Undeniably Infatuated (Boston's Irresistible Billionaires Book 3), page 21
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. It’s not that bad.”
“Okay.” I tap the steering wheel, anxious to go to her. “What’s going on?”
“We were filming a baking scene, and I slipped in the flour and twisted my ankle. I tried to brush it off, but it hurts when I stand on it, and Loomis reminded me that my fiancé is a physician. The director asked if I’d call you to see if you could come and check me out. I told him you’re a pediatric doctor, but he didn’t care. We’re behind schedule. Again.”
I grin like a bastard. “You hate that you had to call me, don’t you?”
She huffs. “I’d rather have taken a cheese grater to my skin.”
I laugh. “That sounds painful.”
“Now you’re getting it. But will you come anyway?”
I smirk wryly, never one to miss an opportunity with her. “For you? I always come.”
“I know you do because, much like with Doe, you’re a sucker for a sweet pussy. But seriously, I’m sorry to ask, and I’m sure you’re working or busy, but—”
“Stop. No need to explain. Text me the address, and I’ll come take a look. As luck would have it, I’m done with my shift anyway.” I would have gone regardless, but the timing couldn’t be better.
“Thank you, Stone. That means a lot, and I’m very grateful.”
I swallow down my flirty and sexy retort and say, “I’m glad you called. I’ll see you soon.”
I end the call, and a moment later Tinsley texts with an address, and I program my GPS and head that way. It’s clear across town and over the bridge into Cambridge. I realize I have no clue what her movie is about other than she’s filming it with Loomis, and I think it’s holiday or Christmas-based.
As I approach the set, I follow the signs and park where it says visitor parking, and then I meander along, only for security to stop me.
“Sorry, sir, you can’t go in there,” the man wearing all black says to me without even sparing me a glance. I have no doubt he pushes tourists away all day.
“I’m Dr. Stone Fritz, Tinsley Monroe’s fiancé. She fell and they called me to check her out.”
Now I’ve got his attention, and his steady gaze drops to mine. I’m tall. Barefoot, I’m six-three, but he’s got several inches on me. He eyes me, asks for my ID, and then speaks into a headset. A moment later, I’m allowed to pass through onto the set, and when I ask him where the hell I’m supposed to go, he says it’ll be obvious.
It’s not. There are three sets set up. Two outdoors that look like winter wonderlands, and one that’s in a building where I assume they shoot the indoor scenes. I pull out my phone and text Tinsley, and after a few minutes, she hobbles out the door of the building, caked in flour with her hair piled on top of her head.
I snort out a laugh, and she flips me off.
“Don’t make fun. I told you we’re filming a baking scene. But here, look, you’ll appreciate this.” She twists to show me her ass, and she has two flour handprints, one on each cheek.
“I want to kill the person who got to put those on you.”
She grins. “It was Loomis, but he went back to his trailer to call his mom since we’re on break because of my ankle. Speaking of, can you check me out so we can finish up?”
She looks fucking adorable like this, wearing a red and white checkered apron with her hair twisted up into a messy bun and flour—whether real or movie fake—caked all over her.
“It’s what I’m here for.” However, that doesn’t stop me from leaning in and kissing the corner of her lips. I’m her fiancé, and we’re in public. Whether anyone here cares or not is a different story. “Just in case someone is watching,” I tack on because she gives me a look. A look I hate. She’s not amused that I kissed her.
I pull back and catch sight of her hand, but she’s not wearing her ring not that I should be surprised. She’s on set. I haven’t seen the ring on her in person yet, and I can’t help but be a little disappointed. With the way we’ve been avoiding each other, who knows when I’ll get the chance.
I clear my throat. “Where do you want me to check your ankle?”
She gives me a wan smile and hobbles inside, wincing and bouncing, and what the fuck is this? Who let her walk around like that? I scoop her up in my arms, and she gives me yet another perturbed look, but she knows better than to fight me on it.
There are people everywhere in the background of the set, as well as a brightly lit stage-like area that resembles a large, high-end kitchen. “What’s your movie about?”
