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

  “Well.” Scott glanced at me and then at our parents, who appeared to be having some sort of silent conversation no one else was privy to. “I think you should join us for a drink afterward.”

  He was talking to my dad, but at the same time, he wasn’t talking to my dad. The sneaky bastard.

  “That’s a fantastic idea,” Nicole agreed, squeezing my father’s arm playfully. “Are you free to join us? We could exchange notes on the show. And maybe you could tell me a few of your favorite parts?”

  “I’d love that.” Bill nodded, all too eager to agree, and then glanced at me. I had one foot in the direction of the exit, but then he had to go and ruin it. “Doesn’t that sound nice, Low?”

  Fuck. Don’t remind everyone that I’m here, Dad.

  Just act natural and smile, I coached myself.

  “Sounds like a great idea.”

  “Okay,” Bill agreed with a proud smile. “We’d love to join you.”

  We? Hold the motherfucking train…

  Hadn’t Scott said you, meaning one, meaning just my father?

  “Wait…uh?” I blurted out, eager to derail this sucker, but unsure what in the hell I was going to say to get out of spending more time with Scott. “I think—I might have plans—”

  “You might have plans?” Scott asked with that cocky fucking grin of his. He knew exactly what he’d just done, and instead of being a gentleman and giving me an out, he sat patiently, waiting for me to say, explicitly and without assistance, that I did not want to hang out with a total asshole and his sweet mother for the evening.

  His mom’s big brown eyes looked dejected, almost tawny with disappointment. My father questioned, “I thought you said you wanted to go, Low?” His voice was soft, but the line of his body was firm. Bill Paige’s version of what the hell is going on, young lady?

  “I meant…you should go…and you still should,” I stuttered. “But I think I might’ve already made plans with Amanda…” I tossed out and then instantly realized my mistake as his keen eyebrows danced into a suspicious tilt.

  Obviously, I’d made a critical error. My best friend wasn’t even in the country. And she wouldn’t be in the States for the next month because she’d be busy traveling through Europe on a goddamn PR tour with her soon-to-be Spanish lover.

  Fucking hell. I wish I were in Europe right now with my soon-to-be Spanish lover.

  Wait. I don’t want a lover. Boy toy? Yeah, that’s much better.

  “Didn’t she just leave on that business trip?” my father questioned. “I thought Jean-Pierre had helped her book the hotels in France?”

  Goddamn it. Was it hot in here? Bright? Had we teleported into a fucking interrogation room?

  Scott quirked a brow. “Did you maybe get the dates confused, Harlow?”

  Ugh. Fuck you, Scott Shepard.

  “Hold on… Let me double-check my calendar…” I held up one finger and pretended to go through the calendar on my phone. Really, I was just scrolling back and forth from one end of my apps to the other. I didn’t even keep a fucking calendar. Believe me, I’d tried numerous times to keep up with my schedule, but I always forgot to track dates after about a week of pretending to be organized. “Oh! It looks like I got the months confused,” I lied with a relieved smile. “It’s not until next month. I’m completely free tonight.”

  “Boy,” Scott chimed in with an amused smirk, his body nearly quaking with unspent laughter. “That’s a relief.”

  “I know, right?” I said in the fakest voice that had ever left my lips. Splenda had nothing on this shit. “It’s like the stars have aligned tonight.” To make my life a living hell…

  “They definitely have. This really has turned out to be a fantastic night,” my father said with a smile in Nicole’s direction.

  And, no surprise, she was smiling, too. And when I glanced at Scott in my periphery, he was also smiling. Most likely at my discomfort, but still, every-fucking-body was smiling.

  Besides me.

  “Where should we go, Low?” my father asked and then grinned proudly when he added, “My Harlow always knows the best places in the city to go for every occasion. I have a feeling it’s from all of that column research she does.”

  “Well…” I started with a forced smile, scrambling to think of the worst place within a five-block radius and coming up empty. Goddamn, the last thing I wanted was to pick somewhere inviting. I’d never get rid of Scott.

