A Date for Midnight: The Dating Series Read online

  Praise for Heidi McLaughlin & L.P. Dover

  Society X

  There are no words to describe how much I LOVED DARK ROOM. My two favorite authors come together to write an EPIC SEXY story! Parker is off the charts SEXY!! I couldn't get enough of him!

  —Amy, Goodreads

  Two of the most amazing authors come together to write this hot and steamy story.

  —Tamara, Goodreads

  Let loose your inhibitions, because being in the Dark Room will have you googling to see if one is near you.

  —Lexy at All Is Read

  After Dark Room, book one in this series, I was expecting BIG things from this book. Dark Room was a top read from me. I am a huge L.P. Dover fan and an even bigger fan of Heidi McLaughlin... but man these two ladies together are dynamic.

  —Brianna at Renee Entress’s Blog

  You know this book is going to be hot when they give you a warning before you start the reading the book! What I love about this book is it's ability to surprise me. I should know by now to never underestimate Heidi & LP when reading their books.

  —Annie, Goodreads

  What a steamy and hot read!! It started out steamy and sweet and ended with suspense and excitement!! Loved it!!

  —Kim, Goodreads

  Out of all the Society X novels, Play Room is hands down my favorite. I loved Alexandria and Kai together. They were sweet almost from the moment they met. This series was addictive from the start, and although it's over I look forward to what these two authors come up with next.

  —Rebecca, Goodreads

  Heidi McLaughlin & L.P. Dover deliver once again!! Loved the latest in the Society X series! Okay let's break this down shall we?!

  —Amber, Goodreads

  The Dating Series

  A Date forMidnight

  A Date with an Admirer

  A Date for Good Luck

  A Date for the Hunt

  A Date for the Derby

  A Date to Play Fore

  A DATE FOR MIDNIGHT

  THE DATING SERIES #1

  Copyright © 2020

  Heidi McLaughlin & L.P. Dover

  All rights reserved.

  The right of Heidi McLaughlin to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000. This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the publisher. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  COVER DESIGN: MadHat Studios.

  EDITING: Briggs Consulting

  Contents

  1. Brennan

  2. Natalie

  3. Brennan

  4. Natalie

  5. Brennan

  6. Natalie

  7. Brennan

  8. Natalie

  9. Brennan

  More Books from Heidi & L.P.

  Also by Heidi McLaughlin

  Also by L.P. Dover

  About Heidi McLaughlin

  About L.P. Dover

  1

  Brennan

  Standing in front of the large picture window with my carry-on suitcase next to me, I let out the biggest, longest, most exaggerated sigh I can, mostly to get my mother’s attention. The snow is piling up faster than the plow trucks can get rid of it. Of course, my parents live in a townhouse not far from the waterfront, on a side street, which means there isn’t a single plow coming down their street, which means Uber, Lyft or a taxicab won’t be able to pick me up.

  “What’s wrong, Brenny?”

  Brenny. I loathe the nickname my mother still insists on calling me after all these years. What’s a guy have to do to get his mom to call him by his name, Brennan? It’s a fine name, it’s the one she gave me at birth but quickly fell into the habit of shortening and adding the “y” sound. She should’ve named me Benny. Then maybe I wouldn’t be so embarrassed when she calls me Brenny.

  “It’s snowing,” I state the obvious.

  “I told you yesterday the Nor’Easter was coming.”

  “I forgot. How am I supposed to get home?”

  “This is your home,” she screeches from the kitchen like Laverne from that old sitcom, Laverne and Shirley.

  “My other home. You know the one that paid for your condo? The one where I have a life.”

  My mom comes into the living and stands next to me. She’s wearing an apron with some type of batter smeared all over it. She and my dad have big New Year’s Eve plans at their friends and I’m due to catch a flight out of Logan in about three hours, at least I hope I am.

  “You’ll have to stay a few more nights.” She shrugs and walks back to the kitchen. Staying a few more night is easy for her to say, she likes having me home. I, on the other hand, have things to do, like bask in the sun and only get wet when I decide to jump in the pool––definitely not look at cold white shit falling to the ground in rapid succession.

  As if on cue, my agent’s ring tone plays from the pocket of my hoodie. I pull my phone out, verify it is my manager, and slide the bar to answer. “Hey.”

  “Your flight is canceled,” Vance Davis barks into the receiver. “I’m trying to book on the next available flight out, but with the holiday tomorrow and the snowstorm, everything is pushed back the next couple days. You cool chilling in Beantown?”

  “No one but non-locals call it that,” I tell him.

  “Right, you cool though?”

  “I’m supposed to be at Rayna’s party tonight, can you call and cancel for me?”

  “Ooh,” he says, and I picture him rubbing his hands together. “You don’t want to call and cancel yourself?”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose, inhale and exhale slowly, like my meditation specialist taught me. In my business, we need all the help any guru is willing to offer. “No, I don’t. I’m making an appearance on behalf of whatever contract I signed, nothing more.”

