The Doctor (Nashville Neighborhood Book 1)

by Nikki Sloane

  I couldn’t think, breathe, or even move as he kissed me, because I worried I’d break the spell.

  Dr. Lowe used the hand cupping my face to tilt me further up, enough to break the contact of our lips, but his mouth was still on my skin. It moved hurriedly over my cheekbone, streaming down the side of my neck.

  I shivered.

  My skimpy swimsuit was still wet, and the air conditioning was blowing on us from a vent overhead, but the tremble that shook my shoulders had nothing to do with that. It wasn’t the cause of my hardened nipples jutting out beneath the triangles of my bikini top either.

  Dr. Lowe was.

  I nearly lost my balance as he moved in, walking me backward toward the wall. He drew the hand away from my back and threw his palm flat against the wall by my head.

  His haggard breathing filled my ear. “What the hell am I doing?”

  Was he thinking out loud? Because he didn’t stop. His damp lips skimmed over my neck and closed on a spot where it met my body, giving me another wave of shudders. When he sucked lightly, a sharp bolt of electricity shot straight between my legs. I had my arms wrapped around his waist, and I clenched his t-shirt in my hands.

  I wasn’t supposed to like it, but it felt so damn good.

  I leaned my head into his hand, giving him more room on the other side to kiss my neck, and I closed my eyes.

  “You mean, what the hell are we doing?” I murmured, because I was just as much a part of this as he was.

  When I threaded my fingers through his thick hair, the thought pounded in my mind. Is this cheating? No, it couldn’t be. I had ended it with Preston. We needed more closure, but I had ended it.

  My heart lurched into my throat as Dr. Lowe’s hand slipped down the wall and came to rest on my shoulder, the edges of his fingers beneath the black string holding my top in place.

  The room was steamy hot and frigid cold in the same instant. I was feverish and shivering while the war between my head and body intensified. His mouth journeyed back up the slope of my neck until it sealed over mine.

  He was twenty years older than I was. My boyfriend’s—ex-boyfriend’s—father. What was wrong with me? With us? We had to look insane. He had me pressed against the wall hard enough my swimsuit left damp triangle shapes on his shirt.

  I liquified under his lips. The way his mouth moved against mine wasn’t just seductive, it enslaved. His greedy kiss made me thirsty for more.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this,” I whispered. My words said one thing, and my body another. I bowed off the wall, arching my back, causing his hand to creep lower. His fingertips inched along my skin, heading for the curve of my breast.

  “I know,” he groaned into my mouth. The sharp edge of his teeth glanced off my bottom lip as he nipped at me.

  Down his long, deliberate fingers went, following the string until it met fabric and began to widen into the cup of my top. It was amazing the way the cold swimsuit rubbed against my sensitive nipples, and I ached for more.

  His voice was strained. “I’m going to keep going,” he took a shallow breath, “unless you tell me to stop.”

  Was he warning me, or pleading with me to do that?

  My throat closed off. I didn’t want him to stop. I was out of control and only thinking about myself. I was too focused on how different and exciting this experience was.

  He must have figured out I wasn’t going to say anything, because his fingers trailed down the edge of the cup toward the center, all the way to the bottom string going across my ribcage.

  I gasped as he slid the triangle of fabric to the side, exposing me, and I moaned quietly when he palmed my naked flesh. To go from the wet, cold fabric suddenly to his warm grip was sensual.

  Our kiss had started out tame, but as we learned each other, it grew bolder. He plunged into my mouth, his tongue stroking sinfully over mine. It teased as his fingers traced and plucked at my nipple.

  I sighed as the sensations heated me to a thousand degrees. There was an insistent throb in my core, growing louder and needier by the second. It went nuclear as Dr. Lowe shifted, moving his leg between my knees.

  The towel unwound from my waist and fell to our feet, but I barely gave it any attention. No, my attention was on the man who used the top of his thigh to put pressure where my ache was acute. His kiss conquered me. Before Preston, I’d kissed a few guys, but I’d never had anything like this.

