The Doctor (Nashville Neighborhood Book 1)

by Nikki Sloane

  I couldn’t read what was going on behind his eyes, other than the panic swimming there. Was he thinking about what he’d done to Preston? It didn’t compare. Greg hadn’t been in much of Preston’s early life, but he also didn’t disappear. He hadn’t walked away and left him without a father at all. Even scraps were better than nothing to a starving person.

  I leaned over Greg, snatched the remote off the nightstand, and turned the TV on. It was super awkward, but anything was better than continuing the conversation, and my actions communicated it effectively.

  The older movie on screen was low definition, and I’d turned it on somewhere in the middle of a scene where banquet tables with fine china were being flipped over and pushed to the side.

  “The flowers are still standing,” Greg said to himself quietly.

  “What?”

  On screen, a young Bill Murray shouted the same thing. More tables crashed to the side, and a green ghost floated around a crystal chandelier, dodging laser beams.

  “That’s my favorite line in Ghostbusters.” Greg gestured to the TV. “When he pulls the tablecloth off and breaks everything on the table except the centerpiece.”

  I shrugged. “I never saw the old one.”

  It was like I’d just told him I didn’t know who the president was. A personal affront. “How is that possible? Man, I loved this movie when I was a kid.”

  I watched the Ghostbusters come up with their game plan of trapping the green ghost. The special effects looked ancient. “How old is this thing?”

  “I don’t know . . . It came out in nineteen eighty-four, I think? I saw it in the theater with my parents.” A weird look flitted over his face. Embarrassment? “I got freaked out,” he said, “by the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, and my mom had to take me out to the car. We missed the end of the movie.”

  A smile caught the edge of my lips. “I’m sorry, a marshmallow man? Those fluffy, white things?”

  “Yeah, but he’s, like, a hundred feet tall.”

  I chuckled. “Sounds terrifying.”

  “To a six-year-old, it was. He was running around crushing buildings.” Greg settled in and got comfortable against the headboard. “Whatever, you’ll see. We’re watching the rest of this.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, are we?”

  “This movie is a classic.” He peered at me with scrutiny. “What else haven’t you seen? Caddyshack? Animal House? Ferris Bueller’s Day Off?”

  I pressed my lips together. Did he realize those movies were already at least twenty years old by the time I was born?

  “Jesus.” He shook his head. “Okay, we start fixing this tonight.”

  So, we watched the rest of Ghostbusters, and I wasn’t sure which I liked better—the ridiculous movie, or the way Greg watched me experience it. And when it was over, we talked. Like, an actual conversation about everything from my desire to go to veterinary school to his aggravation with a fellow surgeon whose phone chimed non-stop through procedures.

  It was shocking how easy he was to talk to, and I tried not to make the comparison to the way things used to be between Preston and me.

  “It’s getting late,” I mumbled while yawning.

  The lights and TV were off, and the room was dark. Greg’s hand twitched on my bare stomach, curling around my waist to hold me closer. “Mm-hmm. You should stay.”

  It warmed me that he offered, but . . . “I can’t.”

  We both knew I couldn’t. Besides my curfew, what if Preston came home early? I squeezed his arm to get him to release me, which he did. When I slid off the bed, he turned on a bedside lamp, and we both squinted at each other in the light.

  He gazed at me while I pulled on my clothes, surveying me from the bed like I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and I went all wobbly.

  “I’m not on-call next weekend, and Preston’s heading to North Carolina on Thursday.”

  I’d forgotten about Preston’s upcoming visit to his mom’s for two weeks. It’d certainly make it easier to see Greg again, but exactly what was he suggesting? My hands slowed as I pushed my head into my shirt.

  His voice was light. “In case you wanted to get cracking on the list of new classic movies you need to watch.”

  God, his smile was gorgeous. How could I say no? I hoped my smile back matched his. “Sure. I’d like that.”

  It was nearly one in the morning when I left his bed. I had to hurry to make it home before curfew. My mom was pretty lax about stuff—I could have texted her if I needed an extension, but it was already so late, and what kind of excuse would I give?