  “But it’s Rayna Freaking Reynolds. Only the hottest, most eligible chick on the market.”

  “You go to the party then, Vance. I was only going because I was paid to. I’m snowed in. Can’t get there. Send my condolences.” I hang up because there’s no getting it through his head when it comes to Rayna and I. Sure, she’s beautiful, but beauty only goes so far. If I’m going to date, and that’s a big if, it needs to be a woman who has some intellect, who I can carry on a meaningful conversation with, someone I want to spend time with, and don’t have to be paid to show up at their parties.

  Instead of watching the snow, I take my suitcase back to my room and unpack. Vance said a few days and I hate the idea of living out of my suitcase. After my clothes are back in my dresser, I find myself lying on my childhood bed, bored out of my mind. Again, I pull my phone from the pocket of my hoodie and scroll through my contacts. I told very few people I was home for Christmas, mostly because they make a big deal out of my career and it never fails, they always have “a friend” . . . a friend who wants an autograph, a cousin who is such a big fan, a roommate who wants to hook up, and sometimes I want to be the Brenny of the group and not the famous one who’s guilted into giving a piece of himself away.

  I click on Jordan’s name, the one buddy from high school who I have kept in contact with and send him a text. Hey man, plans tonight? I’m stuck for a few days.

  Almost instantly the three conversation bubbles pop up.
>
  Jordan: Chill party at my friend’s high rise. Everyone is cool. No fan shit. BYOB

  Jordan sends another quick text with the address, which happens to be a half mile from my parents. I could easily walk there, have a few beers and chill. Ring in the new year and walk back home. But do I want to party? Or do I want to hide myself behind a hat and go sit in some bar downtown. It’s pretty bad when I, mister bad ass superstar, doesn’t have plans tonight, but my parents do. My life is lame. There’s no question about it. I tell Jordan I’ll stop by and leave it at that. I shut my phone off and decide to do the most rock star thing ever—take a nap.

  After what was probably the most restless nap ever, I get up and find my parents sitting at the table eating. “Hey, pops.”

  “Mom says you’re here for a couple more days?”

  “Yeah the storm sort of messed my flight up.”

  “Sit down and I’ll make you a plate.” Mom gets up and heads into the kitchen. I do as she says and take the seat I’ve always sat in. By always, I mean opposite of my dad.

  “Storm will clear up tomorrow, flights should be normal the day after,” Dad says in between bites. My mom brings my plate over, chicken and mashed potatoes, with green beans. After living alone for a few years, there’s nothing like a homecooked meal.

  “Thanks, Mom. And yeah, Vance said I should be good to go.”

  “Well you’re more than welcome to come over to the Brumet’s with us, if you’d like.”

  To play cards and charades, no thanks.

  “Thanks, but I’m heading to Jordan’s. His friend has a place not far from here we’re going to go hang at.”

  “Don’t forget to watch the fireworks, they go off shortly after midnight,” Mom adds. As if I’d forget. Of all the places I’ve been on New Year’s, Boston will always be my favorite. Maybe because it’s my hometown, but it feels right to celebrate here.

  I help mom clear the table before I hop in the shower. By the time I’m out, my parents are gone, and the thought crosses my mind to stay home, but I know the closer it gets to midnight, the more I will have wished I was out celebrating. I dress in dark jeans, a blue button-down shirt, put my biker boots on—that’s what mom calls them—and grab my old winter coat from the closet. I need a scarf for good measure and all but wrap it around my head. One look in the mirror reminds me of what I used to look like when I lived here . . . an idiot, dressed for the snow apocalypse. A warm idiot who hopefully no one recognizes.

  My hands are stuffed deep into my jacket pockets as I make my way toward the waterfront. The snow is deep, it’s cold, and my pants are getting wet from where the large snowflakes land on me. There’s hardly any traffic out here and I’m tempted to call my parents and ask them how exactly they got to their friend’s house because no one should be driving in this mess.

  Halfway to Jordan’s, well his friends place, I remember I’m supposed to BYOB. I suppose I could show up empty-handed because I know there will be someone or many someone’s willing to share their liquor with Brennan McLean so they can tweet, Instagram, and post all over Facebook that they’re partying with me. The thought is tempting, but it’s also dangerous. You never know who might slip something into a drink.

  I turn around and head back toward the grocery store I passed earlier. The walk is taking more time than it should, and my calves are screaming from the workout they’re getting. I should probably tell Vance about this new snow workout. It could be the next up and coming fad for everyone to try.

  The parking lot of the store is empty and I’m starting to wonder if it’s even open. The lights are on but maybe whoever was supposed to close the place down forgot to shut everything off. Still, I head to the door. Once I’m under the covered walkway, I shake and wipe off the snow from my coat, wiggling a little when some flakes fall down my scarf. Shit, it’s cold.