  “Maybe it would be a good idea if we stick to a bar close by. Something local and relaxed, though. No Times Square hot spots. You know, so it will be easy to chat about the show.” And hopefully, the wine will be cheap, and I can drown my misery in alcohol…

  “What a good idea,” Scott interjected, but his voice reeked of sarcasm. “And who knows? Maybe Harlow will find some inspiration for one of her columns.”

  “Wouldn’t that be great?” my dad agreed with a grin. “Kill two birds with one stone.”

  “Exactly.” Scott winked in my direction, and I fought the urge to flip him off. “Well,” he said and gestured toward the aisle with his hand, “let’s continue this wonderful evening of getting to know one another.”

  A wonderful evening of getting to know Dr. ERotic?

  Someone. Help. Me.

  “What is this place?” Harlow asked as we stepped inside of Mustang’s, one of the best barely known gems in Manhattan.

  Part dive bar, part think tank, the walls were lined with patron-created drinks written on cocktail napkins, envelopes, old newspapers, and the like. It was the only place I’d ever been to that didn’t recognize standard drinks as common practice. Instead, you made up your own, tried it out, and if the bartender deemed it “sea-worthy”—or sellable—your concoction got tacked up on the wall after you gave it a name. If you didn’t like whatever came from your experimental mind, you could try again or order someone else’s proven success story by picking from the walls. It had to be at least slightly cost-ineffective, wasting liquor on unsuccessful samples, but somehow, they made it work.

  Maybe that’s where the dive bar part comes into play.

  Instead of going into the details, I pushed Harlow toward the bar, my mom and Harlow’s dad following closely behind. “You’ll see.”

  Her dad had touted her as one of the best locals in New York, a real gal of the town who knew exactly where to go for the best atmosphere, but she’d fallen pretty spectacularly on her face when forced to come up with a place under pressure.

  I had a feeling that was her mind and body’s way of revolting against my presence more than anything, though.

  “Have you never been here?” my mom asked Harlow excitedly. This was one of her favorite places ever, the two success stories she’d ever created, a Limeade Tequila Sunrise and a Drug Dealer—two parts Coca-Cola, one part cherry juice, and one part rum—her pride and joy.

  I didn’t have the heart to tell her that the second one was basically just a rum and Coke, and the bartender apparently didn’t either. Still, I had to give her bonus points for creativity on the name.

  Harlow shook her head before my mom directed the question to her dad. He shook his head too. “How’d you find this place?” Bill asked.

  My mom laughed. “Scott, of course. He always brings me to the best places in the city.”

  Harlow’s curious eyes shot to me before she could conceal them. Ah, yes, little Harlow. You’re not the only one who knows New York’s secrets.

  Stepping close enough that the heat of her back radiated into my chest, I whispered in her ear. “That’s not my only talent.”

  She turned slightly so she could body check me with her shoulder. I laughed and rubbed at the point of contact on my chest. It didn’t hurt at all, but I definitely felt something. I just couldn’t put my finger on what.

  “Bill, you have got to try a Nipple Blaster!” my mom said on a near shout. Harlow’s eyes rounded to the size of saucers.

  “A Nipple Blaster, huh?” Bill asked, completely unfazed. Though, i
f I wasn’t mistaken, there did seem to be a little carnal hunger in his wolf eyes.

  “Yes! It’s Scott’s creation.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Harlow muttered under her breath, and I laughed. She wasn’t my biggest fan for whatever reason. Okay, maybe it was holding her hostage in a painful conversation about how she’d ridden her way to stitches or haranguing her in the bathroom, but whatever. Somehow, though, her dislike of me just made me like her even more.

  “It’s just a twist on a Buttery Nipple.”

  “What’s the twist?” Harlow asked. Her body looked like it was stiff, fighting the whole idea of actually giving me any attention whatsoever, even if just to ask a question, but her curiosity got the best of her. I’d have to make a mental note of what needing information did to her willpower.

  “A Fireball chaser.”

  “Let’s all do one!” my mom cheered excitedly. The tiniest hint of a smirk curled the very tip of Harlow’s lips.

  “You in?” I asked her directly. She shrugged.

  “I guess I can’t be the downer.”

