Nick

by Brittany Dreams

  Contents

  About the Author

  Other books by Brittany Dreams

  Introduction

  1. Tania

  2. Nick

  3. Nick

  4. Tania

  5. Tania

  6. Nick

  7. Tania

  8. Nick

  9. Nick

  10. Tania

  11. Nick

  12. Tania

  13. Tania

  14. Nick

  15. Tania

  16. Tania

  17. Nick

  18. Tania

  19. Tania

  20. Nick

  21. Tania

  22. Nick

  23. Tania

  Epilogue

  Copyright 2020 by Brittany Dreams

  This book is licensed to you for our personal enjoyment only.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity of real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  About the Author

  Brittany has always had a flare for writing about contemporary and fantasy romance. She fell in love with writing at a very young age and her love grew to include Western Billionaire Fantasy Romances. Her books are filled with twists and turns. Just when you think you have the series figured out, there will be a shift.

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  Other books by Brittany Dreams

  These books can be read in order or as a standalone.

  * * *

  Bayview Dr. Ryan

  Doctor’s Orders: Dr. Dawson

  Doctor’s Orders: Dr. Sawyer

  Doctor’s Orders: Cole

  Doctor’s Orders: Dylan

  Introduction

  He's my best friend. And now, he wants me to be my lover.

  * * *

  Nick Andrews is the stuff dreams are made of.

  * * *

  Insanely handsome, and so charming. It should be a crime.

  * * *

  He’s the playboy the women swoon over, and the ace of hearts.

  * * *

  We’ve been best friends from the dawn of time.

  Him the celebrity football player, and me the doctor.

  * * *

  It worked perfectly because I knew we’d never be more than friends.

  Even if I wanted more...

  * * *

  As the years went by I got good at keeping my feelings under control and stuck to the rules of friendship.

  * * *

  Until one drunken night changed it all.

  That one night we broke the rules together, blurring the lines between friendship.

  * * *

  Now he wants more.

  He wants me.

  I want more too.

  I want him.

  Friends, or lovers?

  The rules no longer apply to us.

  * * *

  But I know I shouldn’t be with the playboy.

  * * *

  I’ve been through too much heartache to play love’s fool again.

  Can I trust my best friend not to break me?

  Tania

  “How about I see you tomorrow, and we can go over the options?” I say, pressing the phone to my ear.

  Abby called me twice today already, and this is the third call. It’s going to have to be the last because I have a special evening planned. The kind where I’ll be thoroughly checking out to everyone on this planet, except my man.

  “I just want it to be perfect,” she breathes, and I can just imagine her getting all worked up.

  “It will be. I will make sure of it. Come tomorrow with the style choices and we can sit down and look over which will suit you best.”

  She’s getting married in a little over two weeks. It’s so typical of her to keep changing her mind about her hairstyle. It’s also typical of her to go in to work tomorrow to make sure everything’s in order before she leaves for her very well-deserved one-month break. I swear this woman doesn’t know the meaning of the word vacation or break or even weekend. So, although she’s indecisive about her hair, I’m grateful she’ll be taking the month off.

  “There’s so many hairstyles to choose from. The one the stylist picked was nice, and I liked it at the time, I just don’t know if it’s what I want.” Her voice comes across all staticky on the line.

  I smile to myself. It’s not funny. What I’m smiling about is her hair talk. We’re both doctors. While we both love to shop and make sure we’re into the latest on fashion, we work damn hard. Her more than me, and that’s saying something.

  It’s nice hearing her talk about something other than blood work and X-rays.

  So, I’ll give her this equally deserving carefree time to worry over things like her hair.

  “Abby, I think you’re gonna be fine,” I assure her.

  “Thanks so much. This is crazy stupid, isn’t it? Me worrying over hair. It’s just my hair. The wedding is the most important part. I should be freaking out about something that’s not hair,” she scoffs.

  “Girl, get it together. How about you freak out over nothing and just be a bride who’s marrying a handsome prince?” I suggest and shuffle in my seat.

  She sighs. “Yeah, I like the part about the handsome prince.”

  Her husband-to-be is super-hot, so I don’t know why she’s worrying over hair. If it were me I would be planning my choice of lingerie for a two-week sex-fest of no work and no one bothering us.

  She’s getting married to a marine lieutenant who’s the kind of guy all the women swoon over, but he makes sure his girl knows he only sees her swooning.

  She definitely shouldn’t be worried about hair.

  “Abby, I’m going now. I have my own man to please tonight. See you tomorrow,” I bubble, and she laughs.

  “Okay, and thanks. You’re the best. Just so you know, though, I think I want my hair up.”

