Doctor Scandalous
Doctor Mistake
Doctor Heartless
Doctor Playboy
Start Again Series:
Start Again
Start Over
Start With Me
Las Vegas Sin Series:
Touching Sin
Catching Sin
Darkest Sin
Standalones:
Just One Kiss
Beautiful Potential
Forward - FREE
DOCTOR SCANDALOUS
Oliver
I’m walking toward the gates of hell. And they charge for admission.
“Oh, Oliver…” Christa Foreman greets me with a slow once-over, her pastel-pink lips curling up into an impish grin. She’s aptly named, because our senior class president was no joke when it came to strong-arming and manipulating her fellow classmates into getting what she wanted. “It’s so good to see you. Wow. I mean, I see your pictures in magazines and on social media every now and then because I follow you, but you’re way better looking in person than I remember from high school.”
“Um. Thank you?” It comes out as a question, my head tilting in her direction.
“Sure. No problem.” She licks her lips, her long, fake eyelashes batting faster than a butterfly’s wings at me. “Are you here alone tonight?” She giggles as a flush creeps up her cheeks. She’s married. Can we just say that? “I’m only asking because I need to know how much to charge you. I got stuck collecting money until the event coordinator can get her shit together.” She huffs out a flustered breath, rolling her eyes derisively. “Anyway, it’s a hundred per person. Should I put you down for one or two?”
And this is where I hesitate. Not over the money. The money is not an issue.
“Just give me a second.”
Christa stares longingly at me, licking her lips. “Sure. I’ll give you all night.”
“Right.” Because I have no idea what else to say to that. I don’t remember Christa being so overtly interested in me when we were in high school. Then again, that was ten years ago, and I was most definitely taken. Which is both the main reason I don’t want to be here and the main reason I came. But now I’m starting to reconsider everything.
I have nothing to prove by being here.
Not to her, her douchebag husband—my former friend—or anyone else.
I should just go. Maybe meet up with Carter, who I already know is going to our favorite bar, and get lost in a night of fun. Nothing about this hellhole will be fun. And in truth, I could really use a drink. A quiet one. It’s been a shitful week. Too many patients. Not enough time. Oh, and finding out that your mom’s cancer is back is always a winner.
I slip my phone from my pocket and shoot off a text to my best friend, Grace.
Me: Sorry, babe. Not gonna be able to make it.
The message bubble instantly dances along my screen. Grace: It’s not a choice, honey pie. Everyone is already asking when you’re going to get here. Everyone.
And instantly I’m tempted to ask if she’s asking. In fact, my thumbs, who seem to have a mind of their own, start to type that very question until I tamp them down and rein them under control. Of course, she’s asking. That’s what she does. She continues to hunt me down with terrorist-level determination, even all these years later.
She’s likely giddy at the prospect of rubbing her picture-perfect life in my face without even caring that she’s the last person on the planet I want to see tonight or any other night. Hence why now is the perfect time to leave.
Me: Don’t care.
Grace: Yes, you do. Come on. I know you’re already dressed for tonight. Carter sent me a text.
Carter. My traitorous brother.
Grace: Just come inside the hotel. Come up to the reunion. Have a drink with me. See the people you haven’t seen since high school who will fall at your feet the way they did back in the day. Oh wait, they still do.
Me: You’re doing a shitty job of selling it there, sweetums.
Grace: Everyone will think you’re a pussy if you don’t come.
Me: Nice gauntlet drop.
Grace: I thought so. Now get your ass over here!
I growl out a slew of curses under my breath, still seriously contemplating fleeing for the sake of my sanity, when I catch sight of a short, curvy redhead in a tight, backless black dress, higher than high heels, and fuck-me red lips that match her hair walking up to Christa. She’s as late as I am, and before I know what I’m doing, a smile cracks clear across my face.
I know her instantly.
Even if it’s been ten years since I’ve seen her. A guy never forgets the girl who gave him his first boner. A first-ever boner in class, I might add. We were twelve and she bent over to retrieve her fallen pencil when a flash of her training bra caught my eye. Instant erection.
I was pretty smitten after that moment, as you might imagine.
“Amelia,” Christa greets her, her face now lacking any of the warmth it had when she was talking to me. “I had no idea you were coming.”
What the fuck? You’d think in the ten years since we graduated from our annoyingly prestigious prep school that the rich girls would get over the self-created, mean-girl bullshit they had with the scholarship kids.
Amelia turns redder than her hair, and she takes a small step back before straightening her frame and squaring her shoulders. “Well, I’m here. Graduated same year as you. I even received the invitation in the mail. Must have been an error on your part,” she finishes sarcastically.
“Uh-huh. It’s a hundred-dollar entrance fee,” Christa snaps, taking far too much pleasure in announcing that sum as she purses her lips off to the side, giving Amelia a nasty-girl slow once-over.
“A hundred dollars?” Amelia asks, though it comes out in a deflated, breathy whisper.
“Yup. Sorry,” Christa sneers with a sorry-not-sorry saccharine sweet voice. “No exceptions. Not even for the kids who were on scholarship.”
And that’s it. Before Christa can say anything else that will make me want to throttle her, I walk over to Amelia, wrapping my hand around her waist. “Sweetheart,” I exclaim. “You made it. I was starting to get worried.”
Amelia jolts in my arms, her breath catching high in her throat as she twists to face me. Then she looks up and up a bit more because she’s about a foot shorter than I am even in her heels. Suddenly, two sparkling gray eyes blink rapidly at me, and my heart starts to pound in time with the flutter of her lashes, my mouth dry like I’ve been eating sand all night.
“I’m sorry,” she says, confused, her parted lips hanging just a bit too open for us to be selling this. “I think you must—”
I lean in, my nose brushing against her silky red hair that smells like honeysuckle or something sweet and I breathe into her ear, “Just go with it.”
She swallows audibly as I pull back, staring into her eyes and wondering how a color like that is even possible when she smiles and robs me of my breath. Whoa. That’s unexpected.
“I didn’t mean to worry you…” She trips up, biting into her lip like she’s searching for a suitable term of endearment. Or maybe my name? I guess it is possible she has no idea who I am. We didn’t exactly run in the same circles, and I just came up to her and wrapped my arm around her. “Oli,” she finishes with, and I blow out the breath I didn’t even realize I was holding.