  “Sorry, Mom. I’m hanging out in Dr. Lowe’s bed and he just banged my brains out.”

  Yeah, that’d go over just great.

  Lilith glanced around the bar area of the restaurant, then stared at me over the top of her half-empty pint of beer. “So . . . you’re like, what? Dating Dr. Daddy now?”

  “Uh, no. I don’t think—” I couldn’t ‘date’ Greg. First of all, where would we go? Nashville was a big city, but the suburb we lived in had a small-town feel. He ran into patients often whenever he and Preston went anywhere. “Honestly, I have no idea what we’re doing.”

  “Other than boning each other.”

  I gave her a plain look, not rewarding her amusement. “Right. Just boning each other.”

  She took a long sip of her drink and chuckled to herself as she set it down on the tabletop. “I swear, Cassidy, this thing keeps getting better every time we talk. I can’t wait until you’re telling me you’re going to be Preston’s new stepmom.”

  My eyes went as wide as possible. “Oh my God, stop.”

  Lilith pushed a section of her brown hair back over her shoulder and leaned in to get close. “I’m teasing. But, seriously, dude. He’s hot and a doctor. Well done, you. You need to teach me your ways.”

  Me, teach her? Lilith was the sexually confident woman I wanted to be. “Yeah, right. And how many guys have I been with, again?”

  “You mean, outside of the Lowe family?” She grinned.

  “Ouch. That was savage.”

  “I know, I’m sorry. Couldn’t resist.” She propped her elbows on the round table and rested her chin on her hands. “Your number doesn’t matter, because it’s not a contest. Guys can fuck a bunch of different women and still be clueless about sex.” She lifted her eyebrows. “Believe me.”

  “Well, Greg is—uh—not clueless.”

  Her smile was wide and genuine. “Glad to hear it. You deserve a good dose of vitamin D.”

  I laughed and shook my head. Her unabashed attitude still caught me off guard.

  The crowd in the bar ignored us, and I’d forgotten they were there until a cheer went up over a baseball game on the televisions covering the back wall.

  “Hey, you know who else is hot and probably gives good vitamin D?” Lilith said loudly, just as the hubbub died. “Clay Crandall.”

  The name didn’t ring any bells. “And he is?”

  “My new neighbor. I saw him moving in last week, and he’s gorgeous. I went over to welcome him to the neighborhood right away—you know—because I’m friendly like that.” Her expression was devious, and I imagined her putting on her sexiest outfit before sprinting in her stilettos to his doorstep. “Not married, and no girlfriend—or boyfriend—in sight. He’s some tech guy. I think he sells software? I can’t remember. It was hard to hear over how fucking hot he was.”

  “I’m sure.” My gaze dropped down to the black straw floating in my glass of Dr. Pepper. Sitting in the bar area, and my friend across from me drinking beer, intensified my feeling of being an older person trapped in a young body. Was I the only one in this restaurant who wasn’t legally allowed to drink?

  “God, I hope he never puts up curtains,” Lilith said wistfully.

  I smirked. “You pervert.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  Our server arrived, a scrawny guy with sideburns that were too long, carrying our dinners and aiming an enormous smile at
Lilith. He was practically drooling in our food, but she didn’t notice. Not the drool, or the guy producing it, either. Perhaps she was used to guys falling over themselves around her.

  He dropped off my fajitas with a loud thud, and slowly slid her salad in front of her like he was presenting her his heart on a satin pillow. As she readied her fork, she gave him a quick, “thanks,” and then dug in.

  He slunk away, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

  I’d only been friends with her for the summer, but if I knew one thing for certain, it was that Lilith would chase a bunny around an exam table all day, but she did not chase men. At least, not unless she absolutely had to have him.

  “Dinner’s on me tonight,” she said as she crunched a crouton.

  “You don’t have to do that.” The restaurant was just across the parking lot from the strip mall that held the vet clinic, and we always left our cars parked there after our day was over. I assumed she was going to order a second beer. “I don’t mind driving you home tonight.”