  As I walk toward the door, it swings inward. Yes, open! I can’t remember the last time I stepped foot into a grocery store. If I need anything, I have it delivered, or my maid brings my groceries when she comes every week. When I think about not running my own errands, I know it’s frivolous, but it saves on a headache. It’s not always easy walking freely around. If it’s not the paparazzi taking your pictures, it’s the tour busses pointing you out. If one fan screams, they all come running. If one fan tries to act nonchalant while attempting to take a selfie, another notices and then they want one, and the next and the next. I appease them all because it’s in my nature to be a good guy, and I figure if I’m out and about and they ask nicely, why not? Most of my peers aren’t this way and I get it. Like tonight, I want to be the Bostonian who grew up outside of Fenway park, waiting for a foul ball or an elusive out of the park homerun. Still, to this day, I haven’t caught one, but I have thrown out the first pitch there. I don’t want to be the guy the tabloids slam every chance they get or bombard at dinner. If someone is respectful and waiting for me outside, I’m happy to oblige most of their requests.

  Inside, the store is as quiet as the empty parking lot. There’s someone working at the customer service desk and I can faintly hear a machine, possibly cleaning the floors. I keep my head down as I walk the aisles, looking for the beer section. When I finally happen upon it, I’m lost. When did so many beers become available?

  “I really need to get out more. Be more human,” I mutter to myself.

  I stop in front of the IPA’s and look over each brand and each flavor. Every few bottles, I pick one up and read the label, checking for the alcohol content. The last thing I want to do is get blitzed out of my mind and have to stagger home.

  The machine I heard earlier comes down the aisle I’m standing in. It is, in fact, cleaning the floors. I keep myself inside the open door and continue to look at the beers. Each time I think I found one I’ll like, I spot another one, and another one.

  “So many choices.”

  Is this a sign I should drink more? Or should I go with the old standby of some domestic brand. Yeah, that’s probably a good idea, but tonight, I want to branch out. I think I have it narrowed down to three beers. I hold the three bottles awkwardly in my hands, while my knee keeps the cooler door ajar. I play Eeny, Meeny, Miney, Moe in my head while trying to decide which one is going out with me. It shouldn’t be a hard decision, but apparently it is.

  2

  Natalie

  Of all the times for a massive snowstorm to hit Boston, it had to be on my only day off. Not to mention it’s New Year’s Eve. I blow out a breath and watch the steam billow from my lips. Tightening up my heavy winter coat, I start walking down the street.

  I’ve trudged countless miles in the snow, but nothing as crazy as tonight. It’s deep already and it’s still coming down. I have to admit though, it looks like a winter wonderland. Usually, I’d drive to Emerson’s apartment from mine, but there is no way I can get my little Honda out of the parking garage with all this snow. Luckily, Emerson and her husband live only five blocks away, so it isn’t a long haul.

  We were supposed to go bar hopping to bring in the New Year, but with the crazy winter weather, Emerson and Callum decided to have some friends over, which is fine with me. Emerson and I met in nursing school and we’ve been best friends ever since. I was her maid of honor when she married Callum a couple of years ago and now that I’m divorced, he has been trying to set me up constantly. I’m curious to see who he’s lined up for me to meet tonight. So far, none of his previous set-ups have worked out. It’s probably for the best anyway. To be honest, I’m not ready to date again. Learning to trust someone is exhausting.

  The wind whips all around me and I suck in a breath. The air is so cold against my face. I’m glad I didn’t have to dress up and wear my heels, which is why I settled on wearing the pair of skinny jeans with a black sweater I bought myself for Christmas along with a new pair of snow boots. Trying to hike through snow in heels would probably have landed me in the hospital.

  That’s the last place I want to be since it’s where I work. Being an ER
nurse is an adventure and I love it, but I’m glad to get away for a night. After my divorce, I took on extra shifts to keep me busy. I can only blame myself for not having a social life. I can stop the extra shifts any time I want to, but I’ve gotten so used to working them. Since Alec was the one who stepped out on me, I was granted half of everything, but I settled for our penthouse instead. I didn’t want anything of his, but our home was right by the hospital. I’m able to walk to work every day, which I love being able to do.

  Unfortunately, I’m a twenty-eight-year-old divorcee and I have to live with that title. I’m embarrassed to admit it when my patients ask if I’m married. I feel stupid every single time. I met Alec when I first started working at the hospital and he was just out of medical school. The man was smart and funny which is what attracted me to him, but sadly, he wasn’t smart enough to keep his dick in his pants. I caught him and another nurse playing doctor in one of the empty patient rooms. After that, Alec had the sense to transfer to a different hospital. There is no way I could work near him after what he did.

  All of that happened a year ago, but now it’s the beginning of a new year. Thank God for that. I think I’ve been asked about a million times what my resolutions are. The answer’s simple—make better choices. Easier said than done, I know, especially when it comes to chocolate and working too much. I need to make better choices in general, in all aspects of life. However, I think I’m going to hold off on that until after New Year’s Day. It’s the first New Year’s I’ve ever had off work. I want to make the best of it and drink to my heart’s content and eat whatever I want. I even packed a bag of clothes so I could stay over at Emerson’s. The last thing I want to do is walk home in the middle of the night in frigid temperatures.