  “Okay,” I answer, knowing by tomorrow she’ll change her mind again and want her hair down. “Goodnight, Abby,” I tell her and end the call.

  I shake my head at her and then smile at my reflection in the rearview mirror, adjusting it so I can reapply my lipstick.

  I’ve been parked up on Owen’s drive for the last fifteen minutes dying to go inside. I only took the call because I knew Abby would be worried and send me a million texts by morning. We’re friends like that, and I’m probably the same, just not with her.

  Abby and I are best friends. We’re both twenty-eight, and I’ve known her for ten years. We went to med school at Northwestern, and now we work together as neurologists at Northwestern Memorial. I’m extending that friendship to Celine too, who’s part of our team.

  My life friend, though, is Nick. Without a doubt, he’s what you call a life friend for the way we met and all that we mean to each other. It’s weird having a guy for a best friend, but it works for us. Always has.

  And, he would approve of what I’m up to tonight. Abby and Celine wouldn’t be bold enough to leave the house wearing nothing but a coat and heels.

  Owen loves me in red anything. He thinks it’s sexy, and it’s the color on me that makes him lose his mind.

  I want him to lose his mind with me tonight, so I’m going in uniform: my red lipstick called harlot and my naked body ben
eath my coat.

  That man of mine works far too hard, and I’m spoiling him tonight. Especially since I know what he’s up to.

  I have to place my hand on my chest. It’s the emotion. It gets me every time I think of the jewelry insurance certificate I found from Tiffany’s. I’m not one of these women who get in over their heads and jump ahead in their relationships. No, no. I’m not that at all.

  I can’t be. Never have and never will be. I apply it to my career too.

  And the same way I work in facts as a doctor, I do that in life too.

  The certificate was for a ring.

  A ring from Tiffany’s from a man you’ve been dating for two years can only mean one thing.

  He’s going to pop the question.

  I fan myself even though it’s not hot.

  It’s just gone eight, and the cool night breeze is the languid kind that soothes the soul. My skin is flushed, though, because he’s the one. He is. He’s the guy for me, and it’s taken me a long time to get to this stage. A very long time.

  Given my worries, it’s a big deal, so when he asks me to marry him, I’m saying yes. I’m saying yes a hundred percent.

  Right now, I’m going to give him a wild night he’ll remember before he leaves on his business trip tomorrow.

  Pulling in a breath, I open my car door and step outside.

  My red stilettos echo against the pavement of the drive, and the gentle breeze lifts the edge of my coat. I’m glad none of his staff are around on the grounds because my body is for his eyes only.

  I reach for the bottle of Chardonnay, look ahead to the excellent view of the Chicago skyline against the night sky, and make my way up the path to his door. Grabbing the spare keys in the little flower pot, I let myself in.

  I can just imagine him upstairs in his office, working hard.

  He’s always working. Always.

  He’s into property development and works with his family, who own branches in Italy and the States. He’s half Italian and super-hot too.

  He called me earlier, letting me know he missed his flight, so he’d be able to see me tomorrow before he went to the Caribbean for his trip.

  I thought I’d do this and surprise him since he more than deserves all the loving I can give him to show how crazy I am about him.

  I make my way into the kitchen and grab two wine glasses, then head up the grand staircase to his room.

  This house is huge. I remember when he first took me here. I was so excited although I was cautious.

  I’m always cautious of men wanting to take me to their homes, so I insist on going to my place instead. That’s of course if I like them enough. That’s so I’m on my turf, and there’s no discomfort in the morning after a wild night.

  One-nighters in hotels are a thing of the past.

  Owen’s the first person I’ve met in years that’s made me open up so much to the prospect of being in love. He’s the first man I’ve been with that I’ve trusted wholeheartedly and to the point where I see it as an accomplishment.

  When you come from a broken home that was shaken by a really bad divorce, you tend to be on the alert. More careful with who you pick. More careful with who you give your heart to.

  Abby told me how her father left her and her mother. It was then I opened up about my parents’ divorce. Opened up as in, I just said they were divorced. What I’ve never done is gone into detail with anyone who isn’t Nick about the heartache it all caused. I wish I were younger than fourteen when it went down because then I wouldn’t remember Dad leaving the way he did.

  A loud moan snaps me out of my thoughts.

  Moan?

  I’m sure that’s what I heard…it sounds again. Lower this time, but I’m certain it’s a moan. A woman’s moan, however, Owen lives by himself.

  I get closer to the top of the stairs, and my hand trembles when I hear another.

  Is that the TV?

  Maybe it is. It must be.

  My legs feel heavy, and my steps slow when laughter that doesn’t sound like the TV comes from his room.