  “Oh,” I moaned. White-hot pleasure flashed along my spine from the grind of his leg against me.

  He lifted his mouth away from mine, and when he drew back, I could see how hazy his eyes had become. His expression dripped with desire.

  “Jesus, Cassidy.”

  His tone was heavy and sexual, and it was shocking. Three years I’d known him, and never heard him sound like that. I shuddered, enjoying it, unable to stop myself.

  “Shit,” I gasped, sagging against the wall. I always tried not to swear in front of him, but right now I couldn’t control my mouth. My legs were so weak, I was about to fall. “Dr. Lowe—”

  He must have known. His hands tightened on my hips, steadying me as he pulled back. “Greg.”

  I was breathless. “What?”

  “Greg. My name.”

  I knew that, of course. Yet he wanted me to call him by his first name? He was an adult. So much older than I was. I’d only known him as Dr. Lowe, and Greg sounded like—

  A stranger.

  I struggled to form the word. My mouth fell open to speak his name, but nothing came out, and the room grew colder every moment his mouth wasn’t on me. The temperature plummeted further as lust drained from his face and was replaced by an unreadable expression.

  Was he realizing the gravity of what we’d just done? Before I could say anything, a phone rang. The ringtone playing from the back pocket of his jeans was one I was familiar with. It was his special one, exclusively for the hospital.

  His muscles went rigid as I flinched, and we both turned to stone. It wasn’t something he could ignore, no matter how much the look on his face said he wanted to. “I’m on-call. I have to get—”

  “I know you do.” I nodded quickly, tugging my swimsuit back in place and trying to act as if it were no big deal. Not like we’d just been making a huge mistake.

  It was cold when he took the heat of his body away. He dug out his phone, answered it, and as the person on the other side of the line spoke, he paced, listening thoughtfully.

  He asked a question about the patient, but I was still hazy, coming down out of my desire, and my gaze lingered over him. He didn’t just have beautiful hands—his forearms and biceps were perfect too. All tight and toned without being bulky.

  Once the call was over, he gave me a somber look. “I have to go. I’m sorry.”

  I didn’t ask him what exactly he was sorry for. That we’d been interrupted, and he had to leave? Or the things we’d done before the phone call? I couldn’t find my voice, anyway. Words wouldn’t even form in my head.

  “Cassidy.” He looked pained. “What just happened . . .”

  For the first time, he didn’t appear to know what to say. I stared up at him, unable to do anything but breathe shallow breaths.

  “It was my fault,” he said.

  I blinked. What was he talking about? He hadn’t coerced or persuaded me. I’d kissed him. The whole thing had been mutual. I opened my mouth to say something, to defend him, but my vocal cords didn’t work, and my brain was mute.

  His eyebrows pulled together, creating a deep crease between them. The painful quiet grew acute, and the longer the silence stretched, the more hurt he looked.

  Then, it became clear he couldn’t wait any longer. His patient needed both him and his scalpel.

  “My fault,” he repeated. “You say that to Preston when you tell him about this.”

  He marched to the door, yanked it open, and disappeared before I could do anything.

  FIVE

  IT HAD BEEN A WEEK and I hadn’t told a soul what happe
ned. Not even my new best friend Lilith, who I saw every day as I interned at the animal hospital.

  I tried not to think about Dr. Lowe and what we’d done. Instead, I thought about Preston. He hadn’t bothered to call or text, and anger rose inside me each day he remained silent. It was easier to focus on that. How did he not need closure? Ten seconds was all it took to undo three years.

  Unless this was a power play on his part. Maybe he was waiting for me to call.

  And maybe I’d been avoiding it because of what I’d done with his father. Would any good come from telling him? The relationship between father and son was okay, but not great, and I didn’t want to be part of the wedge that drove them further apart. I was being a coward about it, but I also saw no upside to confessing my sins. All it would do was cause pain.

