Dr. NEUROtic

by Max Monroe

  Growing up had been a long learning curve for me, and now that I had, I was scared of falling back. I just wanted my daughter, and everything else was a distraction. “No, it doesn’t.”

  “What about a girlfriend?”

  I shook my head. “No to that as well.”

  I had to admit, the lifestyle had turned a little lonely as of late, though. I didn’t have Lexi all the time, and I didn’t deserve to. She had Winnie and Wes and a whole other support system.

  When I didn’t have Lexi, I had the hospital. That was how it worked.

  I was used to it.

  But the taste of Charlotte’s temptation was treacherously sweet.

  “Hmm,” she hummed thoughtfully.

  I spoke just to fill the silence. “Married to the job, I guess.”

  “Mmhmm,” she agreed. “I’ve heard all about you doctor types. Forty-hour weeks are nonexistent.”

  “Hey, I try to keep it to sixty. That’s normal, right?”

  She laughed again, and the sharpness of its high note made me smile. “Hardly. But normal in the world of medicine? Maybe.”

  The cab pulled to a stop between 51st and 50th, and Charlotte reached into the outside pocket of her briefcase to get money. I put my hand to hers and pressed.

  “No,” I said with a shake of my head. “I got it.”

  She rolled her eyes, but she pushed open her door and climbed out without paying all the same.

  I pulled a twenty from my pocket and handed it to the driver, as I followed her out. “Keep it.”

  “Hey, thanks,” he said looking at the seven-dollar fare and then back to the twenty.

  “Come on, come on,” Charlotte called, waving her arm in a dramatic circle as she held the door to the restaurant, the cold air of the air conditioning pouring out recklessly into the summer heat.

  Shaking my head, I still quickened my step, almost as though my body felt compelled to comply, and scooted behind her to take the weight of the door. “Go on,” I directed, nodding to her to lead, and she didn’t hesitate.

  My eyes took a minute to adjust to the darkness as I stepped inside, and as a result, I bumped softly into Charlotte’s back when she stopped to avoid a group of people ahead of us.

  Her ass grazed the front of my pants, and the soft lavender notes of her perfume hit me like a wave.

  My whole body came alive.

  Good Christ. Relax, Nick. I know it’s been a while, but Jesus.

  Side to side, she jumped from toe to toe trying to see over the crowd and up to the hostess station. But, even with the five-inch heel of her stilettos aiding the fight, she was still a half a foot shorter than me.

  Impatient, she reached back for my hand and dragged, sidestepping around the people in front of us, and making a charge. “Come on. We’re late.”

  “Late?” I questioned. “Late for what?”

  She didn’t answer me though, instead nodding to the hostess and skating right by, taking two steps to my every one until she found two free stools at a table in the bar.

  “Hi,” she greeted cheerfully, unfazed by the table of strangers we’d just invaded. To be fair, they didn’t seem all that affected either. I was apparently the only one who found it strange.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  She smiled gleefully, settling into her stool and hanging her briefcase on the high spoke of the back. She reminded me a little of an evil overlord as she rubbed her hands together.

  “Charlotte, what’s going on?”

  “Welcome, folks!” a man with a microphone said, clipboard in hand, from a corner of the room as Charlotte took off her blazer and got comfortable. Silky tanned skin glowed at her chest and shoulders, and a flowy white blouse billowed to cover the rest. “I see a lot of familiar faces, and some new, but you’re all on time. And that’s all I really fucking care about. Let’s get trivial!”

  “Charlotte…”

  She smiled, a little shrug just barely lifting the bare skin of her shoulders. “It’s trivia night. And I have a feeling I’ve finally got a good partner.”

  “You brought me to a trivia night?” Nick asked, and a shocked laugh escaped his lips. His hair ruffled up slightly in the front as he ran a hand through it and widened his deep brown eyes rimmed with lush lashes. “With all due respect, Charlotte, I just met you an hour ago. I usually make people wait at least two weeks before accompanying them to things against my will,” he muttered, and it was my turn to laugh.

