Dr. Hottie

by Vivian Wood

  She ran her finger around the rim of one of the empty shot glasses, feeling an acute shot of jealousy burn through her. Or is that just the tequila?

  “My turn,” he said. “Cheers because what else do I have to do other than to help a girl get back at her ex.”

  “I’m not trying to get back at him,” she said, too quickly. The taste of the tequila on her tongue made her cut her defenses short.

  “Cheers because tequila makes everything better,” she said.

  It was true. As she took another shot, she felt the warm glow spread outward from her chest.

  “How right you are,” Jack said. “You’re on a roll. Your turn again.”

  “Cheers because … it’s better to be drinking than to be running everyone else’s lives,” she said.

  He gave her a curious look. “Are you the mayor or something?”

  “Hardly,” she said with a laugh. “I work at a restaurant. I’m like the manager, but without the title or the pay.”

  “Ah,” he said. “So you’re the queen of your hive, then.”

  Briefly she wondered what he meant by that, but the tequila had started to turn her brain to mush. They slammed their glasses down on the table in unison.

  “So you’re a doctor. Do you love it?”

  He ducked his head. “I do. I’m in emergency medicine, and there is nothing like the rush of adrenaline that accompanies helping someone who’s experienced a trauma.”

  “So you do it because you’re an adrenaline junkie?”

  He grinned. “Partly. The other part is because my father was a doctor, and his father before him, and his father before him… so it was sort of expected that I would follow in their footsteps.”

  “Gotcha. You’re fulfilling familial obligations.”

  “That may have got me into med school, but I had to pass the classes and work the crazy thirty hour shifts.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply that you didn’t earn the right to call yourself a doctor.”

  He nodded, raising another shot glass.

  “Shot number four,” he said. “Ready?”

  “As ready as I’m gonna be.”

  “Cheers because … because … shit, I don’t know.” They both broke into laughter. The tequila had worked its magic. “How about we switch back to beer?”

  “Oh, wow. Did I really outdrink an Australian?” she asked.

  “I’m impressed. I figured you’d think I was British.”

  “Why?” she asked. She felt his arm at her waist as he directed her back to the table.

  “Most beautiful girls hope I’m British,” he said with a shrug. “Something about that accent.”

  Omigod, he called me beautiful. Either I’m really drunk, or he’s interested in me.

  “I don’t like Hugh Grant,” she said as she slid onto the barstool.

  “Good to know,” he said with a laugh. “So, tell me your sob story.”

  “What?”

  “It’s the Fourth of July and you’re at a table with a veritable stranger. You have to have a sob story. Why are you here?”

  “At Dusty’s?”

  “In this town.”

  “Oh. I was born here.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Hey!”

  “I’m sorry I said it like that! I just arrived, I shouldn’t make any judgment calls.”

  “It’s okay,” she said. She realized their heads were inches apart, but it was the only way to have a conversation with the music and the crowd. Somehow, it felt like they were the only two in the room. “Actually, I moved to Santa Fe for college as soon as I could. I couldn’t wait to get out of this town.”

  “Why’d you come back?”

  “I found out my mom was dead.”

  “Wait, what?” She saw the shock swim out of the buzz in his eyes.

  “Sorry, I’m not good at this,” she said. “I mean … she’d been sick a long time. Breast cancer. But I … I didn’t make it back in time.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Truly.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I know how it feels—and I’m not just saying that. My dad died when I was thirteen. I was there, but I wasn’t. You know? I was a kid.”

  “Let’s cheers to that,” she said, and they tipped their beers toward one another. “But you still didn’t tell me why you’re here. I mean really here.”

  He shrugged. “I was in Chicago, doing my residency. I didn’t want to go back to Melbourne, so I came here.”

  “Quite the trip from Australia to Chicago to Tahoe City.”

  “Maybe. So you told me why you came back. You never told me why you stayed.”