  The bedroom door is open…

  “I missed you too much. You can’t stay away so long next time,” a woman says.

  “I won’t baby. Now push that gorgeous ass up for me,” Owen replies.

  My heart stops right there in my chest, and my lungs tighten up so tight I feel I’ll never breathe again.

  What I’m hearing is not right. I’m imagining it. Must be.

  I’m in the first year of my neurology fellowship, a month in, and already the program must be getting to me.

  I did an all-nighter the other night because we had one difficult patient who’d had an allergic reaction to the sheets. While it helped us diagnose what was going on with her, because of the newfound spurt of allergies she’d been having, it drained me.

  So what I hear right now is my mind screwing with me.

  Since I’m a person of fact who hates jumping to conclusions, I take the rest of the steps up to the bedroom before I listen to any more of these crazy thoughts.

  I can hear the moans again, and his groans.

  By the time I get to the door and see what’s happening for myself, I get the facts I was looking for and the rude awakening as I watch Owen balls-deep in a curvy redhead, pounding into her from behind.

  They don’t see me standing there. The lights are dim but low to an ambient glow just the way he likes it.

  The shock of seeing them together makes me drop both the bottle of wine and the glasses.

  It’s only then that they see me.

  The tears pour out of my eyes. I can’t even summon the strength to be the strong woman that I usually am. I’m not her right now, and she feels so far away from me as I look at the man I’m supposed to love staring back at me in shock while the woman he’s with grabs the sheet to cover herself.

  This is my worst nightmare. It’s my biggest fear, so I can’t be strong now. I can’t even try.

  “Tania, what are you doing here?” he asks.

  I can’t believe it. That’s what he asks me?

  “You asshole, how could you?” I shout. “How could you cheat knowing how I loathe it!” Loathe doesn’t even begin to express my abhorrence of cheating. It’s mild, a meager word, but the best I can find.

  “Cheat?” The woman fumes. “I’m his wife!” she fires back, and I swear the world stops.

  “What?” I hear myself say.

  I’m looking at her now. She gets off the bed, wrapping the sheet around herself, and looks from me to him. Her gaze settles back on me, and she looks me up and down, noticing the little I’m wearing.

  Knowing from the way the coat hugs my body that I’m naked under it.

  “I’m his wife. Who the hell are you?” She glares at me, and I look to him, shaking my head.

  He’s gotten off the bed now and looks pale.

  “Sheila, I can explain,” he says to her. That does it for me.

  Tears blind me as I rush back down the stairs.

  I run to my car, jump in, and get the hell out of here.

  I just drive as the tears fall.

  Fact: pain, hurt, betrayal.

  He didn’t just cheat on me. Correction. I’m the person he’s been cheating with.

  I’m the other woman. That’s what he made me.

  Owen is married, and I’m the other woman.

  I was so wrong.

  When I first met him, I marveled at how different he was to most men.

  He isn’t. He’s the same.

  The same as my father.

  This is the same thing my father did to my mother.

  This is history repeating itself on me.

  The pain feels just as bad as it did before.

  Nick

  I rest my head back against the sofa and allow my gaze to settle on the TV.

  People say face your problems, right?

  Face fears, face whatever shit is bothering you.

  I’m doing exactly that as I stare at the fucking
screen.

  Avoiding the problem would be switching the channel or switching the TV off. Something like that.

  But no, I’m looking at the screen, looking at her face like she’s right in front of me.

  Louise Friedman graces the screen the same way she does in real life, like we should all be grateful she exists. Like we should all be grateful she graced us with her ethereal presence.

  Like I should be fucking grateful she was with me.

  The joke of this situation is me.

  I’m Nicholas Andrews, and my name still carries fame and weight. I don’t need to be hung up on anybody.

  I don’t need to be sitting here bummed out on the sofa watching a Chanel ad of my ex-girlfriend.

  My ex, who broke up with me because she couldn’t commit to a long-distance relationship. That was her reason.

  Six months ago now. Oh, but it seems as though she’s changed her mind about long-distance relationships because she doesn’t mind flying from Brazil to France to see her new guy, French fashion mogul Jean Paul or whatever his name is.

  I blame Tony for this.

  He showed me the article today at lunchtime, giving all the details of Louise’s new love. It was an attempt to show me his consistent dislike of her and that she was no good for me. Now there’s this stupid ad to pour salt on my wounds.

  I hated the press when I was a linebacker for the Hawks, and I hate it worse now that I don’t play anymore. I’m a scout for the team, and over the last four years that I’ve been doing this job, I’ve seen how ugly the media can be.