  “Time is fluid, like lapping water. An hour, two weeks, what is the difference, really, anyway?” I bullshitted. “What’s really crazy is that we haven’t picked a team name yet,” I said, redirecting the conversation toward the obvious priority. “Got any cool ideas?”

  “I’m pretty sure I’m still busy wrapping my mind around how I ended up here.”

  “No worries, Nick,” I said and patted him on the shoulder as I hopped to my feet. “I’m the queen of brilliant trivia team names. You just relax and look pretty. I’ll handle the rest.” I didn’t leave him any time to respond, instead, strolling toward the MC and grabbing a pencil and trivia answers sheet from the stack in front of his microphone.

  “Team name?” he asked, and I grinned.

  “Fleetwood Mac’s Sex Pants.”

  “Nice!” The MC laughed and added our name to his list. “It’s refreshing not to hear ‘Suck it, Trebek’ or ‘Trivia Newton John.’”

  “Hey!” I chastised. “Don’t knock the classics.”

  He smirked. “How many team members?”

  “Two,” I said and pointed toward Nick sitting at the bartop table behind me. “Just me and this neurosurgeon I just met.”

  The MC’s brows rose to his forehead. “You just met, and he brought you to a trivia night?”

  “Nah,” I refuted. “We just met, and I brought him to a trivia night.”

  “That’s even better.” He laughed again. “All right Fleetwood Mac’s Sex Pants, you’re all set. We’ll be starting in about five minutes.”

  “Fantastic.” I smirked, and without wasting any time, I walked over toward the bar and ordered two beers and a few apps off the menu from a pretty blond bartender.

  “Here are the beers.” She smiled and slid the brews in front of me. “The apps will be done in about ten minutes.”

  “Perfect. Thank you,” I said, nudging the necks of the bottles in between my fingers and weaving my way back to the table.

  Nick offered an amused smirk when I sat down on my barstool and slid his beer in front of him.

  “All right,” I started and set the pencil and paper in front of us. “We’ve got the beers, and the food is coming shortly. I hope you like bar apps.”

  “Sounds good,” he answered, and then his brow rose in question. “Wait…you bought my dinner?”

  I took a quick sip from my beer and grinned. “Of course. It was the least I could do after dragging you here,” I explained as I grabbed the pencil and wrote our team name at the top of our answers sheet. “Plus, you paid for the cab.”

  “Fleetwood Mac’s Sex Pants,” he read aloud and chuckled. “I know absolutely nothing about trivia nights, but that’s a good fucking team name.”

  I grinned, preening a little in the light of his compliment. “It’d be an even better band name, but I have zero musical talent.”

  “Me either.” A genuine smile kissed Nick’s lips just before he brought his bottle of beer to them and took a long, hearty drink. I watched intently.

  They were so full and soft in appearance, I had the urge to run my index finger across the plum-shaded pillows just to see if they felt as amazing as they looked.

  “No drumming or guitar skills? I’m starting to wonder if you have any talents other than surgery.”

  “One or two,” he responded instantly, and the tone of his words matched the knowing, even slightly heated smirk that lifted the corners of his lips.

  Sweet kittens. So innocent were the words, but so ripe with sex was the tone.

&nb
sp; The verdict was in. This man had a mouth I wanted to run my tongue across.

  “Only one or two, Dr. Raines?” I teased, forcing an aroused swallow down my throat—no doubt if I let it escape, it would turn into a highly embarrassing plea of some sort.

  Show me you can motorboat a ten-second mile kind of thing.

  “If you’re going to ask about my talents, you should probably drop the formalities and just call me Nick.”

  “Okay,” I agreed and tilted my head to the side as I leaned closer to him. “So, Nick, what are these talents you speak of?”

  He did that sexy smiling thing again but didn’t offer any response, merely keeping his gaze locked with mine.

  Hot damn. I think this sexy as fuck doctor is flirting with me…

  I silently prayed my gut instinct was right and tucked any and all shame into my back pocket. It hadn’t been that long since I’d been fucked by someone—some months ago, on only one occasion, if I’m truthful—but it’d been nearly forever since someone had done it well.

  My attraction to this man was more than apparent.

  Isn’t it?

