Mister O (15 page)

* * *

A
fter I return
to my home, I text her.

I
’m sorry
. I acted like a dick

I
shower
, slide under the sheets, and grab my phone. There’s no reply, and all I can think is I screwed up badly.

I
wake
up far too early for my taste. As I grab my phone from the nightstand, a twinge of hope rises in my chest. It’s then dashed by the absence of a reply.

Shit.

I pull on shorts and a pullover, lace up my sneakers, and jam in my earbuds. I run hard in Central Park, my phone in my hand the whole time as the sun rises, waking up Manhattan.

Still nothing.

I hit the gym for a quick round of weights, then return to my apartment and down a glass of water. I’m wiping the sweat from my brow when my phone dings. I take a deep breath. I really hope she’s not pissed anymore.

I unlock the screen, see her name, and click open her text.

I laugh at the way she needles me with her flurry of emoticons.

I try to respond in kind, tapping out a
hi
and adding a smiley face. But. I. Can’t. Do. It. And evidently, I don’t have to. Another text arrives seconds later.

I laugh as I lean against the fridge and write back.

T
hat’s a good question
.

Does that make you a dick ambassador? Spreading the word about the unfair use of the male appendage as a put-down?

And she’s come roaring back with her sharp-tongued, dirty wit. My texting Harper. My naughty magician. I tap out a reply, suggesting a new insult.

H
ow about ass
?
Wait. Scratch that. Ass suffers from the same undeserved fate. It should never be an insult. Also, I like your ass. Though love might be a more appropriate verb to express the depths of my admiration for that particular body part of yours.

I
hit
send then quickly add another note.

A
lso
, would you please let me apologize for last night? I was such a . . . jerk.

We are. So much.

Same here. Also, Harper?

Sometimes you ask me if something we do is okay, and I want you to know you’ve never done a thing in bed that hasn’t turned me on . . . your mouth, your face, your hair, your body, the way you touch me, the way you respond . . . it’s all one massive turn-on.

H
er reply arrives seconds later
.

And I grin like a fool.

I
’m taking
you out tonight. What do you want to do? Dinner? Movie? Trapeze lesson? Art show? Museum? Horse-drawn carriage
?

She texts me a time and tells me she’ll send more details later. As I get ready for work I send her a text. Something I’ve always wanted to say to her.

B
y the way
, I can still taste you
. . .

W
ithin a minute
, a response lands on my phone. I groan as lust thrums through me. This picture couldn’t be more perfect—a shot of her legs, with her fingers on the waistband of a pair of light blue panties that dangle on her ankles. I don’t know if the lacy garment is going on, or going off, but I know this much—I’m going to need a few more minutes alone with this photo before I leave for work, and in my mind the clothes are definitely coming off.

Ten minutes later, I catch the subway to Comedy Nation, feeling pretty damn good that not only do I have a date, not only are we going to engage in proper protocol, but she also felt butterflies
.

I might not be as skilled at deciphering Harper’s cues outside of the bedroom, but I know one thing for sure—butterflies are better than dicks.

And I mean dick as a compliment.

* * *

T
hat easy breezy
feeling carries me through the day. After a long session with the show’s writers, then a meeting with marketing, Serena pulls me aside in the conference room. “I almost forgot to tell you.”

Even her standard preface to a Gino request can’t get me down. “There’s a cocktail party at the end of the week. Friday night,” she says, then gives me the details. Friday is just a few days before the contract talks Gino has scheduled with Tyler.

“I’ll be there. Any rules?”

“Just be your usual charming self. But not too charming. You know how it goes.”

“Can I bring a date?”

Her eyes widen. “Ooh, tell me more. Who’s the lucky lady?”

I shake my head. “It’s not serious. But she’s the one who came with me to bowling a few weeks ago.”

“Ooh.
The one
,” she teases, with a big wink.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Sure you didn’t,” she says, shooting me a knowing look.

“It’s only temporary.”

She rubs her hand over her basketball belly. “That’s what I once claimed about Jared,” she says, mentioning her husband. “Now look how permanent we are.”

