The Doctor (Nashville Neighborhood Book 1) Page 7

  The lock slid with a click, and the door swung open.

  Greg wore jeans, a blue t-shirt that clung to his perfect form, and an unreadable expression. My heart tripped over itself at the sight of him. Memories of his hands on me, his body sliding inside mine, made my knees weak.

  “Hey,” I breathed.

  “Hey.” He pulled the door open wider and stepped back, ushering me in. I took two hesitant steps inside, and before I could say anything, he swung the door shut and moved toward the kitchen, abandoning me. “I brought your sweatshirt up for you. It’s on the counter.”

  Oh.

  I slinked after him, my head hung in shame. Sure enough, my hoodie sat folded neatly on the kitchen island, right in the same spot he’d leaned me over two days ago and put his hand down my shorts. I could still feel his fingers inside my panties, working to make me come.

  He appeared unfazed by my arrival. He moved around to the other side of the island, putting a physical barrier between us, and set his hands on the polished countertop. His expression was still impossible to interpret. He didn’t look mad, but he didn’t look happy, either. If anything, he looked like he was trying very hard to hide whatever he was thinking, and it took all of his focus to be successful.

  My gaze fell from him, down to the black sweatshirt waiting for me to collect it and go. “Are you mad at me?”

  My voice had been small, but his was light. “For what? Leaving without saying goodbye the other day?”

  His tone wasn’t accusatory, but the words were. I pinched my face together with discomfort. “I’m sorry. It was about to start storming outside, and you looked so peaceful sleeping, I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “I would have appreciated it,” he said softly, “if you had.”

  My brain threatened to disconnect. It was such an adult thing to say, and he’d delivered it straightforward. I wasn’t used to actually talking about stuff with guys, and it was yet another thing to make me feel inexperienced around him. Communication was foreign.

  But if he wanted to be honest, I was willing to try the same. “I didn’t wake you up because I was scared,” I announced. “I didn’t know how to say goodbye to you after we . . . and I didn’t want to.”

  His posture straightened, and finally an emotion I could read splashed on his expression. Surprise.

  “I’m sorry,” I said again.

  “When I woke up and you were gone, I didn’t know what to think. I worried maybe you were freaking out.”

  Guilt coasted through me. I hadn’t meant to hurt him. “No.” I took a step closer, wanting him near. “That came later.” I rounded the island, so it was no longer between us, and stared up at him. “I don’t regret what happened. I mean, I know I should, but I just don’t.” I pressed my lips together and drew in a breath through my nose, struggling to find the courage to ask. “Do you?”

  A crease developed on his forehead. He looked conflicted, and my heart sank to my toes. His hesitation was torture.

  “No, I don’t regret it,” he said finally, “but that makes me the worst father in the world, right? A terrible person, at least.”

  “No—”

  “Yes, it does. Especially when I want to do it again.”

  Anxiety released its hold on my shoulders, and I sagged against the counter. His eyes heated. The air between us shifted and stretched, growing from tension into something else, which tasted a lot like anticipation. I’d never been more aware of him, or the idea that we were alone in his house.

  “But we can’t do it again,” I said, my words tight and unsteady.

  Jesus, I couldn’t believe I’d just said it. I hadn’t meant it one bit—I’d issued this as a challenge. Would he pick up my wistful tone? Did he get what I was doing?

  “No,” he said, shifting on his feet so he was facing me. “Absolutely not.” The corner of his sexy mouth curled up into a hint of a smile. “Hey, before I forget. As long as you’re here, maybe we should go to my room and get you naked.”

  My mouth dropped open, and before I could say a word, his hands wrapped around my waist and hauled me against his chest. His mouth lowered to mine, and when our lips connected, I arched up into his kiss.

  We moved together without breaking the contact, turning and stumbling into the side of the cabinets on our hurried quest toward his room, only stopping to chuckle at our clumsiness. His hands slid beneath the hem of my t-shirt and were warm on my back. The feel of his fingertips skimming up my bare skin was like nothing else. It sent hot shivers down my backbone.