  He kept his emotions close to the cuff, so it was hard to tell, but every once in a while, I thought I saw a little hint of recognition in his eyes. Not to mention, he’d willingly come along to this bar with me—okay, after a little coercing.

  I frowned thoughtfully.

  But once he figured out I’d brought him to a trivia night, he hadn’t made a beeline for the door. So that had to mean something, right?

  If anything, he seemed amused by it all, like he was enjoying the spontaneity.

  Between his perfectly matched baby blue attire—even the face of his watch was blue—and his choice in careers, I had a feeling Nick needed some impulsiveness in his life. I might have been jumping the gun by assuming he’d want me to, but I was more than capable of showing him some.

  “All right, trivia teams!” The MC shouted from the small stage at the back of the bar. “Let’s get this show on the road!”

  The bar crowd cheered their approval, thanks to the plentiful availability of liquor, and everyone settled into their seats.

  “Are you ready?” I asked Nick as he tipped his beer to his lips.

  Some of the liquid missed in his haste to pull the bottle away and answer, and sweet Lucifer, the devil tried dramatically to make me wipe it. I just barely resisted. I had a feeling I had my late grandmother in guardian angel form to thank for chasing the horned bastard away in the name of my eternal soul.

  “I think I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” Nick remarked.

  Yeah, time to stop staring at the droplet, Charlotte. Finally sensing the moisture, his tongue peeked out and licked it away. Oh, come on. Grandma Hollis, where are you? The devil is near!

  “Is this your first time doing a trivia night?” Hopefully, normal questions would bring me back from the brink of eternal damnation.

  “Most definitely,” he said and lifted his bottle to his lips to take another sip of his beer. I moved my eyes away from his mouth and up to his eyes with a sheer force of will.

  “Well, Mr. Brain Surgeon,” I started with a cheeky grin. “Since I couldn’t find a rocket scientist to be my partner, you were the next best thing. Fleetwood Mac’s Sex Pants is counting on you to bring your A game.”

  He set his bottle on the table, coughing and laughing at the same time. “Way to put the pressure on, Charlotte.”

  “Oh, c’mon,” I teased. “You’re a fucking neurosurgeon. I’m pretty sure you can handle the pressure of trivia night. No way this is more stressful than dissecting someone’s brain.”

  He grinned. “In the name of Fleetwood Mac’s Sex Pants, I hope they ask medical questions.”

  “That’s highly doubtful.” I giggled. His eyebrows went up as they followed the wild crescendo of my laugh. It’d always been crazy, for as long as I could remember. As a kid, I’d tried to harness it—turn it into something delicate. As an adult, I’d realized ain’t no one got time for that. If a man couldn’t handle my laugh, he definitely wouldn’t be able to handle my propensity for leaving random pairs of socks all over the apartment until I ran out and had to buy new ones. “We’ll probably be running the gamut of sports, celebrities, and Britney Spears.”

  “Who is Britney Spears?”

  My eyes rounded in shock as my trivia life flashed before my eyes. Fortunately, his sexy little smirk was telling. The lying liar.

  “I’m kidding,” he confirmed.

  “Oh my God.” With a hand to my chest, I pointed an accusing index finger toward his face. “Don’t joke around like that. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

  “A heart attack?” he questioned through a laugh. “What kind of trivia night is this?”

  Hands spread on the table in front of me, I lowered my voice in an attempt to make it sound grave and wiped the smile off my face. “High-stakes trivia.”

  “What happens if we lose?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Damn.” Nick grinned again. “Are we going to make it out of here alive?”

  “It depends.” I shrugged. “But don’t worry, I have faith in you.”

  “I’ll do my best to make Fleetwood Mac’s Sex Pants proud,” he said as he reached his hand out to my shoulder and eased a strand of my hair from its unconventional place under my bra strap. I shivered ever so slightly from the delicious feel of his fingers brushing across my skin.

  “Sorry,” he apologized for some godforsaken reason. I wasn’t sure which I enjoyed the most, his dry sense of humor and quick wit, his gorgeous fucking lips, or the delicious feel of his touch. “It was stuck.”