  Preston might not have needed closure, but I did, and couldn’t put it off any longer. On Friday, nine days after our breakup, I texted him.

  Cassidy: Are we going to talk about this?

  Preston: Talk about what?

  Was he fucking kidding? I wasn’t going to get into everything via text.

  Cassidy: What I said in the pool. What are you doing right now?

  Preston: Playing Call of Duty.

  I gnashed my teeth. Of course. He was just sitting around playing video games.

  Cassidy: Is your dad home?

  Preston: No.

  The tight breath in my lungs relaxed. I could do this. Get in and get out, even though the thought of not seeing Dr. Lowe again brought on a surprising sharp pang of disappointment.

  Cassidy: Can I come over?

  Preston: You horny?

  What? He thought I was asking about his father being gone so we could fuck in the house? Un—fucking—real. Was this how he was handling the breakup, like it had never happened? The three dots blinked across the screen.

  Preston: Yeah, you can come over.

  My stomach churned and roiled as I drove to Preston’s and parked in the driveway. I shut the car off and stared up at the dark windows of the house, working up the nerve to do what I needed to.

  Like last time, I went in through the front door without knocking. There was no point. Preston would be in the basement and wouldn’t hear me. My flip-flops slapped against the soles of my feet as I marched through the living room and turned left, heading toward the basement door. I was so focused on my goal, the movement didn’t register until he spoke.

  “Cassidy?”

  Oh, Jesus. My mouth went dry as a desert, and my brain quit working. “He said you weren’t here,” I blurted.

  Dr. Lowe’s face contorted into a strange expression. Guilt, confusion, and hurt. Perhaps a little fear too. It made me feel like garbage, and my gaze dropped down to see the stack of mail he was sorting in his hands and the plastic bag of takeout resting on the breakfast bar. The faint smell of garlic lingered.

  He pulled his shoulders back. “I just got home.”

  “Oh.” It was barely a whisper from me. “Sorry.”

  He tilted his head slightly and scrutinized me. “What are you doing here? I thought you and Preston . . .”

  “We did. I’m just here to talk to him.” And make sure he understands we’re over.

  Dr. Lowe was dressed casually in jeans and a form-fitted t-shirt, and I forced myself not to think about what he would look like without them. I sucked in a deep breath and lifted my gaze to meet his.

  “You haven’t told him,” he said in a low voice, “about what I did.”

  “What we did,” I corrected, “and I’m not going to.”

  Why did he look upset? Wasn’t he supposed to be relieved? “Why?”

  “Because it won’t change what happened. All it’s going to do is hurt him, and the way things are between you two . . .” I didn’t want or need to say that Preston’s relationship with his father was fragile. “I don’t want to jeopardize what you have.”

  Dr. Lowe put his hands on his hips, and his shoulders sagged in defeat. “I appreciate that, but—”

  My phone chirped with an incoming message, interrupting us. I dug it from my purse and looked at the screen.

  Preston: I think my dad’s home. I heard the garage door.

  Great fucking timing, Preston. I put my phone away and shot Dr. Lowe a determined look. “I don’t want to hurt him. And telling him what we did?” I shook my head. “I can deal with it if he hates me. But not you.”

  Before he could say anything, I put my hand on the doorknob and pulled open the door. Sounds of simulated gunfire echoed from the base of the stairs and grew louder as I hurried down, passing pictures of Preston and me hanging on the wall.

  When I hit the bottom of the steps, I skidded to a stop.

  Preston wasn’t alone on the couch. His friend Colin sat on one side, and Troy on the other, all three clutching controllers and focused on the TV screen. I balled my hands into fists at my side. Why the hell didn’t he tell me his friends were over?

  Colin glanced my direction for a microsecond and flashed an easy smile. “Hey, Cassidy.”

  Preston couldn’t be bothered to look away from the game. “What’s up?”

  Anger tightened my vocal cords, but I choked it out. “We need to talk.”

