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Adrenaline races through my veins and I shoot around the loud VIP club floor, squinting past the stupid strobe lights and multicolored bullshit, anxious to find Callan. Callan can help. Callan can fix this.
He’s over by the bar talking to our friends Zax, Greyson, and Lenox, and I shoot straight for them. My hand latches onto Callan’s arm and I shake him. “I need Viagra. Now, dude.”
“What?” Callan blinks fifty thousand times at me and who has time for that shit.
“Viagra, bro. Now. I was just with this incredible woman in the bathroom and my guy not only wasn’t fully hard, he prematurely shot his load. Something is wrong with me, and I need Viagra to fix it now.”
He coughs out a laugh as do our friends, but I ignore that and them. “Does it look like I carry a pharmacy on me? Besides, I’m not writing you a prescription for Viagra. You had alcohol and muscle relaxants, not to mention you are likely a bit dehydrated after playing football for hours. Viagra will tank your blood pressure.”
“Fuck!” I yell and then race back for the bathroom. This can’t be happening. I plow through the ladies’ room door, only I already know before I enter what I’m going to find. She’s gone. The room is empty, and my mystery woman ran off on me.
Not that I can blame her.
I can’t even chase after her because what would I say? Worst performance of my life and it had to happen tonight. With her.
My hands scrub up my face and through my hair and I fall against the wall, staring at the space where I just undoubtedly gave her the lousiest sex of her life. Only it gets worse.
Lying on the floor is the condom still in its wrapper. Because I never opened it and put it on. Double fuck.
Dyingto find out what happens next? Get your copy of Irresistibly Risky today!
Want to know more about the Fritz family? You can start with Oliver and Amelia’s book Doctor Scandalous. Turn the page to start reading Chapter 1.
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 toher, 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 ifshe’sasking. 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.