  Bill nearly shoved me out of the way to envelop her in a bear hug. “That’s it, sweetheart. Perk up! You’re the youngest one here.” He glanced to me quickly. “At least, I assume.”

  “You’re right, Bill. She’s the youngest.”

  Harlow’s eyes narrowed at the way I said it. That’s right, little miss columnist. I’ve been researching you.

  I signaled for the bartender’s attention while Bill moved back out from in between his daughter and me and settled in to chat with my mom, and he gave me a chin lift that said I had it. “Four Nipple Blasters.” The bartender gave me a nod and pulled out eight shot glasses.

  Harlow shifted uncomfortably in front of me and crossed her arms over her chest. I bit into my lip as my mind went straight to the one sexy thing she could be trying to conceal. Was Harlow Paige getting a little hot and bothered every time I said the word nipple?

  I leaned close, teasing the shell of her ear with my hot breath as I tested the theory. “Do you like Buttery Nipples, Harlow?”

  She shivered, her shoulder jumping up to her ear just slightly before she tightened her arms. I smiled to myself. Yep. Harlow might not like me, but her nipples seemed to be liking me just fine.

  One, two, three, four, the bartender lined up the shots on the bar in front of us, stacking the Fireball chasers directly behind each glass. I pulled a hundred-dollar bill from my pocket and handed it to him before Bill could get his wallet out of his pocket.

  “On me,” I told him.

  “Thanks, Scott,” he said with a thump on my shoulder and a smile for his daughter.

  “I like this guy, Low.”

  She grumbled. “Of course you do, dad.”

  I laughed as I picked up a glass and handed it to Harlow, and Bill did the same for my mom. Then we both took our own and formed a circle to clink cheers before tossing it down the hatch and grabbing for the chaser. Mine went down easily enough, but Harlow’s face was downright comical.

  “Not a big drinker?” I asked as she set her empty glasses back on the bar.

  “Not usually hard liquor,” she admitted.

  “I like that,” I told her. And I did. I was all about a good time, but I liked the idea of someone who didn’t need alcohol to have one. And Harlow Paige might be grumpy right now, but I could tell she was a good time when she was with people she admitted to liking—probably bordering on too good.

  “I think I need to sit down,” my mom said suddenly, and I turned to her with concern. Bill, of course, gentleman that he was, immediately grabbed her arm to offer support. And she fucking winked at me.

  “Oh, don’t worry, Bill. It’s just this one hip. Gives me a little trouble if I stand for too long.”

  My eyes narrowed. She didn’t have any hip problems.

  “Let’s go sit down then, Nicole.”

  “You don’t mind?” she asked.

  Poor sap. He didn’t fucking mind at all. My mom looked over her shoulder and winked one more time as Harlow sank into a barstool, her head in her hands. Jesus Christ. My mom had just arranged alone time for me with Harlow. My mom is helping me with dates now. This feels like a low point.

  Harlow didn’t look up from her point of focus, a drop of water on the bartop, when she spoke. “Your mom is…well, she’s something.”

  Hell on wheels. My mom was hell on goddamn wheels.

  “Okay, yeah, she is,” I laughed. “But I’m sure your parents are Ward and June Cleaver.”

  “Well…” She laughed, finally leaving the water droplet to its own fate and forcing her eyes to meet mine. “Not exactly. They’re kind of like Ward and June Cleaver and Bill Johnson.”

  “What?” My face pinched in confusion, and laughter bubbled in my throat at the same time. “Who the hell is Bill Johnson?”

  “He’s my dad. Actually, Bill Paige is my dad.” She rolled her eyes. “Obviously. But my mom, Karen, aka June, and her husband Jean-Pierre, aka Ward, are the perfect couple, and my dad is, crazy as it sounds, their perfect sidekick.”

  I tried to picture what she was describing. Her mom and Jean-Pierre—faceless bodies in my mind, of course—dressed as Batman and Catwoman with Bill in a Robin costume next to them. I tried to make four out of two-plus-two, but all I could compute was a very disturbing threesome.