  “I thought I might not see you again,” he mumbled against the side of my mouth.

  “I’m sure we’d run into each other somewhere.”

  He stopped moving and locked his arms, caging me inside. “I meant like this. And I didn’t like that idea. Actually, I fucking hated it.”

  Butterflies fluttered in my belly. “Really?” I whispered.

  He was so sure, so confident. “I’m tired of telling myself I don’t want this. Yeah, you’re supposed to be off-limits, but that doesn’t stop me from thinking about you all the damn time.” His eyes sharpened, making it impossible to look away. “I can’t stop thinking about the things I’d like to do to you, or things you’d do to me, or the way we looked together in my mirror.”

  “Oh,” I sighed, and my eyes lidded with desire.

  He dipped his head and traced a line up the curve of my neck with the tip of his tongue. Shit, I was going to burst into flames. I was drunk off him in seconds.

  “Tell me,” I asked eagerly, as he sucked on a sensitive spot below my ear, “what you want to do to me.”

  “You want to hear about my fantasies, Cassidy? Because there are a lot, and they are very, very bad.”

  Just like me.

  I nearly said it out loud, but I’d turned to liquid under his mouth. I couldn’t catch my breath as I swallowed a gulp, so I nodded enthusiastically. “Tell me. I bet I want to do them all.”

  He made a sound like I’d stroked a hand over his erection, even though I hadn’t yet, and his face took a dark, sexual cast. It was primal and gorgeous.

  Greg’s mouth slammed into mine, his tongue pushing past my lips and invading. This kiss wasn’t like the others. It was blistering, and punishing, and rewarding. He shoved a hand up my shirt and gripped my bra-covered breast, all while his mouth fucked mine.

  We’d stopped in the living room, halfway to his bedroom, and we weren’t going to make it. I wanted him here, and now, and he seemed to have the same desire. I fumbled my fingers over the snap of my shorts, my urgency making them almost useless—

  A loud, mechanical rumble came from behind the door to the garage.

  We froze, and the sensation was like a bucket of frigid water doused us. Oh, no. That sound only meant one thing.

  Preston was home.

  TWELVE

  I WAS MOVING BEFORE I REALIZED IT. Greg hurried me toward the kitchen, dragging me along on my sluggish, panicked legs. We had fifteen, maybe twenty seconds before Preston would come through the door to the garage. He’d know I was here, because my car was parked in the driveway. What the hell were we going to do?

  I stared up at Greg, finding his face a calm, emotionless mask as he left me and scurried around to the other side of the island. “It’s okay,” he said quickly. “Let me do the talking when—”

  No time. The door swung open, and Preston sauntered in. His gaze scanned the area in search of something, noticing his father on one side of the kitchen, and finally he found me. “Cassidy?” He looked confused. “What are you doing here?”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but his father’s deep voice rang out first. “She left her hoodie in your bathroom and asked if she could stop by to pick it up.” Greg nodded toward the sweatshirt resting on the countertop as proof. “You’re home early,” he added.

  Preston didn’t notice the strain buried in his father’s statement and shrugged. “The restaurant was dead, so they let me off.” His attention returned to me. �
��Why didn’t you text me?”

  I blinked. Was he serious? Putting aside everything related to his dad and treating Preston solely as my ex, it was weird as hell seeing him. What was I supposed to say? That being in the same room with him made me uncomfortable, and this was easier?

  Better was the more appropriate word, because I’d come over tonight with a bigger goal than just avoiding my ex or retrieving my favorite hoodie. When I glanced at Greg, I tried to tamp down my disappointment that we’d been interrupted.

  Shit, what a selfish thing to be thinking about.

  He must have thought I was looking to him for help, because he answered Preston for me. “I think Cassidy felt more comfortable if you weren’t here, since the break-up.”

  Preston went still. “The what?”

  Breath halted painfully in my lungs.