  “Yeah. Lemme finish this level, and . . . I’ll be right with you.” It was loaded with innuendo for his friends’ benefit, and they snickered.

  My mouth fell open. Who was he these days? Just as I was about to snap, all three guys swore at the screen.

  “Fucking shit,” Troy groaned, and his annoyed gaze rolled to his friends.

  Preston stood and dropped his controller on the couch cushion. “I’ll be back in a few.”

  “Only a few, huh?” Colin turned his gaze to me. “Poor Cassidy.”

  Preston wasn’t amused. “Shut up, dude.”

  He probably thought my icy expression was for Colin, when it was meant for him. I stayed silent as I followed him into his bedroom. I’d barely shut his bedroom door before his hands were on me, and I spun away.

  “What are you doing?” I shrieked.

  Preston wore a look of pure confusion. “Come on. They’re playing the game. They don’t care what we get up to in here.”

  Did he think I was shrugging him off because I was embarrassed his friends might hear us? “Have you lost your mind? We broke up.”

  He scowled. “You were serious about that shit?”

  “Yes.” Very much yes.

  My gaze left his and moved across his messy bedroom, and everywhere I looked, there was another painful reminder of what I’d brought to an end. The poster tacked to a wall was from the exclusive Black Keys show we’d gone to at the Ryman Theatre last year. A mason jar mug rested on his bookshelf. Our school had given them out as party favors at our senior prom. Taped to the mirror was a picture of us and our friends in the stands at the homecoming game.

  Preston blinked, and his confusion evaporated. It shifted to irritation. “You’re going to end things with me just because I didn’t drop everything for you?”

  Now it was my turn to be confused. “What?”

  “You asked if you could come over and I said yeah. Troy and Colin were already here when you texted. What was I supposed to say? Get lost, because Cassidy finally wants to hang out with me? The world doesn’t revolve around you.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I gasped. The audacity of his statement blinded me with rage, and my sarcasm was thick as syrup. “I know it doesn’t, because the world clearly revolves around you.”

  He rolled his eyes, put his hands on his hips, and I was struck by how much he looked like his father. Only he was a spoiled, selfish version, and the opposite of the man upstairs. I couldn’t stay in this stifling room another moment. I needed to get away before my mind went to other comparisons I shouldn’t make.

  His indifferent attitude was too much, and I felt gutted. I barely choked it out, “Goodbye, Preston.”

  I flung his door open and fled through the living room, keeping my head up a
nd ignoring the two guys playing on the couch. But Preston went after me, grabbing my shoulder and turning me to face him. “This is stupid,” he said. “Calm down.”

  The TV went silent. One of the guys must have paused the game, either so Preston and I could hear each other, or so he could listen to our second breakup play out. I wasn’t going to put a show on for them, but my anger wasn’t going away either.

  “Don’t touch me,” I hissed.

  His face turned sour. “You know what? You can call me when you’ve calmed down.”

  If Preston wanted to wait for a phone call that was never going to come, so be it. My expression was firm, masking how wounded he’d made me feel. I’d been determined to end things with him but had prepared for a struggle. It had been wasted. He wasn’t going to fight for us. He turned on his heel, went to the couch, and grabbed his controller.

  After everything, that was how he treated me.

  I wiped at my eyes as I climbed the stairs, brushing away the angry tears. He didn’t care about me, so why should I care about him? I wasn’t going to waste any more time on him.

  Dr. Lowe was washing a dish in the sink, and when he heard me at the top of the basement steps, he cast a glance over his shoulder. His eyes widened. The water was shut off, and he hurriedly dried his hands on a dishtowel, stepping toward me. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” My tone was clipped. I wanted to run, but also to stay right where I was. A big part of me wasn’t ready for him to be gone.

  He slung the dishtowel over his shoulder and crossed his arms, perhaps to stop himself from reaching out for me, and leaned back against the kitchen island. His eyes were full of sympathy. “That was fast.”