  “Grab your pencils, buffs. First question of the night,” the MC announced without actually pausing to give anyone any time to get their shit together. That wasn’t surprising, though. I came every week, and he was one of my favorite things about the whole ordeal. He had no time for bullshit. “How many seasons did Derek Shepherd appear on Grey’s Anatomy?”

  I picked up our pencil and stared at the number one spot on our answer sheet. “Okay…okay… I think it was ten seasons, but it might have been nine. Nine, ten, nine, ten. Shit, Charlotte,” I muttered to myself manically, and then looked at Nick. “What do you think?”

  “Well, considering I’ve never actually watched Grey’s Anatomy, I think it’s safe to say I have no fucking clue.”

  “What?” I asked on a near shout. “How have you never seen Grey’s Anatomy? It’s a show about goddamn doctors!”

  He laughed. “Probably because I’ve spent the last fifteen years of my life actually in the OR.”

  “Holy moly.” I sighed. “You need to get out more.”

  The tilt of his head was mocking. “You mean, stay in more.”

  “Now isn’t the time to be a smartass,” I snapped, and he just grinned in response.

  “Fifteen seconds!” the MC shouted.

  “Shit,” I muttered and wracked my brain. I mean, pretty much everyone in Grey’s Anatomy eventually dies, obviously, but I just needed to remember what season Dr. Shepherd bit Shonda Rhimes’s death bullet. “Okay…I think it was nine…yeah, it was nine. Okay, yeah, I’m putting ten,” I rambled and quickly jotted down my final answer.

  “Time’s up! Pencils down!”

  As I set my pencil beside our answer sheet, Nick whispered, “Are you sure it wasn’t eleven?”

  “Shut up.” I playfully slapped his shoulder, and he chuckled.

  “Question number two! A little bit of sports trivia!”

  “Oh, good,” I whispered toward Nick. “You should be able to answer this one.”

  “Who has the most wins as a head coach in the NFL?” The mic squealed in annoyance as the MC announced the second question.

  I picked up the pencil and stared at Nick, awaiting his response.

  He smiled, took a sip of his beer, shrugged. What he didn’t do was give me an answer.

  “Do you know this one?” I asked, and he shook his head
.

  “Nope.”

  What the fuck? “Aren’t men supposed to know, like, everything about sports?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe, but I don’t. Time in the OR, remember?”

  “When was the last time you watched ESPN?”

  “Uh…” He ran his hand across his jaw. “A few years ago, I guess.”

  “A few years ago? Haven’t you heard of DVR?” I questioned with widened eyes. He had the good grace to laugh, even in the face of my insults. “Jesus Christ, I think we should probably start praying they ask medical questions.”

  He winked. “Good plan.”

  “Fleetwood Mac’s Sex Pants are going to be so disappointed in you.”

  A hearty laugh left his lips, and I couldn’t help but smile in return.

  “Time’s up!” the MC called out. “Pencils down!”

  “Son of a bitch,” I muttered. “We didn’t even get an answer for that one.”

  Nick patted my shoulder. “Don’t worry, trivia girl. We’ll get the next one.”

  “If we do, it won’t be because of any help from you.” I tried to feign annoyance, but even playful anger slid from my features as if I were greased up like a slip and slide. All smiles here.

  “Now, that,” he said with a grin, “is probably one hundred percent accurate.”

  “I was hoping your trivia success rate matched your surgical success rate.”

  “Sorry, Charlotte. Looks like we’re going to lose this one on the table.”

  I couldn’t not giggle at that. “Don’t talk like that! Get out the defibrillator! It’d be a damn shame if Fleetwood Mac’s Sex Pants didn’t live to see another day.”

  “I get it. I’m attached to this patient too.”

  “Then don’t let FMSP die! Get in there!”

  “FMSP?”

  “It’s getting too long to keep repeating,” I admitted.

  He moved his lips into a firm, serious line and slapped his hand on the table. “C’mon, Charlotte. We have to get it together here. In the name of freedom, liberty, and the pursuit of Fleetwood Mac’s Sex Pants, we need to make our country proud and bring home the trivia trophy.”

  I narrowed my eyes and mimicked his stern expression. “Let’s do it. Let’s show these trivia bitches who’s boss.”