Mister O (18 page)

I
’m beating her
, and that drives Harper batty.

“I can pull ahead. I know I can,” she says, as she joins me at the scoring bench, after only knocking over five pins in her frame.

We’re at a bowling alley just above 101st Street, not far from her house. It’s our rematch, and we decided it was best not to frequent Neon Lanes and risk running into Jason.

I blow on my fingers. “I’m on fire tonight, princess. It’s going to be pretty hard to beat me.” But before I can stand up to take my turn, Harper plops her adorable little ass on my lap.

She laces her arms around my neck. I shake my head. “Don’t think you can knock me off my game by being so damn cute.”

“Cute? I’m cute?”

“Hot,” I whisper in her ear. “Hot, sexy, gorgeous, good enough to eat. Come to think of it, I kind of want to eat you up now.”

She laughs, swatting my shoulder. “You want to do that a lot, Nick,” she says.

“I know. I do. And I also know you’re trying to make me lose by talking about this stuff. Let me play, woman.”

She slinks onto the green vinyl seat next to mine, and I proceed to knock nine pins down, putting even more distance between Harper and me on the scorecard.

She shoots me a steely glare as I return to her. As she rises, I grab her arm and pull her back to me. “You tried to distract me. My turn to distract you.”

“Ha. Just you wait ’til softball season returns. I’ll really distract you then.”

I smirk. “Too bad we’re on the same team.”

She sneers at me and snaps her fingers. “Damn it.” Then she beams. “That’s okay. I do kinda like watching you hit the homeruns.” I straighten my shoulders because I am good at knocking in all the runners. Then reality smacks me hard. Next summer, I’ll be playing on the same team with her when these lessons are over, and she’s moved on. Maybe some other dude will watch her play, meet up with her after the games, take her out.

A wave of rabid jealousy rolls through me. I try to swallow it down, but I’m keenly aware that even if we haven’t set an official expiration date on our project, there is one. Sure, we might like each other enough to bowl, to go out to dinner, and to share ice cream, but neither one of us expects to cheer the other on in softball next summer as secret lovers.

That’s what we are now.

But when this ends, we go back to being Spencer’s best friend and Spencer’s sister.

I drag my hand through my hair as something like guilt mixed with shame takes up residence in me. Spencer’s on his honeymoon, and I’m fucking his little sister behind his back.

I try to imagine his reaction if he walked in on this scene right now. We’re snuggled up in a bowling alley, and he’d have every reason to be pissed. I’m not being honest with him, and the guy has been my best friend since the start of high school. I helped him brainstorm plans for the app he launched that made him millions, I went to opening night at the first Lucky Spot he started, and I stood by him when he promised to love Charlotte for the rest of his life.

What if he discovered this tryst and was so pissed that I lost him as a friend?

I fight like hell to push the unpleasant image from my brain.

But wait.

What if that didn’t happen?

For the first time, I let the scene play out with a new opening act, with me saying something to him. What if I told him I liked his sister? What if he knew these crazy feelings inside me were real? Would he freak out if he knew I cared about her? Or not?

But, hell, I’m getting ahead of myself.

Harper isn’t interested in re-upping after these next few nights. My chest tightens as the clock ticks in my head. It’s Thursday, and we only have a few more days.

Better just enjoy the hell out of this time. No need to dwell on
what ifs
.

Harper runs a finger against my temple. “How well do you see without your glasses?” she asks, cocking her head to the side.

I laugh at her out-of-left field question. “I see okay without them, but worlds better with them.”

“Did you ever want to try contacts?” She gently touches the frame. They’re not special—just simple black glasses.

“I tried them. I don’t really like putting something in my eyes.”

“What about LASIK?”

I shake my head. “I like my eyes. What if I was the one percent it didn’t work for and my vision was messed up?”

“That hardly happens.”

“Hardly is not never.”

“True.”

“Do you not like my glasses?” I ask curiously, as the woman in the lane next to us nails a strike.

Harper’s eyes widen. “I love them. I think they’re panty-meltingly hot.”

I groan from the mere mention of her panties. “Do they melt yours?”

She lowers her voice. “You know the answer to that. It’s yes.”

