Dr. ER (St. Luke's Docuseries #2) Read online

  “Scott! Who’s your date?”

  “Dr. Erotic! Have you finally met your match?”

  “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  At first, the questions were clear. But after several moments, the shouting started to blend together, and I couldn’t have answered even if I’d wanted to.

  Hands grabbed at my shoulder, and I tensed in response until I realized some of the mayor’s security had noticed the uproar and were coming to assist us.

  Up and through the crowd, they guided us without trouble as Harlow did her best to shield her face in an attempt to maintain her eyesight.

  “Holy shit,” she muttered the moment the doors shut behind us, closing us off to their grubbing questions and never-ending digital assault. “I think I may have underestimated your popularity.”

  I laughed out loud, feeling all of the anxiety that had built in my chest as a result of the mayhem release. Turning toward her with ease, I put a hand to her jaw and touched her lips to my own. Flashes once again lit up the night behind us.

  I rested my forehead against hers. “I guess those are glass doors, huh?”

  “Seems like it.”

  “Sorry,” I apologized. I expected her to smart off, to give me some flippant response that I would no doubt love. But she didn’t. Instead, she grabbed my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, her face softening as she did.

  “It’s okay.”

  “Hi, Scott,” Brent called from the top of the stairs, completely fucking ruining our moment.

  As I pulled away from Harlow and looked up to meet his gaze, it was more than obvious he was enjoying it. A smug smile lined not only his mouth but his eyes, and he held on to the lapel of his suit jacket like he was the ruler of the land. Which, I guessed, in a sense, he was.

  “Mr. Mayor,” I murmured back as Harlow’s eyes moved slowly from the floor, up the stairs, and finally landed on the man standing a full floor above us.

  “Hey, LoLo.”

  She sighed, obviously put out by the nickname, and I didn’t bother to hide my smile.

  “Brent.”

  A thrill ran up the length of my spine when she literally gave him no more attention than that one fraction of a moment.

  Eyes back to mine, she held them tight as she whispered for my ears only, “Ready to get this over with?”

  I shook my head, and her face wrinkled. “No?”

  “No,” I confirmed. “I’m gonna enjoy a night out with the woman I couldn’t help but chase.”

  “Scott,” she whispered.

  “Come on.”

  Hand in hand, we climbed the stairs, going a nice slow speed that she could handle in her spindle heels and long knockout of a dress, and by the time we got to the top, the mayor was gone. Back inside, I presumed, to his party and people, but the where didn’t really matter. Neither did the why. But the gasp Harlow made when she looked up to make the same discovery made my whole night. Apparently, it wasn’t like the overlord to give up so easily.

  “I’ve heard of outrunning people,” I teased her. “But being too slow for them is a new one.”

  “Shut up.”

  Her lips tasted like sweet surprise when mine landed against them.

  One nip turned into two, and by the time I was satisfied, our tongues had danced an entire song’s worth of notes. “You look beautiful tonight,” I whispered to her, admitting, “You look beautiful always, actually. But tonight, when I look at you, I swear to God, I don’t even know my own name.”

  She smirked and lifted her thumb to rub some lingering lipstick off of my face. “Don’t worry, Dr. Erotic. I know it just fine.”

  “Good Christ, this thing is boring,” Harlow whispered as another speaker, some other official for the city of New York, blathered on about whatever these people were pretending to care about at the moment.

  “What did you expect? Fireworks?”

  “No!” she snapped in a whisper, putting a finger to my lips to shut me up. “But some kind of drama or intrigue wouldn’t be amiss. This is politics, for fuck’s sake. Where’s Kerry Washington with a Scandal?”

  “Probably working behind the scenes to cover it up.”

  “You know what I mean. I thought there would be something to make fun of.”

  “Sorry,” I told her, leaning forward to give her a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll try to drum up a story when we leave here.”

  She laughed, albeit quietly since someone was still up there giving a speech, but as her eyes fluttered away from mine and caught on something over my shoulder, it all but dried up.