  She sighed. “I came back … you know, to take care of everything. And then I got stuck. There’s no other way to put it. I was taking care of my dad, my little sister, the whole ‘estate’ or whatever. Then … I started dating this guy.”

  “Jeremy?”

  “Yeah. How did you know that?”

  “You said his name earlier.”

  “Oh, right. Well, we started dating, and I’d always had a crush on him since I was fifteen. He paid zero attention to me in high school, so when he hit on me… I don’t know. I thought it was another reason to stay.”

  “And now?”

  “Now he’s with Shannon. And they’re rubbing it in my face, even if they don’t mean to. I don’t know. Maybe it was a mistake to stay so long.”

  “Well, there’s good news.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m completely comfortable with you using me to make him jealous.”

  “You are?” she asked with a laugh. “You seem pretty confident.”

  “I don’t want to come off as arrogant, but trust me, Addy. I know what I look like. And I’m willing to use it.”

  “Wow,” she said. “Better watch that humility. Don’t want you getting low self-esteem.”

  He laughed. “It’s just the truth. It’s luck, genetics, whatever you want to call it. You should know how it is.”

  She bit her lip and looked into the depths of her beer like it held the answers.

  “Besides,” he continued, “you’re way too pretty to be so concerned with him anyway.”

  She looked up at him. God, he really is gorgeous.

  “What about you? Where’s your family?”

  He smiled. “Well, my mum is in Melbourne, sitting on the board of various charities. No doubt, plotting my marriage to some Australian princess who will be blonde and perky and easy for my mother to control.”

  “Whoa. That’s… unexpected.”

  “If you were thinking that I’m an adult who has total autonomy over my own life, you’d be right. But you also wouldn’t be my mother.” He sipped his beer and looked away, but Addy saw a flash of bitterness in his expression. “God knows what she’s going to do when there are grandchildren in the equation.”

  “I’m glad that you ended up here instead of Melbourne. And that you’re single.”

  He lifted his brows. “Thanks.”

  Addy flung her hand over her mouth. “The tequila is talking, more than I am.”

  He laughed, reached over and tucked her hair behind her ear. “For what it’s worth, anyone who dumped you is a total jerk.”

  “Cheers to that,” she said, and lifted her beer.

  Somehow, another pitcher of beer arrived, but Addy hardly noticed. She was pressed against Jack’s side as he showed her funny videos from med school. She showed him her Instagram, flipping faster past old photos that showed her and Jeremy embracing or kissing.

  “I think your ex is going bald,” he told her, pointing out several photos where it was beginning to be obvious.

  “Fireworks!” someone yelled above the din. “The fireworks are starting.”

  En masse, the bar began to rush outside and bottleneck at the entrance. She felt Jack’s hand on her hip as he steadied her. The blast of cool evening air shot across her face when they made it outside and she breathed in the Tahoe air.

&n
bsp; “Over here,” he said, and led her to an isolated spot beneath a staggeringly tall tree.

  He wrapped his arm around her as the lights exploded in the dark. The crackle, the explosions, the excitement of the night—it all came to a head in her as she looked up at him. His eyes slid toward her mouth and she braced for a kiss, but something stopped her.

  “Hey. What if… what if we pretend to date?”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “Just listen. I’m trying to make my ex jealous, you have your mom breathing down your neck about settling down with someone…”

  He looked at her face, scanning it for something. She felt like her honesty was being gaged, more than anything.

  “Just try it out! You know. We’ll see—”

  Jack leaned down and kissed her, sure and strong. God, he tastes good.

  As he began to pull away, she fluttered her eyes open. Jeremy stared at her from the corner of his eye. He looked nonplussed, even with Shannon’s arm wrapped around his waist.

  Well, good!

  “How’d I do?” Jack asked. “Think he’s mad?”

  “You want another drink?” she asked with a smile.

  “Sure.”

  She led the way into the bar with Jack’s hand in her grasp.