“I’m a nanny, and Loomis is a billionaire single dad. It’s an enemies-to-lovers rom-com.”
I snicker. “Sort of like Estlin and Owen.” She blinks at me, and I clarify. “Estlin was Owen’s nanny, and he pretended he couldn’t stand her for a while.”
“Oh.” She laughs. “I’m not sure I knew that. Wren never mentioned how they got together.”
I follow the path she guides me, no longer fighting me carrying her now that we’re inside the building. Having her this close, holding her in my arms, and feeling her tucked against me is the best thing I’ve felt all week. I’m an addict with her. Chasing small fixes wherever I can get them. Eventually, we reach the area where she points me to, and I set her down on a wooden bench, crouching by her feet.
She shifts to get comfortable, and I keep her injured ankle extended as she sits up and faces me.
“Hi,” I say in a serious tone. “I’m Dr. Fritz. I understand you hurt your ankle?”
She rolls her eyes at me and points to her ankle. She’s wearing a dress beneath her cute apron, and it slips up to her midthighs, but more than that, from this angle, I can see up it, and which draws my focus when it needs to be on her injury.
“Do you stare up the dresses of all your patients, Dr. Fritz?”
I beam at her. “Never. Not once. Wanna play doctor with me, though? Since I’m here to give you an exam.”
She rolls her eyes yet again, but her lips twist into a smirk she’s trying to hide. My girl likes to role-play. It’s why she called me sir that night.
Her expression turns coquettish. “I slipped and hurt my ankle. Do you think you can help me, Doctor Fritz? It hurts so bad.”
Fuck, do I love this woman.
“I’ll do everything I can to help you. I’m going to put my hands on you now so I can examine you.”
With that, my gaze drifts and snags on her swollen ankle. And it is swollen. To the point where it makes me frown, and all playfulness evaporates as I give her a thorough exam. I make her move it this way and that. Flex and extend. Wiggle her toes, rotate her ankle left and then right, and test her strength.
But after all that, once I’ve gleaned my diagnosis, I say, “I’m not sure I’ve gotten a full diagnostic picture yet. I might need you to spread your legs a little for me.”
She blinks in that doe-eyed way of hers. “You think so, Doctor?”
“I do. I think you’re going to need to relax your legs so I can make you feel better.”
Her knees part slightly on the bench, while her eyes stay on mine. I can’t help it. I sneak a peek and groan when I catch sight of her black satin panties. “Does everything look okay, Doctor?”
“Everything looks perfect.”
“I was worried this injury would require surgery.”
“No surgery is required.” I lean in and kiss her ankle. Right where she’s hurt. “I think you did sprain your ankle though, but I haven’t seen anything to make me think it’s broken. That’s said, small fractures are easily missed on an exam, and we should order an X-ray.”
“Do you play this game a lot, Doctor?”
I glance up at her and tilt my head. Her sudden bitter tone surprises me. “How do you mean?”
“You have so many women fawning over you. The gorgeous and sexy Dr. Stone Fritz. I’m sure you play doctor with them a lot.”
I blink, slightly taken aback. “I haven’t been that guy in a long time, and you’re the first woman I’ve ever played doctor with.”
She squints, disbelieving. “Maybe so, and maybe not.” She closes her legs and pulls her ankle away from me, twisting to sit sideways on the bench. “Thank you for coming to check it out. I don’t need an X-ray. I think I’m okay.”
“Are you, though?”
Before she can answer, her director is in front of me, introducing himself as Johnny and insisting I stay to finish out the scene. So I do, much to Tinsley’s chagrin. I stand by the side as Tinsley, some kid, and Loomis throw flour around a fake kitchen. She doesn’t spare me another glance, and I wonder how much longer I can take this distance until I snap.
25
“Another martini?” Wren asks as she’s spread out like a starfish on the living room carpet of her cousin Sorel’s apartment. Sorel recently moved back to Boston from New York City with her fiancé, Brody, who was traded to Asher’s team in the preseason. Sorel’s twin, Serena, is home visiting from Paris, where she works for Monroe Fashion—my uncle Zax and my aunt Aurelia’s company. But since Brody—along with Mason—are playing an away game, Sorel decided to throw a girls’ night for all of us.
