Page 129 of The Doctors Will See You Now

Still, I didn’t waste the opportunity his apology provided because, like he’d said earlier, I really was the bigger asshole. “Well, at least you recognize it now.”

I gave him a pat to the back and headed out while I was on top.

It was time to save lives, coffee consumed or not.

Twelve weeks later…

It’s official. I really am the luckiest son of a bitch in New York City. Amazing sex with three different women, three different nights this week with no hard feelings and the hottest show on reality television—I felt fucking unstoppable. On top of the world, like nothing could bring me down.

Dr. Erotic.

That’s what they’ve decided to call me. Just thinking about it makes me smile.

While Will had to bury his head in the sand, I’ve stretched mine toward the light. The glory, the fame, the good times.

The stint of celibacy I’d done during filming had been more than worth it, and now I was ready to use it to secure a life of the opposite.

I, Scott Shepard, was officially Dr. Erotic—and I’d take his power and recognition right to the streets of New York City and into the pants of willing women.

Are you ready for me?

Seven weeks later…

“So, what do you like to do in your free time, Harlow?” Barron asked after he took a hearty sip of his wine. He’d ordered us a third bottle of red—a Merlot, maybe?—to share with our meal, and he made a point to let me know every detail of its rare and vintage quality.

“Amazing,” my date said as he swirled his glass around and grinned. “I’m impressed by the legs on this one. Did you notice how the subtle tones of oak and chocolate liven your palate?”

Barron Alexander Conrad III—my date’s full, and let’s be real, very pretentious name—had been rambling on and on about the wine’s legs since the server left the bottle at the table. I literally knew nothing about wine. Tannic. Oaky. Full-bodied. Every word he spoke bled together into a single word in my mind: ostentatious.

When it came to wine, all I cared about was how many glasses it would take for me to get buzzed.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes and just nodded in fake agreement as I tilted the glass to my lips and finished off my first glass from this bottle.

First dates, man. I fucking hate them.

Hell, I loathed anything that could end up in a relationship in general. I wasn’t a commitment-phobe or anything like that. I just knew that long-term commitments weren’t my thing. I’d been burned once, and I’d learned my lesson. I’d spend the rest of my life keeping my hands away from the proverbial hot stove, thank you very much.

I forced a smile. At least, I hoped I was smiling. Do smiles taste like vinegar? If so, I’m definitely smiling. “Well…I stay pretty busy with work. And when I’m not working, I guess I enjoy going to dinner with my friends, reading, seeing movies, going to concerts…” Blah. Blah. Blah.

God, I sounded just as boring as Barron.

Why do I even agree to these things?

Because I needed sex.

I know. Believe me, I know.

But I really did need sex.

Short of swiping right on everything within a two-mile radius on Tinder, dates like these were the only option for a hookup, particularly the kind that ended in penetration, without donning clear heels and a belt as a skirt and hitting the street corner. Though, if this didn’t work out, that option was sounding more and more like it had merit.

It’s been too long, and I’ve reached the point where my daily masturbation sessions just aren’t cutting it.

I need a penis, guys.

“How long have you been with Gossip?”

I sighed internally. At both the sound of Barron’s too nasal voice and the ridiculous job I still called my own. “I guess it’s been about four years now.” Too fucking long.