“Good answer,” I say, then brush a finger along the edge of her eye. “What about you though? You had those glasses in your purse at the bookstore, but I’ve never seen you wear them before. Were they prop glasses?”

She shakes her head as the nearby machine scoops up the fallen pins. “They’re real. But I wear contacts all the time. I have
horrible
vision without my contacts, so I bring the glasses along just in case I ever need them. I also carry a fake pair that I’m going to use for a new magic trick.”

I tilt my head to the side, curious to hear what she’s working on. “What kind of trick?”

She leans in closer and speaks softly in my ear. “The kind where I’m a sexy librarian.”

And suddenly I have no interest in finishing this game anymore.

* * *

S
he shelves
a book in her tiny studio. With her red hair twisted in a clip, she stretches her arm, standing on tiptoe in her heels, sliding a book back in place.

I catch a glimpse of her stockings. They’re white, and she’s slipped on a tight, white button-down, too, as well as a hip-hugging black pencil skirt.

“Oh my, I can’t seem to reach the highest shelf,” she says.

“Need some help?” I offer.

She turns around, roams her bespectacled gaze over me, and quirks up the corner of her lips. “Why, yes please. I would love it so much if you could grab that book,” she says, pointing to the coffee table. She bends over, giving me the most fantastic glimpse of cleavage I’ve ever seen in my life. Her shirt is only half-buttoned, so I have a perfect view of the fuchsia lace bra that hugs those beauties.

I grab the book, never once taking my eyes off the creamy flesh and the swell of her tits.

“Now,” she says, gesturing to the highest shelf. “I might need to stand on something.”

I grab a wooden chair from her breakfast table, slide it over, and pat it. She runs her finger over my beard. “Such a helpful library patron. The helpful ones are my favorite.”

I swing my eyes to her ass. “What I think would help you most is if you hike up that skirt.”

“Would you be so kind as to do that for me?” she asks, batting her eyelashes.

So naughty. So playful.
So damn sexy
.

I tug her skirt to her hips then hold out a hand, watching as she stands on the chair, her legs and ass on display. She’s wearing a fucking thong.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, and I can’t help myself. I’m nearly at face level with this gorgeous ass, so I bend and bite her cheek as she shelves the book. I groan and squeeze her flesh, my voice low and dirty, “The things I want to do to this ass. The things I want to do to your whole fucking body.”

She trembles against my touch, gasping and breaking character—but hell, I’ve already broken it. She blinks at me, her eyes saying
holy shit
.

Then, she returns to the role, turning around, wagging a finger at me. “No touching permitted in the public shelves. That’s only allowed in the quiet corner of the library, and only if you show the librarian”—she trails off as she bends down, cups a hand around my ear, and whispers hotly—“your long, thick cock.”

This woman.

Wildfire twists in my veins, torching me. I’m up in flames, hard as steel, and aching to have her. In seconds, I strip to nothing, loving the way her eyes slide over my naked body, my chest, my arms, my abs, my dick. I drag a fist down my length, swipe my thumb across the head and the drop of my arousal there, and then press that thumb between her red lips. She sucks off a taste of me and moans headily around my finger.

I grab her hips, lift her off the chair, and set her on the floor. Then I park myself on the seat and nod at the condom on the coffee table. “This is the quiet corner of the library until you start making those wild, sexy sounds.”

She grabs the packet and returns to me, opening it. As she takes it out, I yank down her panties, and lust seizes me as I catch my first glimpse of her pussy. So slick, and silky, and shimmering with evidence of her desire. She runs her hand over my dick, a purr of approval escaping her lips as she feels how hard I am for her.

“Nick, you need to show me how to put it on you,” she says in a voice that’s quiet, but full of heat.

Not gonna lie. I love that she’s no expert in this. I take the condom from her, making sure it’s going on the right way. “Pinch the tip,” I tell her, and she nods and does as told.

“Now roll it down,” I say, and with a small grin, she does the job.

I point to my hard-on and give her an order. “Now get the fuck on my dick.” She shivers and then straddles me and sinks down in one smooth motion.

“Jesus Christ, Harper.” A shudder wracks my body as she rises up on me, then strokes back. “You turn me on so much,” I mutter, in the understatement of the century.

