The Blush Factor (The Hawthornes of New York 2)

Chapter One

Faith

Dear Diary,

I lucked out this morning in a BIG way.

Dr. Hawthorne left his apartment just as the elevator was about to leave our floor.

Bonus fantasy points for the fact that he was talking on his phone as he sprinted toward me. Technically, he was racing to catch the elevator, but I was standing front and center in it.

Whenever I hear him speak it’s like liquid pleasure in the middle of an orgasm drought.

The velvety rasp in his voice was the cherry on top of the visual delight I was witness to.

Dr. H was on his way out for a run, so it was no shirt, muscles for days, tattoos, and my imagination running circles around his half-naked body.

As always, he didn’t even glance in my direction, but a virgin can dream, right?

-F.U.

I heave a sigh as I close out today’s diary entry the way I always do with my initials.

My folks didn’t put a lot of thought into that when they named me.

Faith Upton is a great name, but whenever I’ve had to initial anything, and someone has witnessed it, they’ve almost always snickered under their breath.

I slam my diary shut, tuck it in my backpack along with my pen, and glance over to where my friend and classmate, Gwynn Rochester, is balancing two large milkshakes in her hands along with an order of fries.

We’re both pre-med students, but until we graduate from medical school, we made a pact to eat whatever we want one day a week.

Today is one of those days.

It was Gwynn’s idea to grab something at this diner in Times Square.

I watch as she maneuvers herself around a trio of kids racing toward her. They’re headed for the counter to order whatever they want, according to the woman who walked in with them.

She mouths an apologetic “sorry” to Gwynn as she ups her pace to reach the counter just as the youngest boy starts reciting everything on the menu.

“These fries smell like seven ounces on my hips.” Gwynn drops the basket of fries in the middle of the table before she twirls in a circle. “I’ve gained a few since last semester. I think I look amazing.”

“You do,” I agree before I take a bite of one of the crisp salty fries. “These are better than the last batch we had.”

“We made those in your oven,” she points out as she takes a seat on the red vinyl-covered bench on the opposite side of the table. “We didn’t bake them long enough.”

“True.” I nod my head before I shake the bottle of ketchup that’s sitting on the table next to a silver napkin holder. “We were too hungry to wait.”

I squeeze the plastic bottle, shooting a bright red splotch into the middle of the pile of fries. “How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing,” she says before she shoves a fry into her mouth.

“Nothing?” I ask skeptically.

We always split the cost of our cheat meals.

“I found twenty dollars in my pocket.” She pats the side of her black and white plaid jacket. “It was sent from last fall as a treat to us.”

“Sent from last fall?” I laugh.

“I haven’t worn this jacket since then.” She shrugs, sending her long brown hair sliding over her shoulder. “I put my hand in the pocket earlier and voilà, there was enough money for our cheat treat, so this spread is on me.”

Both of my hands dart into the shallow pockets of my faded denim jacket. I pull them out with a flourish to reveal a stale stick of gum and a hair elastic.

Gwynn reaches across the table to pluck the elastic from my grasp. “You don’t need this, so I’ll take it.”

Running a hand through my hair, I laugh. “I guess you’re right.”

She eyes my pink hair that I recently had cut into a bob. “Have I told you how much that suits you, Faith?”

I like that she thinks so. “Thanks. I love it.”

“Me too.” She sighs. “Time to finish up. We can’t be late for Professor Stein’s class, or there will be heck to pay.”

She mimics our least favorite professor’s voice as she says the last three words.

“Eat up.” I point at the plate of fries. “Our next cheat treat is on me.”

“Check out that hot piece of male perfection talking to Stingy Stein.” Gwynn wags a finger in the air.

I’m so shocked by what I’m looking at that I don’t say a word.

“The nickname fits, right?” she asks as she steps next to me.

I nod in agreement even though the nickname doesn’t fit. Professor Stein is tough as nails when it comes to grading, but I don’t consider that a bad thing.

Our hardest days are still ahead of us. After we complete pre-med, it’s medical school and then residency. I have a sinking feeling we’re going to face a lot more criticism than compliments on our journeys to becoming full-fledged doctors.