Scandalous Scotsman: A Hero Club Novel

by MJ Fields

  “Do you know how I pay my bills, Dr. Stewart?”

  “Do ye ken ye shouldn’t even be working yet, Ms. Bloom?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business—”

  “Ye’re my patient —”

  “And I’m perfectly capable of working and handling comments from drunk men flirting—”

  “Drunk men who ye shouldn’t be serving if ye ken they’re drunk and driving.”

  “All of whom are adults and, like me”— she pokes herself in the chest like she’s dotting an exclamation mark— “are capable of making decisions. All who are monthly guests at The Oasis and who take cabs or Uber their grown asses home.”

  Well, shit.

  “You, Dr. Stewart, are clearly new to this monthly gathering, so maybe you should sit back and observe how it’s done.” She steps around me. “And for the love of wine and Ben and Jerry’s, pull the stick out of your ass before you cause me to walk out of here with a shitty tip.”

  Almost Saturday

  Lizzie

  Sitting next to Shirley as she cashes me out at the end of my shifts, I lean back and set my leg on the empty chair beside me.

  “You ran your butt off today and tonight. I hope it’s worth it. You’re going to be sore tomorrow,” she says as she clicks away on the calculator.

  “I made more in my first shift than I have in years, with the added gratuity from the docs’ tip. I’m sure it’s well worth it,” I say, stretching my neck.

  She laughs. “They also left a whole pile of cash.”

  I jerk forward and look at her. “What?”

  “The sexy new Scot left a cash tip, and when that frustrating ass told him it was included, he threw another twenty on the table. I’m assuming it was just to spite him.”

  Another twenty, I think as I calculate my earnings for today and realize now I can call the cable company and tell them to turn the internet back on instead of waiting until my first paycheck.

  “No more streaming Jamie from my phone to my TV!” I throw a fist in the air.

  Shirley laughs. “Lizzie, you need to find another fictional boyfriend. I’ve given you dozens of recommendations since I introduced you to Jamie Fraser.”

  “Reading that series was amazing but watching him in action is a whole other experience. And it is, every time.”

  She laughs as she counts the cash then separates it into two piles … again.

  “If I wasn’t exhausted, I’d go home and turn him on straight away.”

  “Unbelievable,” she whispers as she counts the pile again.

  “Please, for the love of wine and all things internet, don’t tell me I’m short.”

  She shakes her head and counts one last time. “Not short, Lizzie, and I knew when I cleared the table that each man at that table had followed the Scot’s lead, but …”

  “But what?” I ask, eyeing the pile.

  “You made over five hundred dollars in cash tips this evening.”

  “I— what?” I yell, then take it down a notch. “Don’t toy with me, Shirley.”

  “Do I look like a woman who would mess with another’s money, wine, internet, or fictional obsessions?”

  She doesn’t.

  But she keeps trying to replace poor Jamie.

  “And another two hundred in the already added gratuity.”

  “Split that between the bussers, and we split the rest of it,” I tell her.

  She shakes her head. “Their cut is already figured in, and I’m salary.”

  I nod. “And you went above and beyond helping me today.”

  “That’s because out of the thirty employees I have to deal with on a daily basis, no one brings the magic like you do.”

  “Adrenaline is amazing.” I laugh as I remove the boot and see how swollen my ankle is. “Nine hours and nine hundred dollars.” I laugh again as I take off the rest of my clothes and then sink into a full, steaming hot bath, carefully lifting my leg to rest it on the lip of the tub.

  Reaching down to grab the glass of wine that I set on the floor from the new bottle, not box, I’d grabbed at the grocery store when I stopped after work, feeling like a hundred-aire after the magical money that I made tonight to buy a bath bomb— another splurge— so I could soak in a full, hot bath. Yes, full, hot baths are also a splurge. Water and heat aren’t cheap, and I’ve had to cut corners at every turn since Dad passed and he left.

  “And him being gone simply eased the financial burden.” Lifting my glass, I cheers the air. “We got this.” I take a sip and swallow. “Me and magic.”