  I mean, my parents at least got along in a civil capacity—my mom was going to my dad and stepmom’s anniversary party, for fuck’s sake. But she was doing it with barely concealed disdain. The pieces of Harlow’s perfect parent trio weren’t quite lining up.

  “So, what? They’re like besties? Your mom, your stepdad, and your dad?”

  She nodded enthusiastically, her face completely devoid of sarcasm. “Yeah. They’re going on an Alaskan cruise together in a few months for my dad’s birthday.”

  Finally, it all made sense. At least, an opportunity to tease Harlow mercilessly did.

  I smirked. “So, they’re a threesome.”

  “What?” she shrieked, covering her ears.

  “A threesome. You know…double penetration?”

  “No, they’re not a fucking threesome, you pervert!” Her lips curled away from one another, and the normally tanned glow of her skin faded into a sallow white.

  “You’re the one who said they’re all set to go on vacay together,” I pushed, doing my best to keep my face straight. “Your dad doesn’t have any other friends he’d rather celebrate with?”

  “They’re best friends!”

  “Sounds like something else to me.”

  “Oh, eww! Stop! They’re best friends.”

  “Who sleep together,” I mumbled under my breath.

  “Stop! They have separate rooms!”

  “That’s what they tell you, maybe.”

  Steely determination set in as she stared me down. “Oh, yeah? Then I guess your mom is about to make their fourth? How do you like that?”

  Mentally, I cringed. But I fought it for the sake of winning our argument.

  “Sounds kinky,” I said, voice steady.

  “Gross!” she shouted, but there was a hint of laughter in her voice. “You’re gross!”

  “You’re just focusing on our differences, Harlow. You need to focus on our commonalities.”

  Her nose wrinkled, and she batted at me with a hand. “Oh, don’t you school me using Kinky Boots.”

  “Why?” I argued. “Some good has to come out of seeing it.”

  She laughed. “I take it you didn’t like it?”

  “I thought it was fine.”

  “But…”

  I shrugged. “I’m not big on musicals.”

  She rolled her eyes before admitting, “Neither am I. Though, I have to admit I didn’t mind this one.”

  Both of us looked to our respective parents, and Harlow stood up to make our way over to them. We didn’t even have to say anything. She just fell in step right in front of me as I guided her with a hand at the small of her ba
ck.

  It was weird how natural it all felt.

  When we got to their table and she greeted them, I pulled my hand away from the heat of her shirt and studied my palm. Why is it tingling?

  “Isn’t that a great idea, Scott?” my mom asked, pulling my attention away from my hand.

  “What’s that?” I asked, obviously having no idea what the topic of conversation was. I was kind of busy studying my sudden ability to conduct electricity.

  “I was just asking Bill to be my date tomorrow night…for the party.”

  The party…?

  Oh. My dad and Linda’s anniversary party.

  Ah Jesus. My mother.

  “Well…” I looked into my mom’s eyes, expecting to see some sort of game, but there was genuine hope there. She really liked Bill. Hell if I was going to be the one who ruined it.

  “I think that’s a great idea,” I finished.

  “Maybe Harlow could be your date,” Bill suggested after a nudge from my mother. They’re in this together. I just barely stopped myself from laughing.

  “Dad!” Harlow protested. “You can’t just invite us to stuff. There’s probably a head count and menus and all sorts of important details. Plus, Scott probably already has a date.”

  Her objection, so detailed and full of conviction as it was, sealed it for me. Now, I had to make her go.

  “Oh, no. Trust me, it’ll be fine if you guys come. I was flying solo, but I’d love if you accompanied me, Harlow.”

  It was the damnedest thing. I could practically hear the litany of curse words she was running over my name in her head and feel the steam as it poured out of her. It was almost as if Harlow gave me heightened abilities.

  I’ve always wanted to be a superhero.

  “Perfect!” my mom squealed.

  I smiled at Harlow. “It’s a date.”

  All it took was a single glance to the wall clock in my kitchen to make my chest tighten. It was already noon, and I’d yet to write a single goddamn word.

  Jesus, where did the time go?

  Probably lost on mentally flipping Scott Shepard off…