Page 276 of The Doctors Will See You Now

Besides me.

“Where should we go, Low?” my father asked and then grinned proudly when he added, “My Harlow always knows the best places in the city to go for every occasion. I have a feeling it’s from all of that column research she does.”

“Well…” I started with a forced smile, scrambling to think of the worst place within a five-block radius and coming up empty. Goddamn, the last thing I wanted was to pick somewhere inviting. I’d never get rid of Scott.

“Maybe it would be a good idea if we stick to a bar close by. Something local and relaxed, though. No Times Square hot spots. You know, so it will be easy to chat about the show.” And hopefully, the wine will be cheap, and I can drown my misery in alcohol…

“What a good idea,” Scott interjected, but his voice reeked of sarcasm. “And who knows? Maybe Harlow will find some inspiration for one of her columns.”

“Wouldn’t that be great?” my dad agreed with a grin. “Kill two birds with one stone.”

“Exactly.” Scott winked in my direction, and I fought the urge to flip him off. “Well,” he said and gestured toward the aisle with his hand, “let’s continue this wonderful evening of getting to know one another.”

A wonderful evening of getting to know Dr. ERotic?

Someone. Help. Me.

“What is this place?” Harlow asked as we stepped inside of Mustang’s, one of the best barely known gems in Manhattan.

Part dive bar, part think tank, the walls were lined with patron-created drinks written on cocktail napkins, envelopes, old newspapers, and the like. It was the only place I’d ever been to that didn’t recognize standard drinks as common practice. Instead, you made up your own, tried it out, and if the bartender deemed it “sea-worthy”—or sellable—your concoction got tacked up on the wall after you gave it a name. If you didn’t like whatever came from your experimental mind, you could try again or order someone else’s proven success story by picking from the walls. It had to be at least slightly cost-ineffective, wasting liquor on unsuccessful samples, but somehow, they made it work.

Maybe that’s where the dive bar part comes into play.

Instead of going into the details, I pushed Harlow toward the bar, my mom and Harlow’s dad following closely behind. “You’ll see.”

Her dad had touted her as one of the best locals in New York, a real gal of the town who knew exactly where to go for the best atmosphere, but she’d fallen pretty spectacularly on her face when forced to come up with a place under pressure.

I had a feeling that was her mind and body’s way of revolting against my presence more than anything, though.

“Have you never been here?” my mom asked Harlow excitedly. This was one of her favorite places ever, the two success stories she’d ever created, a Limeade Tequila Sunrise and a Drug Dealer—two parts Coca-Cola, one part cherry juice, and one part rum—her pride and joy.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that the second one was basically just a rum and Coke, and the bartender apparently didn’t either. Still, I had to give her bonus points for creativity on the name.

Harlow shook her head before my mom directed the question to her dad. He shook his head too. “How’d you find this place?” Bill asked.

My mom laughed. “Scott, of course. He always brings me to the best places in the city.”

Harlow’s curious eyes shot to me before she could conceal them. Ah, yes, little Harlow. You’re not the only one who knows New York’s secrets.

Stepping close enough that the heat of her back radiated into my chest, I whispered in her ear. “That’s not my only talent.”

She turned slightly so she could body check me with her shoulder. I laughed and rubbed at the point of contact on my chest. It didn’t hurt at all, but I definitely felt something. I just couldn’t put my finger on what.

“Bill, you have got to try a Nipple Blaster!” my mom said on a near shout. Harlow’s eyes rounded to the size of saucers.

“A Nipple Blaster, huh?” Bill asked, completely unfazed. Though, if I wasn’t mistaken, there did seem to be a little carnal hunger in his wolf eyes.

“Yes! It’s Scott’s creation.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Harlow muttered under her breath, and I laughed. She wasn’t my biggest fan for whatever reason. Okay, maybe it was holding her hostage in a painful conversation about how she’d ridden her way to stitches or haranguing her in the bathroom, but whatever. Somehow, though, her dislike of me just made me like her even more.

“It’s just a twist on a Buttery Nipple.”

“What’s the twist?” Harlow asked. Her body looked like it was stiff, fighting the whole idea of actually giving me any attention whatsoever, even if just to ask a question, but her curiosity got the best of her. I’d have to make a mental note of what needing information did to her willpower.

“A Fireball chaser.”

“Let’s all do one!” my mom cheered excitedly. The tiniest hint of a smirk curled the very tip of Harlow’s lips.