  Twenty minutes later, my body is less tense, and my ankle no longer feels like the skin may split open at any moment.

  Wrapped in a towel, I remember my favorite pair of pajamas, which I plan to spend lots of time in tomorrow, are in the dryer.

  I grab my phone and my glass of wine before making my way very carefully down the stairs.

  After brushing my hair, throwing on my Jamie’s Sassy Sassenach lightweight sweatshirt and red tartan sleep shorts, I walk into the kitchen, flip on the light, open the fridge, refill my wineglass, and then grab the half a carton of Ben and Jerry’s and take them into my living room.

  After placing everything on the side table, I grab my laptop, connect to the internet through my hot spot, and sign in to my cable account to have my Wi-Fi turned back on.

  When the payment goes through, without the worry I won’t have enough for gas and insurance for the next month to get me to work, I throw a fist in the air and give out a loud, “Whoop, whoo— ” that is interrupted by an even louder knock on my door.

  I glance at the clock.

  Eleven eleven at night.

  When I open the door, my jaw nearly drops, and before I know it, I’ve stepped back, allowing him in my house, again.

  “Ye’re my patient,” he says as his eyes roam down my body, momentarily stalling on my chest. His jaw tenses, and his green eyes flare in sync with his nostrils.

  So incredibly sexy.

  Tingles.

  Infuriatingly sexy.

  Heat.

  His eyes come to mine again as he begins kneeling.

  Oh, hell.

  Panic takes over, and I grab his hair, pulling him up.

  UNWAXED!

  His eyes widen as he looks up at me.

  “You need to slow down with —”

  “Ms. Bloom,” he interrupts.

  “I think this is a bit too, much too soo—”

  “Why don’t ye ease yer arse down onto that sofa so I can assess the damage ye’ve done to yerself today.”

  Can you feel completely ablaze and numb at the same time?

  Yes. Yes, you can … when you are completely and totally embarrassed by your assumptions.

  “Ye’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he mumbles. “Can ye not follow a simple instruction, Ms. Bloom?”

  “I—”

  He stands straight. “Elevate, ice, and stay the hell off yer leg.” He walks toward my kitchen and opens the freezer. “Kitchen towel!” he barks. “So I can wrap yer cold compress—”

  “Okay …?” I start to get up and he spins around, pinning me with just a look.

  “Don’t ye move,” he demands, and I freeze.

  After several moments of glaring at me, he finally speaks. “Where’s yer cold compress and kitchen towels, Ms. Bloom?”

  And I finally breathe. “No compress. Ice works. Kitchen towels …” I pause to think about where I may have put them, because my head feels like it may explode. “Dryer.”

  He scowls. “Where’s yer dryer?”

  I point toward the door just beyond him. “There.”

  As soon as he turns his back and walks toward the bathroom, I cover my face and fight the extremely strong desire not to curl up and shove myself into a couch cushion … or run out the door and never come home, but I love my house. My house that I have almost lost a dozen times over the past three years because taxes and the cost of living nearly crushed me.

  As I
watch Dr. Nail-It-or-Screw-It walk out of the bathroom, grumbling to himself, I decide I need to do some major adulting here.

  Adulting doesn’t mean eye-banging the man in the low-riding black gym shorts and white tank top, muscles working together like a freaking fine-tuned machine as he mumbles inaudibly and opens the freezer, wrapping the towel around something cold, Lizzie.

  He turns, brows knit, and glares at me from behind the kitchen island. “Lie back, leg up, Ms. Bloom.”

  Lying back, I tell myself, Pull up your bloomers, girl, as I adult.

  “Look, you and I may have some sort of chemistry thing going on between us, but we’re neighbors.”

  He looks at me like I’m crazy, but I’m not crazy.

  This confirmed by Tonya.

  “Deny it all you want, but as far as I’m concerned, this needs to stop now.”