  “Why is the chick at Brent’s table looking at me like I’m the Antichrist?”

  I took a quick peek over my shoulder to confirm my suspicions, but unfortunately, I already knew who it was.

  Pam.

  I sighed, and Harlow’s eyebrows pulled together.

  “Scott?”

  “Well, hell. I didn’t really want to get into this here, but you asked for drama.”

  “What drama?” she asked, her voice deepening in a way that suggested she already knew.

  I shrugged.

  “Oh, Scott. Not that chick. Come on. She’s got the eyes.”

  “The eyes?”

  “The crazy eyes. You don’t bone and bounce on the ones with crazy eyes. I would have thought a man with your experience would know this.”

  “I knew,” I admitted.

  “Then why did you do it?”

  “Well…” Something occurred to me suddenly. “Wait…you know this all occurred before you, right?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes. I may not be prone to relationships, but between your job and the fact that you’ve basically been stalking me since Kinky Boots, you’ve been too busy to fit in a good-time fuck with crazy eyes over there. Believe me, I can tell that since you’ve been all about me, you’ve been all about me.

  “God, Low—”

  “Focus, Scott!” she snapped softly, and I smiled.

  I am so fucking hooked.

  “Okay… Okay…” I relented. “For the record, my initial plan was not to sleep with her. That just kind of happened.”

  She quirked a brow. “What was the plan, then?”

  “Clearly, it was to win her over with my irresistible charm,” I said with a wink, and Harlow giggled. “To make a long story short, even though I knew she had the crazy eyes, I also knew she had access to the mayor. Which I needed in the name of getting our public health policies changed.”

  “Crazy eyes happened because of Brent?”

  I rolled my eyes at her clearly personal knowledge of him. “Obviously, I’d have slept with you to get close to him if I’d known that was an option.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Gross.”

  “Nothing we do together is gross.”

  She shook her head with a smile, but with one last glance over my shoulder, it was like Pam didn’t exist anymore. She could stare at us all night for all I cared.

  “Speaking of that…do you think we can leave soon?” Harlow asked, and anticipation jumped in my stomach.

  Even better. In two minutes, Pam wouldn’t even have us as an option to look at.

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  “Thirsty?” Scott asked as we walked inside of his apartment.

  He shrugged off his suit jacket and hung it on one of the barstools by the kitchen island, and, enthralled by the sinewy bulges of his muscles through his dress shirt, I had to shake off the image of ripping it off myself.

  We’d left the party on the pretense of sex, but I knew it didn’t always have to be only about that. That was the whole point of him telling me to be open-minded about what we were to one another.

  I shrugged. “Uh…maybe a little bit.”

  We’d left the big municipal party before dessert—and probably before Brent’s busty assistant could find a way to telepathically light me on fire with her crazy eyes.

  It’d come as a little bit of a shock that Scott had slept with her, and yeah, it did
sting a little as well. But I understood. Scott wasn’t an angel, and he certainly hadn’t been celibate before me. His past was his past, just like my past was my past. And Lord knew my past was designed to stay there. Brent had had more than enough stage time at the event tonight; the last thing we needed was to figuratively bring him home with us, too.

  What Scott and I were now was still a bit of a mystery to me, though. We’d agreed to be open-minded. And we’d also agreed not to see or sleep with other people.

  But did that mean that we were in a relationship?

  I had no clue.

  Pretty sure the ball’s in your court, sister, my subconscious taunted me. Scott was pulling for a full-blown relationship weeks ago.

  Did I want him to be my boyfriend?

  I waited for my body’s normal volatile reaction to the word, but nothing came. Not the urge to run or sweaty hands or a violently pounding heartbeat. Nothing.

  “A glass of wine?” he offered, completely unaware of my mental come to Jesus moment. “Champagne?”

  I scrunched my nose at both options. Between the two glasses of champagne I’d had with hors d’oeuvres and the additional glass of wine during dinner, I was done boozing. “How about something less alcoholic?” I asked and leaned a hip against the kitchen counter.

