Page 203 of The Doctors Will See You Now

She quirked a brow. “And you’d be okay with that?”

No.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure about that, Harlow?”

“Uh-huh,” I muttered and shoved another bite of food into my mouth before she could shoot another uncomfortable question my way. Avoidance felt like the very best tactic in this scenario. Especially since I had no fucking clue what was going on inside my own head.

I didn’t want a long-term relationship. I didn’t want to be tied down to anyone. And I definitely shouldn’t have cared about the fact that, technically, Scott could have sex with someone else. Anytime he wanted, actually.

He probably is. He knows every fucking vagina in the city.

But what I should’ve been okay with, and what I felt actually okay with, were two very different things.

What in the hell was happening to me?

I had to get away from the relationship inquisition that was my mother before I had a fucking panic attack. “I’m stuffed,” I muttered and slid my chair out from under the table and stood. “What time are we eating at Hot House?”

“Reservations are at one,” Jean-Pierre answered.

“Then I’m definitely going to need to nap off these crepes if there’s any hope of getting my appetite back by then.” I patted my stomach and grinned.

“I think someone is trying to avoid the whole Scott and friends with benefits topic…” my mother singsonged, and I rolled my eyes.

“Obviously.”

She laughed at my response, and, after I’d taken my dirty dishes into the kitchen, I made my way back into the living room. I slipped my shoes off, plopped my lazy ass onto their cozy sofa, and flipped on the television while I finished out a quick text conversation with Scott. He wanted to meet up at some point today, which I was more than open to, but when he sent the last message of How about your apartment? I chose to send back I’m ignoring you now.

The nosy bastard was determined to figure out where I lived, but I wasn’t ready to cave on it.

Oh, but you can let him inside your vagina all the time?

My brain really needed to shut the fuck up for a little bit.

While I mindlessly watched a rerun of The Office, doing my best to fall into a Nutella coma, my phone buzzed with an email. It was a notification for the latest Celebrity News articles that had just gone live. I scrolled through the new headlines but stopped abruptly on the third one from the top.

DATING NEWS: Dr. ER might be off the market, ladies.

What the what?

As I clicked on the article’s link and scanned through another columnist’s words, I was mostly wondering why in the hell I didn’t get this exclusive.

I mean, I was having the sex with him, not Kimmie Marie from fucking Celebrity News.

But as I continued to read the article itself, something else took high priority in my mind.

Kimmie prattled on about Scott attending an event called Benefit for Bab(i)es, and apparently, when he was asked about his ongoing status of never bringing a date to events, he’d answered, “Not tonight, but maybe soon.”

Not tonight, but maybe soon?

What in the ever-loving fuck was that supposed to mean?

Was he talking about me?

Outside on the sidewalk, the sun beating down on my heavy shoulders, I stared down at the text message exchange I’d had with Harlow earlier that morning.

Me: Can I see you?