Free Sordid by Nikki Sloane Page A

same as your brother. And that’s . . .” His voice was surprisingly low and hesitant, but then his expression firmed up. “Friends are overrated.”
    I considered his statement critically. It sounded like a defensive response a person without friends would say. And although I told myself I didn’t need friends, I also didn’t believe it.
    Luka hadn’t touched the large spread of food. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you usually go home on the weekends?”
    Randhurst wasn’t a suitcase school, where the students went home on Fridays. It was private, and expensive, and had offered me the largest scholarship out of all my choices. It pulled from all over the country, was large and nice, and there was plenty to do with the campus being only an hour outside of Chicago. It was enough of a draw that students typically didn’t want to leave.
    Plus . . . “No. I don’t have a car.”
    “Where are you from?”
    I chewed a bite of my bagel and swallowed slowly. What was with the twenty questions? “Mokena. It’s a suburb on the south side of the city.”
    “I know where it is.” He took another sip of his coffee and set the mug down with a soft thud. “Why pre-med?”
    “Why does it feel like you’re interrogating me?”
    He blinked slowly, and his eyes were so damn calculating, it made my heart race. “Maybe that’s what this is now. You’re the one who’s defensive while I’m just trying to make conversation.”
    I didn’t believe it for one second. There was an angle he was playing at, I was sure of it.
    “Or maybe,” he continued, “I’m working up to ask you a question I’m pretty sure will make you stop talking, so I’m trying to get what I can out of you before that happens.”

Chapter
     
    Six
     
     
    I tensed. “What? What question?”
    Luka looked annoyed. “I just told you, we’ll work up to it. First, I want to know why you want to be a doctor.”
    My appetite waned as I stared at him. Perhaps the morning had thrown him off. Maybe he was one of those people who couldn’t get going until they had a cup of coffee, because now the Luka from last night was back in full force. The dark edge in his eyes and the commanding tone filled his voice, which was so good at pushing me.
    “Do you already know what kind you want to be?”
    “Yes,” I said quietly. “A surgeon.”
    His face filled with surprise, and then the corner of his mouth lifted in half of a smile. “Oh, I see.”
    “What do you see?” My tone was laced with sarcasm.
    “You don’t want to go into the medical field to offer comfort and compassion. You’re doing it for the challenge.”
    I swallowed a breath. How in the hell? I faked disdain. “What are you talking about?”
    “My cousin’s a nurse and she hates surgeons. Says they all have God complexes in the operating room.” Luka put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “They live to cut.”
    I sighed. “I understand what you’re saying.” I’d seen it with my own eyes at the hospital where I volunteered. “A lot of surgeons can be arrogant jackasses, but it’s necessary. You want confidence from the person who’s going to have to cut you to help you heal.”
    “So, they’re, what? Excused from being assholes, because their position demands confidence?”
    It felt like he was laying a trap for me, but I answered anyway. “Yes.”
    A shiver glanced down my back when Luka appeared pleased. “And what about you? Will your patients think you’re an asshole?”
    “No.”
    “Why not?”
    Because I lacked the confidence needed, and . . . “Because I care way more than I should about what people think of me.”
    His half-smile was back, this time accompanied by a shake of his head, as if what I was saying was too good to be true.
    “And to answer your original question,” I continued, “I’ve always wanted to be a doctor. I loved my AP anatomy class in high school. I loved working in the ER on Friday nights when it was the busiest. And