  He chuckled and opened his fridge to rummage through its contents. I, of course, took that time to check out his tight and toned ass. Hot damn, he has a nice ass. Firm and round with just the right symmetry.

  “Stop staring at my ass,” he said, his eyes still fixated on the inside of his fridge.

  What’s he got, eyes in the back of his head?

  “I’m not staring at your ass,” I denied without bothering to actually stop.

  I wanted to grip it with both hands. Maybe even spank it. Hell, taking a big, hearty bite out of it sounded nice.

  “Liar,” he accused with a grin over his shoulder. I fought the urge to giggle.

  “It’s not my fault. You’re the one who’s flaunting the goods.”

  While he pulled out the drink options and set them on his counter, he shook his ass rhythmically and started singing “Hips Don’t Lie” like he was Shakira himself. I couldn’t hold back my laughter after that. Flipping imaginary hair from shoulder to shoulder, he swayed and posed and fucking flaunted like he was one of the lead dancers in the music video.

  Good Lord, not only was Scott sexy as fuck, he was endearingly charming and had a sense of humor like no one else. It felt like he was the only man I saw anymore.

  Because you’re in love with him.

  At that very moment, my heart attempted its best impression of an Olympic gymnast inside of my chest. Its pounding rhythm felt two seconds away from vaulting directly out of my body and onto the floor.

  Holy hell. I was in love with Scott?

  The anniversary party cheers. It had to be. No curse, my asshole.

  “What’ll it be?” he asked and gestured toward the counter full of drinks. When his eyes met mine, he tilted his head to the side in concern. “Are you okay?”

  No! I’m not fucking okay! I’m not supposed to fall in love, goddammit! Hell, I’m even okay with the boyfriend part! But, love? LOVE? Jesus Christ, what is happening?

  “Uh-huh,” I said through the dryness in my throat, ironically parched for the first time since he’d offered me a drink. The concern on his face never waned.

  “Are you sure?” he asked and moved toward me to put a gentle hand to my cheek. “You don’t look okay. Do you feel sick?”

  Of course, I’m not okay! You put some kind of voodoo spell on me, and now I’m in fucking love with you!

  I cleared my throat with a little ahem and shook my head in response. “I’m just a little tired. Otherwise, I’m perfectly fine.”

  “Are you still thirsty for something a little less alcoholic?” he questioned with a soft smile.

  Drinks! Yes, let’s talk about drinks. Drinks are neutral. Drinks are refreshing. Drinks don’t give me panic attacks because I’m in love with them.

  I nodded. “What are my options?”

  “Well,” he started and dramatically gestured toward the drink options on the counter like he was selling vacuums and food dehydrators on the Home Shopping Network. “We have a fabulous selection of orange juice, whole milk, water, iced tea, or Coca-Cola.”

  “Do you have Nesquik?”

  “Nesquik?” he asked in confusion. “What’s a Nesquik?”

  “What?” I blinked three times. “You don’t know what Nesquik is?” I questioned in disbelief.

  “Uh…is that bad?”

  “It’s like someone admitting they don’t know what a Twinkie is.”

  “I know what a fucking Twinkie is.”

  Hmm… A Twinkie did sound good right about now…and safe. I can’t fall in love with a Twinkie. Well, I guess it depends on the Twinkie…

  “Do you have any?”

  He quirked a brow in my direction. “Twinkies?”

  “No, prune juice. I’m extremely constipated,” I teased, and he laughed. “Yes, Twinkies. Do you have any?”

  “How did we go from Nesquik to Twinkies?”

  “First of all, we haven’t left the Nesquik,” I clarified with a serious expression. “It’s basically the powder form of Hershey’s syrup, and it’s fucking delicious. If you don’t like it, I’ll have to revoke any and all of your sex privileges. And secondly, do you have any Twinkies or Nesquik so that I can make chocolate milk, or not?”

  He grinned. “You want chocolate milk and Twinkies?”

  “Uh… Yeah.”