  “I’m not buying you dinner for being my designated driver, I’m buying it to lessen the blow that I can’t go to the Joven concert next weekend.”

  “What?” I froze mid-bite. We’d bought our tickets weeks ago, and I was dying to see them live.

  “I screwed up. I thought my cousin’s wedding was this weekend, but it’s not, and my mom’s being a jerk about me bailing. I can’t get out of it.” She gave me sad, puppy-dog eyes. “I’m really sorry. Do you want to try to sell our tickets? Or I can still pay for mine if you want to go with someone else.”

  I gazed at the sizzling skillet of fajitas in front of me. I was disappointed she couldn’t go, but I still really wanted to. Did I know anyone else who liked Joven?

  Oh.

  I did. He’d caught me dancing in my swimsuit to their music once in his darkened garage. Plus, he wasn’t on-call that weekend.

  “Your face is weird,” Lilith said abruptly, staring at me through the steam from my food. “What are you thinking about?”

  “Doing something crazy,” I said. “Like, maybe asking Greg if he wants to go.”

  Her eyes widened along with her smile. She liked this bad idea a lot. “Oh my God, do it.”

  SEVENTEEN

  THE SUN WAS GLARING, and my palms were sweaty as I thumbed out the message on my phone.

  Cassidy: Are you on your way?

  The sidewalk outside the Bridgestone Arena was full of people streaming up the concrete steps into the main entrance. The crowd was jovial, and the fans were a wide range of ages. Occasionally, some guy would give me a second glance, as if wondering about the girl waiting in the shadow of the tall, silver building while constantly checking her phone.

  My feet hurt, and I shifted uncomfortably on the heels I’d let Lilith talk me into wearing.

  When I’d climbed into the Uber and headed for the concert, I’d felt awesome. My skinny black pants fit perfectly, and no tan lines were showing in my blue sleeveless top. My hair was cooperating too, letting me curl my brown locks into soft waves with volume, instead of the flat, stick-straight way I normally wore it. I’d watched YouTube tutorials on ‘date night makeup’ and followed painstakingly along, so I was confident my makeup didn’t look like it’d been applied by a drunken clown.

  But the Uber had dropped me off at the Nissan gate outside the arena more than thirty minutes ago, and I wasn’t feeling awesome now. Greg and I were supposed to meet here at six thirty, and the opening act of the concert had started at seven. I’d hung out in a state of annoyance for the last ten minutes, but as the clock continued to tick along, my irritation turned.

  I looked back at the texts I’d sent him over the last thirty-five minutes.

  Cassidy: I’m here!

  Cassidy: Nissan gate. Standing next to the Jack Daniel’s sign.

  Cassidy: We said 6:30, right?

  Something was wrong. Why wasn’t he responding? He wasn’t on-call with the hospital, so that couldn’t be the problem.

  A sensation of cold shivered through me, despite the July heat and humidity. Had he forgotten, or had he changed his mind? I abruptly felt like a fool, standing on the sidewalk in the most sexed-up outfit I owned, waiting for a man who clearly wasn’t going to show.

  How much longer should I wait, and . . . did I really want to go into the concert by myself, now that my evening had been ruined? I stared up at the series of doors, debating what to do. Lilith would say “fuck him,” go inside, and have the time of her life. I wasn’t angry at her, but mad at the situation. If she’d gone with me, I’d never have invited Greg and—

  My phone vibrated.

  Greg: I’m so, so sorry. Was on a post-op phone call that would NOT end. Ordering my Uber now.

  He was still at home? It was all the way on the other side of town. I squeezed the phone so tightly in my hand, I worried I’d break it. If I was being reasonable, I knew it wasn’t his fault, but it was hard to be reasonable when I was hot, had aching feet and a stomach that had been churning with anger for the last twenty minutes.

  Greg: Where are you? Still waiting outside?

  I stabbed the screen with my fingers.

  Cassidy: Yup.

  Greg: Go on in, don’t wait for me. I’ll be there in 15.