“Powerhouse couple, and you’re ready to pop,” I say, since her husband works in the TV business, too, at a broadcast network.

“So you never know about these temporary flings.”

But I can’t let myself entertain those thoughts. If I do, then butterflies will get in my head and mess with it. Before I know it, Mister Orgasm will have turned into a love-struck fool by the end of the TV season.

A little after six, just as I’m stepping into the elevator, the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

“Hold the elevator,” Gino shouts from down the hall.

I swear the dude has a homing device installed to track me down, which is all kinds of creepy. He flashes a massive grin when he joins me, clapping me on the back.

“Nick Hammer. Just the man I was thinking of.”

Words I never want to hear coming out of his mouth.

“That so?”

He nods vigorously and rubs his hands together as the elevator begins its downward trek. “I’ve been giving a lot of thought to our chat last week about the show. And I think I’ve got just the recipe to tone it down a notch.”

Tension coils in me. “Okay.” I wait for him to say more.

He rocks back on his heels. “But you know what? I’ll just wait until I see Tyler Nichols next Monday, and I’ll give him the down and dirty. Make it a surprise for him, and for you, too.” He raises his eyebrows in an evil glint. “I do love surprises, don’t you?”

“Like when a woman wears a red teddy under a trench coat? That kind of surprise?” I deadpan.

He clasps a hand to his belly and laughs as the car slows at his floor. “And that’s what we pay you the big bucks for.” He steps out, wraps his hand over the door, and pokes his head in. “Isn’t that right?”

“Yeah. For red teddy jokes,” I mutter as he walks off.

As soon as I reach the lobby, I dial Tyler and give him the down low. “What surprise is he talking about?”

“I’m meeting him a week from today,” my lawyer says in a reassuring tone. “I have no doubt he’s just posturing as we head to negotiations. This is his style. He’s like a cat who likes to play with his food before he eats it.”

I cringe. “Did you just compare me to cat food?”

Tyler laughs. “That came out wrong. But listen, man, we’ve got your back. Just go to the cocktail party in a few days, keep smiling, and we’ll take care of the show when I see him in a week.”

Easier said than done.

Because the show takes care of me. The show has given me this life in New York, the home that I own, even the shirt I’m wearing. It’s given me everything, and I don’t want to fuck it up.

It’s who I am. It’s a part of me.

But when Harper sends me the location for our date, the last thing on my mind is the show. It’s why the fuck are we meeting a block away from Spencer and Charlotte’s home?

H
arper waits
for me on the corner of Christopher Street and Seventh Avenue South, wearing black heels, a light-pink jacket cinched tightly at the waist, a gray skirt, and black stockings. Immediately, I decide they have bows where the garters attach. Because of course she’s wearing garters. Of course I’m going to be aroused the entire night. And of course I don’t want to go to Spencer’s apartment on our date.

I march up to her and park a hand on her shoulder. “Remember that time I said I liked everything? I’m going to amend that. The one kink I don’t like is messing around at your brother’s place.”

She scoffs. “Relax. I just have to feed Fido. Spencer’s house is right near where I’ve planned our date, so I figured we could do it on the way.”

She spins around and starts walking to his house. I join her, covering the familiar block to my best friend’s abode with growing unease as we pass the hip coffee shop, the shoe store, and the neighboring brick brownstone.

At his front door, that latent kernel of guilt shoves its way to the front of the line. As we enter the elevator, it lodges in my chest. “Harper, I feel like shit going into your brother’s home like this.”

“Like what?”

“You know. Since we’re doing this
thing
.” I gesture from her to me.

“He’s gone for the week on his honeymoon, and we’re not doing anything wrong.”

“I know, but you’re his sister. And I’m his friend. And I’m crossing lines.”

She cocks her head to the side. “Do you want to stop?” she asks, worry in her voice.

“No more than I want to pound a five-inch nail into my head.”

She winces as the elevator slows at his floor and the doors open. “Ouch. That hurts just thinking about it. But I’m curious—would a four-inch nail make a difference?”