  “Let me get this straight,” he started with an amused grin. “We just left an event that served the most pretentious five-course meal, along with some of the most expensive alcohol I’ve ever drunk, and your ideal way to end the evening is with chocolate milk and Twinkies? So much so that you’ll refuse to ever sleep with me again if I don’t agree with and enable your addiction. Am I hearing this correctly?”

  “Yep,” I answered without hesitation, and before I could add the sarcastic comment that was on the tip of my tongue, Scott wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled my body against his. He took my mouth in a deep, intense kiss. While his tongue slipped past my lips and danced with mine, his hands skimmed up the material of my evening gown until they reached the bared skin of my back.

  I moaned into his mouth, and my body all but melted into his.

  This kiss was different. It wasn’t just foreplay or the physical act of kissing itself. It was deeper. It was that four-letter word I’d once convinced myself I’d never let myself feel again. And deep down, I knew that little but powerful four-letter word had made a reappearance in my thoughts for a reason—I was in love with Scott.

  “God, Low.” His teeth nipped at my bottom lip. “I’m fucking crazy about you,” he whispered against my mouth before taking the kiss deeper.

  With the milk and juice and whatever the fuck else he’d gotten out of the fridge forgotten, our kiss turned urgent. “I need you,” I whimpered against his lips. “I need you so bad, Scott.”

  Funnily enough, despite my pleas for it, this still wasn’t about sex.

  “I need you, too, Low.” He leaned back, and his gaze locked with mine. “More than just right now or tomorrow or next week or next month. I need you. Always.”

  God, I felt the same way. I couldn’t picture a time in my future when I wouldn’t need Scott. Somehow, someway, he’d become a permanent fixture in my life, and I didn’t want that to change.

  “Me too,” I whispered back.

  We tumbled into his bedroom in a fit of limbs and lips, and the instant he kicked the door shut, every pretense dropped. The façade I showed the world melted away, and all I wanted was to feel him, everywhere and all at once.

  Twilight and shadow covered the walls and floor, and Scott stood close enough that I felt enveloped by his musky scent. Without hesitation, and with only the soft inhales and exhales of our breaths peppering the otherwise silen
t air, he wrapped his arms around my back. In one gentle tug and turn, my covered breasts pressed deliciously against the soft material of his dress shirt.

  His right hand dropped to my thigh, and he pulled up my dress enough to reach my already aching skin. I couldn’t have moved even if I tried, as if his fingers had short-circuited my mind in the best possible way as they slid up the skin of my thigh and left trembles in their wake.

  “God, I’m addicted to you,” he whispered, and with two steps back, we toppled onto his bed, his eyes searching mine the entire time.

  “Ditto, Doc.” I smiled and kissed him again. With my lips, I felt his mouth stretching wider than it should, fighting between grinning and kissing, and I knew mine was most likely doing the same.

  We’d done this so many times—kissing, foreplay, sex—and somehow, every time, it just kept getting better.

  Because this is love.

  With our gazes locked, his hand moved down my cheekbones to my lips. “You’re so beautiful, Low,” he whispered, but he didn’t give me time to respond. Between one breath and the next, his mouth was on mine and we were kissing again. Good God, we were kissing—our mouths locked, our lips danced, and our tongues took hungry licks from one another.

  Every kiss we shared had this raw intensity—breathing fast, heart rates faster, desperate moans releasing from both of our lungs.

  I was addicted to him, too. And I was lost in him. And, even better, found in him.

  I was exactly where I should be.

  And before I knew how it happened, we were naked and our skin was moving softly against each other, not having sex, but just touching, just feeling.

  We locked eyes for a moment, only long enough for us to really see each other, and then he was kissing from my toes upward—slowly, so slowly—and his hands were on my legs, always just a little higher than his kisses.

  Scott’s lips and fingers might as well have been electric—every touch, every kiss tingling my skin into a frenzy of static. My back arched in anticipation, knowing where his fingers and lips would soon reach, and my head rocked back against the pillow when he did. I moaned out loud and his fingers slid inside of me from below while he took my mouth in another uninhibited kiss.