“Just like you do to me,” she says on a gasp as she rides my shaft, her hands curling tightly over my shoulders. She’s fully dressed except for her panties, and I’m completely naked, and I love the power exchange.

“So fucking hot. My sexy librarian is so fucking hot,” I say.

“Why is this your fantasy?”

I can’t think straight. Can’t answer with any intelligence. But I don’t need to when the answer is elementary. “Don’t know. It just is.”

I drop my hands to her bare ass, squeezing and drawing out a series of quick little gasps. “Why do you like it when I touch your ass?”

“I don’t know,” she answers with a broken breath. “I just do.”

Just like. Just is. Just do.
That’s what we are. We are electric, and it’s just that way. I bring my hands to her face and cup her cheeks. “Let down your hair for me.”

She reaches up and unclips those red strands. They spill down her back in a soft tangle, and I thread a hand through them, my other hand gripping her hip as she moves on me. When I sense her getting closer, I grasp her harder, guiding her up and down, controlling her moves, watching her face contort in exquisite pleasure.

Her back arches, bowing into me, and then she cries out, a wild, long, intense moan that goes on forever. Grabbing her hair hard and twisting it in my fist, I fuck her through her climax, burying myself in her until my whole body quakes as I come undone, too.

Her arms grip me, her lips kiss my face, her hands hold me tight, and I don’t want this to stop, I don’t want it to end. I want Harper to want me this same wild and crazy way, like she can’t get enough of me. Because, hell, it’s become that way for me.

It just has.

G
ino holds
a glass of champagne high and beams. “To the creator of the most popular show on late-night TV.”

A sea of shiny, sparkly network executives, agents, advertisers, and other glitterati in the business of showbiz clap and join in the
hear, hears.

I give a quick wave to the crowd. Gino grabs my arm and holds it up, like he’s a coach and I’m his prize fighter in the ring. “This man is going places,” Gino adds. “His show is going to be the biggest hit on all of TV soon. Just you wait.”

More cheers come from the crowd at this posh, upscale establishment on the Upper West Side.

“Just keep the viewers coming,” I say with a smile, since Gino eats up those jokes like candy.

He fake punches me and then downs his champagne. He pulls me away from the crowd to the edge of the oak-paneled bar.

“Now listen, Hammer. I’m seeing Tyler on Monday. It’ll all come together then. Good news is headed your way,” he says, with a glint to his eyes.

“Whenever it happens is all good,” I say, and cast my eyes to Harper waiting for me on a red velvet lounge at the edge of the joint, her drink on a low, dark wood table. She flashes a small smile in my direction, a little curve of her lips that’s both sweet and sexy, and it feels entirely like a private grin just for me. I’m trying to savor these moments with her, knowing they’ll run out of steam in about forty-eight hours.

Fuck.

I want to slow down time. I want to stretch the next two days and three nights into a year.

Gino follows my eyes. “
Oh
.” He says it in a salacious tone, as he licks his lips. “You’ve got your
friend
with you again.”

I just nod. There’s nothing I need to say to Gino about Harper.

He shakes his head in appreciation. “She is a sight for sore eyes.” He lowers his voice and nudges me. “Is it true what they say about redheads?”

Oh no, he didn’t. I jerk my head toward him. “What the . . .?”

He sighs longingly. “What I wouldn’t give for a piece—”

My jaw clenches, and I meet his gaze straight on. “With all due respect, you really need to stop saying that shit every time I’m with her.”

He raises his eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

I don’t care if this pisses him off. I don’t care if he won’t re-up my show when Tyler sees him on Monday. I’m tired of his games, his dude-with-an-earring-and-a-Corvette insecurities, and his demeaning attitude. “It’s rude. Have a little respect for women.”

He adjusts his shoulders and mutters, “I meant no disrespect.”

“Good,” I say, though I don’t believe him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

I walk away, join Harper, and drape an arm over her shoulder. Not that Gino would have a chance with her even in the zombie apocalypse if he were one of the last men standing. But she’s with me tonight, and she’ll never be with him, and let him chew on that pill of bitterness as I get to touch her.