  “What’s going on here, Ms. Bloom”— he marches toward me— “is that ye were referred to me by mutual friends, and I’m making damn sure I fulfill a promise to see to ye as a patient.” He hands me the towel wrapped around something, not ice, that he grabbed from my freezer, and then a spoon. “Whatever it is ye think is going on, ye’re wrong.” He steps back, eyeing my raised leg. “Now stop yer nonsense and rest yer leg, or you’ll be a hell of a lot longer healing and out of work.”

  “Pfft, out of work my ass.” I try to sound badass.

  His eyebrows knit, and he leans in just a little closer. “I will give the manager of the restaurant a call and tell them ye’re not to be on yer leg.”

  I gasp. “You’re not my father.”

  “No, I’d say not, but ye certainly need someone to look out for ye until ye’re healed.” He turns and walks toward the door.

  Pissed, I yell at his back, “Maybe you should be more worried about your dog!”

  He shakes his head and sputters as he opens the door, steps out, turns, and reaches his hand in to turn the lock on the doorknob. “Thank you for looking after Scotch,” he grumbles. “Now enjoy yer show, Ms. Bloom.” Then he shuts the door behind him.

  Oh, no, he didn’t.

  I unwrap the towel and see that what Dr. Stewart wrapped up was my new pint of Ben and Jerry’s.

  With that, emotions swell in my chest.

  Saturday

  I wake on my couch to the sound of my phone and sit up, cringing just a bit more than I did yesterday when I first moved my leg.

  I grab my phone off the floor and see Tonya’s name on its display screen.

  “Shit,” I grumble as I hit “accept” and see half a carton of melted Ben and Jerry’s on the floor.

  “Shit?” she huffs then laughs.

  “I lost half a pint of the good stuff when I fell asleep on the couch last night,” I explain.

  “Fraser keeping you awake?”

  I run my hand over my face, hit speaker, and sigh.

  “Spill it,” she says.

  “Is it just me or can you also telepathically sense when one of your clients has had a, um … mishap when you’re not even in the room with them?”

  “You’re not my client, Lizzie, you’re my best friend. And flattery may get you some places, but denial will get you nowhere. Now spill it.”

  Picking up my melted ice cream container, the spoon, and my phone still on speaker, I give her the run down on Fraser, leaving out the fact that the new asshole neighbor who doesn’t know how to watch his dog is none other than Dr. Nail It or Screw It.

  When she doesn’t say anything, I know I’m supposed to continue, so I tell her how it sucked to lose Fraser, but yesterday’s double at The Oasis gave me some magic. I do mention Dr. Nail-It-or-Screw-It was there, too, and what a jerk he was, but left out the fact that he stopped here, and I made a complete and total ass of myself.

  Best friend or not, a girl needs to keep a little bit of her dignity.

  “Uh-huh,” she says, and I can hear her fingernails tapping as she waits for me to continue.

  “That’s it. Now your turn.”

  “I’m running late. Mind stopping by the coffee shop and grabbing me a cup on your way in to start setting up your class today? Maybe stop by my office and drop it off?”

  “Sounds good. Should take me about an hour to get ready, grab coffee, and head in.” I drop the spoon in the sink.

  “Perfect, and then you can tell me the rest of your story.”

  “Huh?”

  “You and I are coffee girls, so when you come, bring coffee; non-diluted coffee, not a decaffeinated weak version, and definitely not the half cup of tea you just spilled.”

  “Fine,” I concede.

  “Good,” she counters.

  She smirks. “I don’t know why you try hiding things from me.”

  “Because telling you what an idiot I am and how he, the first guy I’ve felt anything for … even though it’s mostly pissed off, proved to me that I am just that— an idiot— doesn’t sound like a great way to start out a Monday when you’re the one constantly telling me to focus forward.”

  She sets her cup of coffee down and smiles. “As your friend, and a counselor, I think you made great progress. And let me remind you that I’ve seen the two of you in the same room. You’re not an idiot; he’s totally into you.”

  I shake my head.

  “He comes over there again— and I’m telling you, he will— tell him you don’t feel comfortable with him being your neighbor and doctor. Then tell him you’re making an appointment with Dr. Hook and watch what happens.”