  “Another round of tequila!” she called. The bar was almost empty as the rest of the revelers stayed outside for the show.

  “You got a ride home, Add?” the bartender asked.

  It was the last thing she remembered.

  3

  Jack squinted against the bright morning light. It poured into the room and lit up the unfamiliar bed. The strange sheets that smelled of vanilla.

  Shit. It wasn’t the first time this had happened.

  For him, there was a fine line between really tipsy and drinking so much that he didn’t remember.

  You’d think after thirty years of life—and fifteen years of drinking—you’d figure it out.

  His head roared. It wasn’t the first time he’d been blackout drunk, but it was the first time in a couple of years.

  He shifted under the duvet and realized he was at least wearing boxers. But nothing else. Jack glanced around the room, mostly white with a distressed vintage dresser in the corner. The back of a propped-open laptop revealed a yoga sticker and outline of California.

  At least I’m still in Tahoe City, he thought.

  But something seemed off. The entire room glistened like a gem. It took him a moment to realize it was glitter, all over the place. By some miracle, he recognized his phone on the bedside table.

  Please don’t be dead, he thought. There was fifteen percent battery and a string of angry texts from an unknown number. As he rolled away, he jumped at the sight of the half-dressed girl beside him.

  Addison. Addy. It all came back to him in a rush, like being smacked in the face by a wave of memories.

  He remembered being at the bar. He remembered talking and flirting with Addison, that it soon crossed the line into taking shots and full on hitting on her. But that didn’t explain what they were doing here, or where here was. He looked her over for clues.

  She was sprawled out on her back, her head turned to the side and her long hair covering her face. One pale pink nipple had slipped out the top of her bra. He felt himself harden at the sight of her full breasts. These were curves he didn’t remember.

  But he pushed the thought aside and pulled the blanket up to cover her. She didn’t budge, and her breathing remained deep and heavy.

  Jack pushed himself up, shaded his eyes, and looked around the room. Where the hell were they? He’d thought it was her bedroom, but upon closer inspection he realized by the frosting-pink décor it was more like a hotel. They were surrounded by several empty bottles of champagne.

  That explains why I’m so goddamned hungover.

  Jack lurched from the bed and staggered to the bathroom. As he leaned his hand against the wall over the toilet and started to relieve himself, he glanced down and nearly pissed all over the place. On his left hand was a shiny titanium ring.

  Jack pulled it off and started to inspect it.

  “Oh, no,” he said. “No, no, Jesus, no.” He raced back into the bedroom and reached under the covers for Addison’s hand.

  She groaned into the room. “What are you doing?” she asked, still half-asleep.

  “Wake up, I need to see your hand.”

  “What’s wrong with my hand?” she asked groggily. “No, it’s my head that hurts—”

  “We have bigger things to worry about.” He finally found her hand and felt the cool metal on her ring finger. His heart dropped into his stomach.

  “What is this?” he asked, and held her hand up to her face.

  “Shh! Oh my God,” she murmured and pulled the pillow over her face.

  “Look, you’ve got to help me out—”

  Addison sat up.

  “Oh, God,” she said, and jumped out of the bed. He watched her as she raced to the toilet in nothing but her underwear. Violent retching and vomiting sounds came from the bathroom, and his doctor training took over.

  Jack grabbed a couple of towels, her hair tie from the bedside table, and filled a glass of water.

  “Vomiting is good,” he called to her. “Get it all out.”

  “I don’t feel so good,” she said when she had eventually gotten it all out of her system.

  She emerged from the doorway, one of the hotel bathrobes wrapped around her slender frame. She looked like a child playing dress-up.

  “I’m right there with you,” he said. “Come here, sit down.”

  He arranged a comfortable spot on the chaise lounge and pushed the water into her hand. She mildly pushed him away as he pulled her hair into a ponytail, but he tsked until she relented.

  “Sorry I puked,” she said, sheepish.