“Hey, handsome,” Harper says softly, and her greeting surprises the hell out of me. She’s not a
hey, handsome
kind of girl, but I enjoy the new term of endearment, especially since it’s like a direct shot of that crazy, fluttering feeling in my chest. “You looked kind of insanely hot out there.”

“You think so?” I ask, eating up her compliments, ready and willing for her to pile on more.

She nods, and her eyes draw up my body, lingering on my chest and arms. She runs her hand over my biceps, and all the time I’ve ever spent lifting weights pays off in the way she touches me. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you, and your hair, and your scruff, and your arms. I was admiring the whole package,” she says, letting that last word roll off her tongue, and it’s like she casts a spell on my dick. She did the hard-on trick once again.

“You can admire my package with your tongue later, Princess Sex-In-Your-Eyes,” I whisper as I lean in close, loving her filthy innuendos.

She feigns surprise, covering her mouth with her fingers. “Oh, my. Was it that obvious I was objectifying you?”

“No, what’ll be obvious is how much I like your objectification when I stand up in a few minutes to get you out of here.” I wave a hand in the air. “We need to get rid of this tent in my pants. Talk about pencils in your nose.” I smack my forehead. “Shit, that turns me on, too, now that I’ve seen you do it naked.” Another smack. “
Naked
. I said naked. This isn’t helping the have-you-got-a-banana-in-your-pocket situation that you caused, Harper.”

She holds up her finger excitedly. “I know!
Mashed bananas
.”

“Ouch. You’re the erection devil. Thank you for that awful image.”

“Happy to help,” she says, as my ridiculously pregnant publicist waddles over to us, her hand pressed to her lower back for support.

I rise and help Serena sit, even as she waves me off.

“Isn’t it time you actually took your maternity leave?” I ask.

“Oomph,” she says, parking herself on the velvet lounge.

“When are you due?” Harper asks, concern etched in her eyes as Serena huffs and holds up a hand. She winces, grits her teeth, and seems to be counting.

“A year ago, it feels like,” she says, her lips forming an
O
as she takes a deep breath.

“Can I get you a water? Do you need anything?” Harper asks.

“Just for these contractions to stop.”

My eyes widen.
Contractions.
That’s just one of those words that means business. “Serena, are you serious?”

She laughs. “I wish! I’ve been having Braxton Hicks for five days now.”

I scratch my head. “Courtesy to speak English please?”

She pushes her curly black hair away from her face and gives me a side-eye glance. “You don’t know what that is?”

“Serena, I’m a twenty-nine-year-old single guy in the city. I have no clue. Why don’t you enlighten me?”

False contractions,
Harper mouths.

“They’re evil,” Serena says with a hiss. “They’re basically trick contractions. They make you think you’re going to finally exorcise the demon from your belly, but they’re just a constant false alarm.”

Another one must come, because she winces and grabs the table.

“Serena,” Harper says gently. “I think we need to get you out of here.”

“Nah, I’m fine.”

“You’re a workaholic,” I say gently. “It’s not going to be good for the baby. Let’s get you home.”

“From one workaholic to another, I’m going to be fine. It’s good for me to be here. Gives me something to do other than count the seconds.” She breathes out hard. “But you know what? I think I need to pee again.”

Serena pushes up from the lounge, holding on to the table.

“I do, too.” Harper stands and accompanies the about-to-burst publicist to the ladies’ room. I check my watch. Seems I’ve served my time at Gino’s fête. I send Harper a text that I’ll be waiting outside for her, and I make my great escape to the cool autumn air of Amsterdam Avenue.

I check my phone. No reply. I scroll through messages and send a quick note to Tyler, letting him know about tonight’s less-than-Kodak moment with Gino. I glance at the door. Still no Harper. I click on Facebook and absently scan my wall. Thirty seconds later, Harper’s voice lands in my ears. “They’re so fast. Look! It’s already here.”

Harper’s arm is wrapped tightly around Serena, and she motions wildly for me to follow them. Harper escorts Serena to a black SUV idling at the curb.

I run the few feet to catch up. “What’s going on?”

“Her water broke,” Harper says, her tone even and calm. “I ordered an Uber. It’s here already.”

