Page 2 of Code Red Chemistry

“To us!” I exclaim, raising my glass. “For surviving residency, acing our boards, and proving that sleep is totally overrated.”

Laughter erupts around our cobbled-together collection of high-top tables at the back of The Flatiron. The neighborhood bar in Soho, a relic from the 1800s and right around the corner from the hospital, is packed tonight. The warm scent of polished mahogany mingles with the sharp tang of whiskey and expensive cologne. All around us, the happy hour crowd buzzes with the energy of kicking off the weekend by searching for a good time.

And I’m here for it. One thousand percent.

I bounce on the balls of my feet, giddy as Libby beams at me when we clink glasses. While she lifts her phone for a selfie, I scope out the bar for any young professional hotties, rocking their Friday casual outfits, who may want to join my celebration tonight.

A finance type, who’d probably list 6-6-6 in hisThe Oneprofile, is rocking a light blue button down with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows with sleek loafers that scream ‘I’ve got deals to close, but first, let’s grab drinks’. He eyes me from the middle of a crowd of bros.

I shoot a flirty ‘yeah, maybe’ tease of a smile in his direction—because, why not?

The heavy wooden door of the bar swings open, letting in a gust of fresh spring air, and a hush falls over the crowd. I turn to see what’s caught everyone’s attention. Or, rather, who? And my champagne flute nearly slips from my fingers.

There, framed in the doorway like a set of firefighter models striking a pose, stand four hotties in turnout gear and navy NYFD shirts. Which would be fantastic, considering I’m in the mood for a good time tonight, except one of the four is a man I haven’t seen in years but know all too well. Or at least I used to. Levi Reyes, my brother’s best friend and the star of more fantasies than I care to admit, is now here in the well-toned flesh.

Damn.

Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to have spotted me.

“What. The. Hell?” The words trip over my lips before I can stop them.

Levi’s dark curls are shorter than I remember, and his jawline sports a dusting of stubble that definitely wasn’t there five years ago. But those warm brown eyes? They’re exactly the same.

I spin around, my heart pounding.

“This isn’t happening,” I mutter, desperately searching for an escape route. But the crowd has us hemmed in, and unless I want to crawl under the table, I’m stuck.

“What?” Libby’s voice, at my side, slices through my panic.

“Not what,” I say, grabbing my clutch and scanning for the restrooms. “Who.”

“Who what?”

She’s confused, but so am I. And right now, I certainly don’t have time to explain how I am not in the mood for a reunion.

A second later, a small gasp escapes her lips. I turn to catch Brock, Libby’s boyfriend, leading the rest of the firefighters through the bar. The crowd has parted for the first responders as if the guys were in their truck screaming down Fifth Avenue with the siren blaring.

Shit.

I can’t move an inch, let alone make a break for it like Julia Roberts inRunaway Bride. OrNotting Hill. Or evenMy Best Friend’s Wedding. And when Brock reaches Libby and lifts her off her feet, pressing a searing kiss to her lips, I wish the ground would swallow me whole. Instead, the bar erupts in applause as if it’s the most romantic thing anyone’s seen in years which, considering this is the city, it may as well be.

Once Libby’s back on solid ground, she turns to me as if her boyfriend may have forgotten meeting me at her place the night months ago when the two of them finally came to their senses. “You remember Zoe, of course, and—”

“Zoe Meyer?”

And there it is.Hefinally spotted me. I’m surprised it took that long considering Levi was most certainly scoping out the place, searching for a girl to hit on the second he walked in the door.

His voice, deeper than I remember and tinged with disbelief, sends a shiver down my spine. I take a deep breath, plaster on my bestI’m a board-certified physician who definitely doesn’t still think about that night five years agosmile, and spin to face him.

“It’s Dr. Zoe Meyer to you, Levi,” I say pointedly, determined not to let his appearance ruin my night.

Zoe

My eyes lock withLevi’s, and suddenly, I’m transported back to my brother’s wedding. I almost feel the pulsing beat of the music on the rooftop dance floor of the Hell’s Kitchen venue that sultry summer night. And the warmth of Levi’s hands on my waist as we danced the night away. The intoxicating mix of open bar and forbidden attraction, which led us to stumble into that empty coat closet, is so heady I can almost taste it now.

I shake my head, banishing the memory. This is not the time nor place to relive the flaming-hot one-night stand with my brother’s best friend.

Especially because a cocky grin is slowly spreading across his face.

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