let go.

I take a deep breath and center myself. "Are you always this zen?"

"I went through the same thing in law school." He brings his hand to my chin and cups my cheek with his palm. "I asked myself all the same questions. I was afraid I'd fail, but it wasn't about the idea of flunking out of law school. It was what that would mean. That I wasted my time. That I was a failure. That I was a disappointment to my family. That I was destined to a life of mediocrity."

That sounds about right. I nod.

"But would that be true?" His voice is even, as if he's willing to accept any answer I give him.

"Would my mom be disappointed if I couldn't hack residency? Of course. Her mom was a doctor. And her mom was a doctor. And the dads too. I think Damon is the first non-medical professional in several generations."

"What about me," he says. "If I couldn't make it in Big Law. Would I have disappointed my parents?"

"Probably, yeah." They don't have the same background in law my family does in medicine, but they always talked about how Jackson was a smart kid who was destined for success. They put the same sort of pressure on him.

He nods. "Yeah. But then what? My parents are disappointed. Then what?"

He's asked these questions enough I understand he's trying to get me to answer. But they're hard to answer. Usually, I'm too scared to consider the answers.

I take a deep breath and let out a steady exhale.

Okay. I can do this.

"I don't know," I say. "You never got there."

"But if I had?" he asks.

It's easier to speculate on his hypothetical past. I know it didn't happen. I know he's a successful attorney. There's no risk of my vision coming true. "If you passed the bar, you could practice another way. But what if you never passed the bar? Do you walk around with a useless degree?"

"You can work in a limited capacity," he says.

"But you passed the first time," I say.

He nods I did.

"So you don't really know about failure." I find a little strength. I sit up a little straighter. This game of hypothetical is different for us. It's fair to point that out. And he's a lawyer. So, he cares about fairness.

"And when have you ever failed at anything, Daph?"

Right. That's a fair counter-point. But still. "What if I'm saving all of it for this?"

"Tell me," he says. "Tell me what if."

My stomach drops. My chest tightens. I let myself feel the worry. I let the emotion pass through my body. Then I take a deep breath, and I switch to thinking. "My mom will be disappointed. And I'll have spent all that time in medical school. Maybe for nothing."

"So, maybe not for nothing," he says.

"I did learn a lot. And I could put that to use in another way," I say. "I could pursue sex research another way. As a therapist. Or a writer. Not that I can write. But there are other ways to focus on what I want to do."

"Which is?" he asks.

"Research human sexuality," I say.

"Why do you want to do that?" he asks.

I stare at him with wide eyes. "I don't understand the question."

He stares back with affection in his dark eyes and lets out a deep, low chuckle. One that means I love this about you. "What about it appeals to you?"

"Everything."

He holds my stare, and motions go on.

Right. I need to expand beyond everything. I need to focus on this and not on the love in his eyes.


Advertisement3

Advertisement4