I shake my head. “Nope.”

“Then why are we discussing it?”

She makes a good point. A great point, actually. Besides, this is a temporary arrangement. One week only. Still, as we walk down the hall I picture myself as a man heading into a courtroom, ready to be judged. “Because you know how he is. He’s protective of you.”

She nods and shoots me a small smile as she reaches his door and grabs the key from her purse. “I do know, and I love him. But he’s not the boss of my body. I’m in charge of who gets to touch me. Not him. Not anyone. Besides, you and I agreed this was just between us way back at Speakeasy,” she says, reminding me of the nature of this relationship—to help her learn the ins and outs of sex and dating, and to never tell a soul.

“But more than that,” she adds, running her hand down her chest to the top button of her jacket and undoing it to reveal a sliver of creamy skin. “I’m a grown woman, and I feel completely confident that I can make my own decisions about who I want to wear black stockings and a new lacy lingerie set for.”

Just like that, I’m hypnotized. I’m under her spell, a cartoon character with glassy eyes, following the piece of steak he finds at the end of a string. No way can I resist her with that image planted in my head. I’ll follow her and her lingerie and her kick-ass attitude wherever she goes. She’s so fucking strong in her beliefs, in who she is, and it’s a huge part of the allure.

She unlocks the door to Spencer’s home, and we step inside. Fido scampers over to her.

“What kind of lingerie?”

“It’s a surprise for you for later. But suffice to say, it’s all part of my
thorough preparation
for your coursework, as you requested . . . Professor Hammer,” she says, lingering on my new nickname in a thoroughly seductive tone as she bends to pick up the cat.

Her skirt rides up, giving me the sweetest, naughtiest peek of the top of her stockings, right where they meet her garters. Hello, hard-on.

“You darling boy,” she coos to the cat as she stands. “Did you miss me?”

Fido meows at Harper in greeting, and offers her his chin for petting. “Aww. You little honey bear. I told you I’d be here to feed you your special tiger diet. I would never forget you.”

He rubs his furry cheek against her breast, and I whimper. The lucky bastard. Then he has the audacity to stretch out his paw and rest it on the exposed flesh of her chest.

“I think Fido is trying to feel you up.”

Harper laughs and scratches his chin. He snuggles even closer to her. Man, this cat has it bad.

“Come pet him. He’s sweet,” she says.

I move closer and rub his ears. As I stroke him, Harper absently touches my hair. The cat stops purring. He stares at us, at her hand on me, as if he’s cataloguing every move we make. Maybe I’m hallucinating, but I swear he narrows his beady eyes.

Harper puts him down, fills his food bowl, and sets it on the floor. As he eats, she changes the litter, and then washes her hands. After she dries them, she runs a hand down the cat’s back. He arches into her as he chows down on the rest of his dinner.

“See? Fido won’t tell our secret. He has a little crush on me, and all he wants is for me to come back tomorrow.”

We head to the door, but when I glance back at him, he’s no longer eating. He trots to Harper, meowing loudly and rubbing his side against her.

“I’ll come back soon, handsome,” she tells him as he turns around and rubs his other side on her calf, his tail swishing high in the air.

My eyes pop out. That cat is marking her with his scent. “Back off,” I say to him. “She’s mine.”

Harper laughs. “You two having a swordfight?”

“Yeah, and I’m going to win.”

We leave, and once we’re in the elevator and safely away from the pervy cat, I press a kiss to her chest where his paw was.

“Are you actually jealous of a cat?” she asks.

Jealous of Simon. Jealous of a feline. Evidently, I’m the territorial one when it comes to this woman, and my possessiveness knows no bounds. “I would be if I wasn’t completely confident that I’ll be stripping you down to your bows and garters, and having my paws all over you tonight,” I say, low and husky.

A feathery gasp escapes her throat. “I like your paws.”

When we reach the street, I crane my neck to check out the sixth floor. Who’s there but Fido, in the window, staring at us.

Probably preparing a report for his master. I swear, I’ll quit when Spencer returns in a week. I will, I really will.