  Oh my God. He still didn’t think we’d broken up? My focus flitted from Preston to his father, and I could see the muscles flexed tight along Greg’s jaw. He looked hurt, and maybe angry.

  He thought I’d lied to him.

  “We broke up.” I said it too loudly because I was nervous, but also because I needed to make sure both men heard me. “Like, several times.”

  Preston unbuttoned the white dress shirt of his uniform, shooting me a dubious look. “We had a fight. You were mad, and I told you to call me when you were over it.” He stripped down to his white undershirt and tossed the uniform on the counter like he’d just thrown down a gauntlet.

  “No, that’s not what happened. I told you we were over.”

  Preston’s confidence cracked, and there was a glimmer of the boy I’d fallen in love with. He went grave. “You’re breaking up with me?”

  The temperature in the kitchen fell so rapidly, I thought about grabbing my hoodie and putting it on, but then worried I’d pull the hood closed around my face and try to disappear. Was I about to break up with him a third time, and with his dad watching?

  I was barely able to push the word out. “Yes.”

  As his face twisted with pain, I felt the same twisting in my heart. Greg was rooted in place, even though his expression said he’d rather be anywhere else. Perhaps he thought if he stayed motionless, we’d forget he was there.

  Not fucking likely.

  “Why?” Preston demanded. I’d practiced the answer so many times, but now my mind went blank. “Is there someone else?” he continued.

  I couldn’t help how my eyes flicked to Greg’s, but he wasn’t looking at me. He stared at the counter, frowning. There was guilt there, which I understood. I felt it too. It was a thick, hard shell trapping everything in a confusing mess of emotions.

  I ignored Preston’s second question. “It’s not working anymore.”

  “Yeah, I know these last few weeks haven’t been the best, but I’ve—”

  “It hasn’t been working for a while,” I said flatly. “Even when we were still in school.”

  He came closer and put his hand on the counter beside me, invading my space, and I sucked in a sharp breath. His proximity made me want to step back, but I also didn’t want to appear weak. I needed to hold my ground and get through this.

  “We’re not the same people anymore,” I said.

  He scoffed. “That’s not true.”

  “Yeah? If my grandmother had passed away last year, you would have gone with me to the funeral.”

  His posture went defensive. “I had to work. I told you.”

  “It’s not just that. Before, you would have been there for me. But now you aren’t.” I got angry and hurt all over again at the memory. “We’ve barely seen each other this summer. I’m not your girlfriend. I’m an afterthought.”

  Preston’s gaze hardened, and something like embarrassment colored his expression. He didn’t turn or look away from me, but it was clear from his raised voice his question was directed at his father. “Is there some reason you’re still here?”

  Tension in the room bound me in place. It was uncomfortable for everyone, and worse when Preston pointed it out.

  Greg straightened. “Don’t take that tone with me. This is my house.”

  Annoyance flashed in his son’s eyes. “Let’s go downstairs and talk about this.”

  “No,” I snapped, grabbing the hoodie and strangling it in my hands. “There’s nothing to talk about. It’s over, and I’m going. Goodbye, Preston.” The fire in me waned a little as I turned to his father. “Thanks—” I nearly said his first name, but caught it just in time, “Dr. Lowe.”

  He looked torn about letting me go but nodded in acknowledgement.

  I only made it a few steps toward the door before Preston was following me. “That’s it?” He was hurting but masked it with anger. “You’re gonna throw three years away because I couldn’t go to one funeral with you? That’s stupid.”

  Hot, angry tears stung my eyes, but I didn’t stop moving. I needed to get out of this house and away from him before I said something I’d regret. He’d only heard what he wanted to, which meant he could shift the blame away from himself. Fine. As long as he was crystal clear we were done, he could think whatever he wanted.

  “You know what?” he yelled at me as I fled out the front door. “Fuck you, Cassidy.”

  “Preston,” I heard Greg snarl, but didn’t look back at either one of them. I ran so fast down the pathway, one of my flip-flops caught an edge of brick and I nearly fell but managed to stay on my feet. I scrambled into my car, started it, and took off, needing to get down the road before the tears started streaming down my face.