It’s sweet, and though I don’t know Sorel or Serena all that well—they’re a bit older than I am—I love getting to spend time with them.
“Another martini is a good idea,” Sorel agrees, though she’s in no better shape than Wren. This would make our third martini, and though I’d like to imagine I can keep up with them, I know I can’t. Notting Hill is on in the background on the massive TV, and we have more snacks than any of us can eat. It’s perfect and exactly what I need after a long week of filming and dealing with the stress of living with Stone.
“I’m out,” Katy announces with a hand stretched out like she’s dropping the mic. “I have to leave soon and nurse Willow when she wakes up for her midnight feeding.”
Serena half-sits to grab a pretzel from the bowl on the coffee table. She pops it in her mouth and crunches loudly as she talks. “I’m in, but only because I don’t have to move tomorrow. Damn, do I love Sundays.”
“Same,” Sorel asserts, slouched back on the leather sectional. “And thankfully the guys are traveling for their game so I can simply be hungover and watch my man on TV instead of having to drag my sorry ass down to the stadium.”
“I think I’m in for that,” Kenna announces. “I don’t have work tomorrow. Woohoo!” She holds up her glass and nearly dumps the tail end of her Cosmo on me. Thankfully she recovers at the last minute.
“We should all have a sleepover!” Keegan exclaims, going for the cheese and crackers.
“Yes!” Sorel and Serena shout together, and it’s tempting. So very tempting. The idea of going back to Stone’s isn’t appealing. It’s a Saturday night, and I happen to know he’s out with Vander. He texted and asked if I wanted to have dinner out with him, like a public date to keep the fires of our engagement burning, and when I told him I had plans with the girls, he told me he was going to meet up with Vander for a couple of drinks but wouldn’t be home late.
Whatever. I don’t know what they’re doing, where they went, or who they’re meeting, and frankly, I don’t want to know. He can use his twenty thousand condoms on whomever he wants because it won’t be me. We never agreed as part of this fake engagement not to see other people, though obviously, I’m not. How could I?
He doesn’t have the same issue I do. Not that he ever did.
Still, there was no way I was going to have dinner with him, in public or otherwise. Anytime I’m near him, I find myself slipping and doing things I know I shouldn’t do. Hell, I freaking played doctor with him right there on set and spread my legs so he could look up my dress. All it took was one smile and a little flirting to get me there, and I was so mad at myself for it afterward. Once a player always a player.
I do much better when I don’t see him, so I say, “I’m in for a sleepover. And another drink.” Because why not? I’m only twenty-four. It’s time I have some fun every once in a while.
“What about Stone?” Keegan questions, a coy look to her that I don’t like.
“What about him?” I throw back at her.
“Won’t he miss you tonight if you don’t come home?”
I’m about to say I doubt it when Serena shoots Keegan a warning look. “Don’t start. We said we weren’t going to bring it up, so we’re not.”
Ugh. “What? Just ask.” I get up and hobble over to the bar Sorel has set up for us. My ankle isn’t perfect, but it’s so much better than it was when Stone came and examined it.
“You’re wearing the ring,” Wren comments, still all starfished out. Wren isn’t any better at holding her liquor than I am. We’re usually wine or champagne girls, but when in Rome.
I glance down at my hand, at the pretty sparkly ring I can’t seem to force myself to take off even when I don’t have to wear it. “I’m afraid of losing it,” I admit, which is partially true. I am. The other side of that coin that I don’t allow myself to think about or admit to is that I like wearing it. Which sucks since it’s not real. Well, at least not real in the way I’d like a ring like this to be.
“Is that the only reason?” Keegan presses.
I huff. “Yes.” I take the enormous martini shaker Sorel has been using and start to add some ice to it from the ice bucket. “Why else would I?”
“Because you like it and the guy who gave it to you,” Katy states simply, and as much as I love Katy, she’s a little too honest and real sometimes. A bit too observant too.