  Cassidy: I have your ticket.

  The dots blinked across the screen, then vanished, and finally . . .

  Greg: Shit. You want to meet at the lounge by the entrance? You won’t have to wait outside.

  I glared up at the large windows opposite me, and my irritation burned hotter as I watched the people inside the air-conditioned building, laughing and sipping on drinks. I didn’t want to have to remind him, but he’d obviously forgotten.

  Cassidy: I’m not 21.

  More blinking dots appeared and then disappeared, and I pictured him swearing to himself.

  Greg: Traffic’s moving fast. I’ll be there soon. Again, I’m sorry.

  Cassidy: K.

  I wasn’t sure what else to say. The situation sucked, but I should have expected it. Greg’s job was demanding, and he’d spent more than a few dinners on the phone with patients or the hospital while Preston and I ate.

  Scalpers tried to sell me tickets while I waited, anxiously watching the cars that pulled up with the Uber sticker in the window. Even though the concert had started a while ago, people were still arriving in droves, not interested in the warm-up acts.

  A pack of guys, who looked only a few years older than me, meandered down the sidewalk, and their slow, steady approach put me on alert. A hyperaware sense of anxiety kicked in. I stared at the ground, not wanting to make eye contact. I’d been to enough parties at Vanderbilt to be wary of a group like this. Toxic masculinity mixed with pack mentality was a dangerous combination.

  “Hey,” a male voice said. I hoped it wasn’t directed at me, and glanced at my phone, even though whatever was on screen wasn’t registering.

  “Hey,” the guy said again, louder and closer. He had to be talking to me.

  The pack had stopped moving, and the tallest one of the group was staring, an interested expression painted on his face. As he took me in, I had no choice but to evaluate him as well. He wore a gray t-shirt and ripped jeans, but they were the expensive kind where the rips were intentional. He was okay looking. His nose was a little long and his eyes matched his dull colored shirt, but my instincts were immediately to run.

  “You out here waiting for me?” he said. The corners of his mouth turned up in a teasing smile.

  “No, sorry.”

  I tried to look beyond him to reinforce my lack of interest, but he didn’t move. He just stood there staring, and I reluctantly turned my attention back to him. His half smile had deepened into a wide grin.

  “What’s your name, gorgeous?”

  I blinked. Did he really just say that? Even though it was technically a compliment, the way he’d delivered the cheesy line was anything but flattering, and I felt my expression sour. “My name is ‘Not Intere
sted.’”

  His friends snickered, but the guy was unfazed. If anything, it seemed to egg him on. He stepped toward me, invading my space. He was close. Too close, and I backpedaled—only the wall was there, hot against my back.

  His friends kept their distance. Most seemed uninterested in what was going on, but it was hard not to feel intimidated with the tall guy looming over me, and the way his smile reached his eyes, it was clear he knew it. He saw how nervous he made me and enjoyed it.

  He was scary.

  “Why not?” he asked, looking smug. “You got a boyfriend?”

  I’d been raised by a strong, feminist mother, and since I was literally trapped, this guy had activated the part of me which was all teeth and claws. “Does that make a difference?” I snapped.

  My question caught him off-guard, but he recovered and looked at me like I was being silly. His tone dripped with condescension. “Of course, it does.”

  “Why?” I lifted my chin and narrowed my gaze, giving him time to come up with an answer, but he stumbled. “Is it,” I continued, “because that means I belong to someone else?”

  Confusion threaded his eyebrows together. “Uh . . .”

  “I already told you I wasn’t interested, but, no. You won’t respect that. You’ll only step off when you think I’m another man’s property.” I straightened my shoulders and tried to stand as tall as possible, pretending I wasn’t feeling threatened. “I’m not interested in you, or being anyone’s property. Goodbye.”

  I heard one of his friends make a sound that was half-gasp, half-laugh, but I didn’t take my attention off the guy peering down at me. He wasn’t hiding his displeasure at being called out in front of his crew, and my stomach tangled into a knot. He looked pissed, and . . . shit, had I just poked a bear?