  My phone chimed with a text message as I raced home, but I didn’t read it. I came in through the kitchen and went immediately up after waving hello to my mom. She was chatting on her phone, but waved back. I moved so rapidly, it didn’t give her a chance to notice I’d been crying.

  Tripod, our rescue black Labrador, bounded up the stairs beside me. You’d never guess from the way he moved, he was missing a leg. My mom may not have noticed my mood, but there was no getting it past my eagle-eyed dog.

  Once I was upstairs in my room, sitting on the floor with my back against the bed, I drew my knees up to my chest and scanned my phone screen. Tripod sat beside me, nosing his way into my free hand as I tried to read.

  Dr. Lowe: Are you okay?

  I pulled my arms into my hoodie, shrugging it on as I wiped the dried tear tracks from my face with a sleeve, and thumbed out my response.

  Cassidy: Yeah.

  Three dots blinked across the screen, then disappeared. Like me, it seemed as if he wasn’t sure what else to say.

  Cassidy: How is he?

  Dr. Lowe: Upset. I tried to talk to him, but he took off.

  Alarm coasted through my system. Preston had stormed off? Before I could ask, more dots blinked on the screen.

  Dr. Lowe: He’s staying at Troy’s tonight. Maybe he’ll figure out he was an asshole and apologize to you.

  That’d be nice, but I wasn’t going to hold my breath.

  Cassidy: How are you? I’m sorry you had to watch that.

  Dr. Lowe: Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.

  I tipped my head back against the bed and closed my eyes, trying to clear my thoughts. What would have happened if Preston had come home five minutes later? He’d have caught me and Greg together. I pictured us with our pants down around our ankles, Greg fucking me from behind while he had me bent over the side of the couch.

  The image gave me warm shivers.

  Jesus, what was wrong with me? Preston was hurting, and all I could think about was his dad and how I wished we hadn’t had to stop. I wanted desperately to hear all of Greg’s dirty fantasies and see how many of them matched mine.

  My phone chimed again, causing my eyes to pop open.

  Dr. Lowe: Do you want to talk about it?

  Preston’s angry ‘fuck you, Cassidy’ played in a loop in my mind, and I wanted it gone. I needed to think about something else. Anything else, before my hurt turned to rage. Three years together, and that was t
he last thing he said to me. Fuck you, Cassidy.

  My gaze roamed over my bedroom and only made it worse. Memories of him were everywhere. It was amazing how much he’d been a part of my life in high school, and the room was like a freaking shrine to him. Even my bed was tainted with the memory of when I’d given him my virginity. I groaned and pushed to my feet, hoping I could outrun the angry feeling inching along my skin. Tripod lifted his head, set on high alert.

  The picture of Preston and me at our senior prom was on my bookshelf, and I glared at the smiling version of us. I felt powerless against my memories and my anger. Fuck me, Preston? No. Fuck you.

  I stared down at my phone and Greg’s question if I wanted to talk about it. I was desperate to take some power back.

  Cassidy: Yeah. Can I come back over?

  THIRTEEN

  I DIDN’T TAKE ANY CHANCES. I parked my car in the driveway of the vacant house for sale, then hurried down the sidewalk and into the patch of trees bordering the Lowe property. Was it stupid to hide and sneak around like this? Yeah. But I was too focused right now on getting rid of Preston’s voice in my head.

  Greg must have seen me making my way up because the side door to his bedroom swung open and he welcomed me inside. His gaze drifted down to the tote bag clutched in my hands, and his eyebrows pulled together.

  “Preston’s stuff you’re returning?” he asked.

  I tossed the bag onto a side chair and shook my head. “I lied. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  I closed the distance between us, gripped his face in my hands, and pulled his lips down to mine. The evening had been hard on my system. My arousal had been interrupted by anger, and the emotions swirled together, creating aggression I hadn’t experienced before. But I liked the combination. I enjoyed the way it launched me into his arms.