“Nope to both of those.” I give them my back so they don’t see the lie on my face while I pour vodka, triple sec, lime, and cranberry juice into the shaker. This bad boy will mix up five good-sized martinis, so it’s officially my new best friend.
“But if you marry him, you’ll be my cousin,” Wren whines. “Can’t you just do that? Please? For me?”
“Wren, I love you, and I’d love to be your actual cousin, but there’s no way I’m marrying Stone. I can hardly stand him.”
Both she and Katy snort, but I start shaking the shaker vigorously, blocking them out with the loud clanking of ice against metal. I top off my glass and then hand the shaker to Keegan, who takes the honor of pouring the rest. The glass touches my lips, and I tip it back, slurping down two big gulps before I sink to the floor and lean against the cabinet because the couch is simply too far and I’m a little too drunk and unsteady on my bad ankle to attempt it.
The last thing I’d want is to spill my drink. That would be tragic.
“Am I the only one who noticed that Loomis sounds like Hugh Grant in this movie?” Keegan questions before tilting her head and squinting at the screen. “Or is that the other way around? No wait, that doesn’t make sense. Whatever. He does, right?”
“He sure does,” I tell her, bouncing my eyebrows suggestively. “He also thinks you’re pretty. And funny. And smart.”
She laughs and rolls her eyes at me. “That’s because I am, but don’t start with me.” She points her finger at me. “I’m not going there.”
“Oh,” I remark as I take another sip of my pretty pink Cosmo. “But you can go there with me and Stone?”
“Definitely,” they all shout at once before falling into a fit of drunken giggles.
“Wait, shut up!” Serena cries out, holding her hand up in the air and flipping her long, blonde hair over her shoulder. “This is my favorite part.”
We all fall silent and watch as Julia Roberts tells Hugh Grant that she’s just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her. We all sigh. It’s such a good line. Even better is when Hugh Grant finally gets his ass in gear and chases after her.
“Why can’t movie love be real love?” Wren asks. “Only Katy and Sorel have found that.”
“Yes, but I had to kiss an asshole of a frog before I found Bennett,” Katy admits. “If movies or books, for that matter, were real life, no one would watch or read them. Who wants that when we can have the fairy tale? Or at least a hot guy to make us swoon and scream through orgasms.”
“Personally, my toxic trait is that I read dark romance,” Serena says. “Give me a dude with triggers and red flags, and I’m all over it. He can stalk my ass anywhere he wants.” The moment the words leave her lips, she winces and looks apologetically over at me. “Shit, Tins. I didn’t mean that. I’m so sorry.”
I hold up my hand. “It’s fine. I mean, the stalking thing isn’t fine, but I’m not about to go into a panic over it. I haven’t gotten another letter since the first one, and that was like two weeks ago. For all I know, it was a prank, and it’s over. The sooner we can be sure about that, the sooner I can end this fake engagement and move out of Stone’s.”
“Here’s to that!” Sorel declares, holding her glass up. “Cheers, bitches!”
“Fuck yeah! Cheers!” I hold up my glass and lean forward,and somehow we all manage to clink glasses, albeit messily, and then drink. After Notting Hill, we put on Bridget Jones’s Diary, because evidently, we’re having a Hugh Grant night, only to pass out sometime after two and be woken around eight when my phone rings.
I’m on the floor, my face mashed into the rug since my head slipped off the pillow I was sharing with Wren. My head is pounding, my mouth tastes like a desert of cotton and ass, and my stomach roils the moment I move to answer it.
Wren makes an annoyed noise, as do a few of the other ladies, and I drag myself up and off the floor, grab my phone, and go to the bathroom to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Where are you? You were supposed to meet me at my flat thirty minutes ago. Are you okay?” Loomis’s urgent voice fills my ears, and I wince.
“Stop Hugh Granting so loudly in my ear.”
“Pardon? Hugh Grant?”
I snicker and then groan in pain. “We had a Hugh Grant marathon last night along with a lot of drinks. I’m officially very hungover. Or possibly still a little drunk.”
He sighs, his unease ebbing now that he knows I’m okay. “So I gather. Would you rather not meet?”