  “I work in the ER. A little vomit doesn’t really bother me,” he said.

  As he looked at her with her bloodshot eyes and dark circles underneath, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. Of the two of them, she clearly got the worse end of the bargain.

  “You want to stay sitting up?” he asked. “Or go back to bed?”

  “Back to bed,” she said.

  He tucked her in and went to the bathroom to refill the water. As he filled the glass, he took a second to himself. He looked at the gold band on his fourth finger of his left hand, held it up a little to examine it.

  The fact that he’d had a wedding, that he’d blown through another milestone in his life without any attention paid, made him feel sad. Not that he’d always imagined getting married or anything. That was more his mother’s obsession.

  But every major milestone that he passed was just another without his father, the only parent that had genuinely cared for him. Yeah, his father could be a hard master, punishing Jack mercilessly for even the smallest failure.

  But looking at himself now, Jack could see why his father had rode him so hard. He just wanted Jack to be successful.

  The glass overflowed, and Jack was pulled from his thoughts. When he returned, Addy had rolled herself up in the blanket like a burrito.

  “Addison?” he asked, but was answered with more heavy breaths.

  His phone rang and she groaned in annoyance. He didn’t recognize the number.

  Fuck, I’m supposed to start at urgent care today. It was the hospital, it had to be. Jack searched for an answer, a believable excuse. But for the first time in his life, he had nothing.

  Philip. Philip will know what to do.

  He let the call go to voicemail and immediately called Philip. As he searched for how to start the most awkward conversation of his life, he stepped onto the small patio.

  “Congrats, mister married man!” Philip crowed into the phone.

  He pulled the phone farther away from his ear and winced. “What?”

  “Didn’t you get married last night?”

  “I … I think so?”

  “Yeah, you were really trashed la
st night. I told you that Reno was too far to go—”

  “Reno?”

  “Yeah, I tried to tell you, but you and Addy were insistent. Don’t you remember? I put you guys in a taxi and gave that guy a generous tip. A really generous tip.”

  “What … what about today’s opening? The new hospital? I was supposed to be there—”

  “Oh, man, nobody even knows we’re open. Don’t sweat it if you don’t make it here.”

  Jack rested his head in his hands. “Yeah, okay.”

  “How’s Mrs. Stratton?”

  Mrs. Stratton? Oh, he means Addison. Jack sat up straight and peered through the glass to the blanket burrito.

  “Uh … she’s not really up yet. Listen, what exactly happened? Last night?

  “You don’t remember anything?” Philip sounded incredulous.

  “I remember doing shots,” he said slowly. “And looking at her ex’s Instagram. Then… nothing.”

  Jack heard a click.

  “Hey, buddy, I’ll have to call you back,” Philip said.

  Jack looked at his phone, silent and close to dead. Slowly, he got up from the wrought iron chair and headed into the bathroom. Under the warm spray of the shower, he started to feel better.

  By now, it was clear Addison wasn’t getting up anytime soon. He called for room service as he toweled off and slipped into the same clothes he wore last night. They reeked of alcohol.

  The food arrived fast and artfully arranged, complete with a rose in a vase. He tipped the attendant at the door and wheeled the cart in himself.

  “Food?” Addison asked as he began to uncover the dishes. She peered curiously at the tray.

  “This first,” he said, and handed her one of eight Gatorades he’d ordered. She opened it and downed the entire bottle in a few gulps. After her second bottle, Jack offered her some of the food.

  She scooted to the end of the bed, still partially wrapped in the blanket and began to eat the French toast, dry, with her fingers. Midchew, she looked at him.

  “Are we in Reno?”

  “Yep,” he said as he tore into an omelet himself.

  “Oh, God. Did we …” she looked down at the wedding band on her finger. “Whose idea was it to get married?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “Oh, no. No,” she said, and struggled to get up. She still held the mass of blankets around her. “Where are my clothes? Wait, did we … we didn’t … consummate it, did we?”