  Holding back a laugh, I point at her. “You, Tonya Townley, are telling me to play games?”

  “I am.” She wags her perfectly arched brows; not Instagram eyebrows, but perfect, natural ones. Lucky bitch.

  She’s always wanting to get ahold of mine and shape them, but I’m perfectly fine with my caterpillars and have promised her, if they ever start connecting, I’ll let her at them.

  “And what if he calls my bluff? I don’t have insurance yet, remember?”

  “If he calls your bluff, which he won’t, I’ll pay for your appointment as long as I get to come sit on your porch to watch him trip over himself every time he takes that dog for a walk and passes your house doing so.”

  “Oh, please,” I huff. “It’s not like—”

  “I not only felt the heat in the way he looked at you, Lizzie, I saw fire in his eyes.”

  “Funny thing, all I got was tingles.”

  “Ask yourself how many times that has happened to you, Lizzie.”

  Considering the fact that a magic wand was necessary to “get there” with my ex, and the fact that she knows this, I can’t help smiling.

  “You’re an amazing human being with a huge heart, never faltering with all you’ve been through. Your strength is inspirational, even though you don’t give yourself nearly enough credit. But I’m telling you, as a friend, and not just a friend, but as your best friend, you need to stop toying with the idea of dating, and not actually dating because you fear the burn it may cause, and let something besides a vibrator and Jamie Fraser get you there.”

  “Oh my God, Tonya.” I laugh.

  “I never liked the idea of friends with benefits, but after this weekend …” She stops and sighs as she sits back in her chair.

  I laugh. “I think it’s your turn to give it to me, full strength.”

  Wednesday

  Lizzie

  The past several days have been filled by doing things that keep my mind off of him. I’ve binge-watching Jamie, worked two short lunch shifts, attended free yoga classes, and drank expensive coffee. I’ve also been using my recently reconnected internet … at home and on my computer, — an old Mac that Dad swore was the best machine ever built or ever would be built — to come up with the perfect introduction to each of my different classes, based on grade level. My hope is to get them all excited about art and the magic it creates, not only on paper or canvas but inside of us.

  Standing back, I look around my classroom and smile. The freshly painted walls—“Eggs
hell,” as Ruby has told me, and she said it as if it were any better than hospital white— that took away all the color are now covered in perfectly placed frames containing pictures of Ms. Kennedy’s murals.

  Perfectly preserved.

  “Hey,” a man snaps from behind me, and I jump as I turn my head back to see creepy Ken looming in my doorway with a scowl on his face.

  “Ken.”

  He points at the wall of frames. “No work order was put in to hang those things.”

  “I was given approval to set up my room, Ken.”

  “Not to hang those things.” He again points at the wall. “Not to put holes in the walls. Maintenance needs to do that. Work order needs to be approved. It’s against the rules.”

  “I used adhesive strips.”

  He scowls.

  I smile.

  He turns and leaves.

  I smile for real this time.

  Sighing, I hobble to the door, sore, but not broken, and close it.

  “Next up”— I clap as I turn around and look at my classroom— “wizard affirmations.”

  Sitting in the center of the curved tables that form almost a complete circle, in my wheeled desk chair, I put my leg up on another and get to work.

  Pulling into my driveway, I nearly drive over my curb and take out my mailbox and flowerbeds, when I see a shirtless, Greek … no, Scottish statue of a man jogging down the road.

  First, Dear Lord, thank you for twenty-twenty and peripheral vision, the sunshine, as well as my dollar store, big ass, Hollywood diva sunglasses.

  Please help me refrain from snapping a picture, or at the very least please don’t let the flash go off if I do so.

  Amen.

  P.S. Please don’t let me drool if he should stop.

  Second, Holy. Freaking. Shit.

  I hit my garage door opener as he gets closer and glance out of the corner of my eye as I slowly coast toward the door.

  When I see his head turn toward me as he slows down, I look away and scream as I slam on the brakes, stopping my car before it smashes into the garage door … that didn’t open.