“That’s fast,” I say, dazed, and I’m not sure if I’m talking about the car service, Harper’s Uber-ordering skills, or Serena’s labor.

I open the door to the car. Harper follows Serena, sitting in the middle and holding her hand. I join them. I’ve never dealt with women in labor, and maybe it’s easy for anyone who has, but I’m really glad Harper is here shepherding this situation, because I haven’t a clue what to do.

“Mount Sinai Roosevelt,” Harper says to the driver, even though he already has the info from the app. “And step on it.” She squeezes Serena’s hand and says, “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

Serena laughs lightly then shoves her phone at me. “Call Jared. Tell him to meet me at the hospital, stat.”

That I can do. I dial her husband’s number, and he answers immediately. “Hey, sweetie. Everything okay? I’m almost done with this contract.”

“Hey, Jared. It’s Nick Hammer,” I say and dive right into the details. “Serena went into labor at the party. She’s on her way to the hospital, and I’m taking her there with my friend Harper.”

I hear the squeak of a chair and papers being shoved aside. “Thank you, man. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

I hang up and turn to the two women in the car, in awe of how calm both of them are while my mind is topsy-turvy. Kids are Greek to me. I wouldn’t know the first thing about holding a baby, let alone playing the role of the helpful friend as labor sets in. But Harper slides into that position seamlessly, clasping Serena’s hand and guiding her through her breathing. A few blocks later, as the car swings into the right lane, Serena snaps her gaze to me. “I’m not naming the baby Uber if he’s born in the car.”

I flash her a grin. “Is Taxi an option?”

Serena smiles, and soon we pull up to the front doors of the hospital entrance on Tenth Avenue, help her out of the car, and take her into the emergency room. Her husband rushes in to greet her. He arrived fast. Jared is tall and sturdy, with thick black hair and glasses, too. I’ve met him a few times, since he’s in the business. “Thank you so much,” he says, his eyes wide and eager, a touch of nerves in them, too, understandably
.

“She’s the one to thank,” I say, pointing at the woman by my side. “Harper got her here.”

Harper waves off the compliment. “Good luck with the baby. I’m so excited for the two of you.”

We walk away, and I’m honestly a little stunned by that change in tonight’s lineup. I scratch my jaw, trying to come up with something pithy to say, but words fail me.

Not Harper, though. “Isn’t it amazing that in a little while, maybe a few hours, maybe more, their lives are going to change massively, and they’ll have a baby in their arms?” she says, with a glossy look in her eyes.

Oh no. Is she one of those girls?

“I love kids,” she adds sweetly, and yup, there’s the answer.

“Do you have baby fever?” The question comes out cautiously.

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah. I want to be a twenty-six-year-old single mom in New York City.”

“But seriously. Do you want to have kids?”

“Um. Not tonight, Nick.”

“But someday?”

She holds her arm out far in front of her, pointing. “Someday. In the future. When the time is right. Yes. I do. I like kids. What about you?”

I shrug my shoulders. “I have no idea. I’ve literally never thought about it.”

She stops walking, parks her hands on her hips, and shoots me a sharp stare. “Bullshit.”

“What?”

“I don’t believe you’ve
literally
never thought about it.
Never
is a big word. And
literally
is, too. You mean the idea of kids has never once crashed into your mind?” she asks, tapping my head.

“No. It hasn’t. I’ve been pretty focused on work, and my job, and the show. That’s what my life has been since I graduated college, and I love it. I don’t sit around and ponder kids.”

She nods and takes a deep breath. “Right. Of course.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

She shakes her head and flashes a smile. “No, it’s not bad. Your work is your passion. I get it. That makes sense. I feel the same. But my work involves kids, so I guess it’s natural that I’d think about it more. Doesn’t mean I want to get knocked up anytime soon, though.” She holds up a finger for emphasis. “However, I will most definitely want to snuggle that baby when Serena comes home with it.”

Snuggling babies
. Such a foreign notion to me. But this whole past hour has occurred on another planet—Babylandia—and it’s not one I’m terribly keen to visit again soon. Even so, I’m still in awe of how swiftly she handled the situation. “How did you know what to do? With her?”

She laughs. “It’s not that hard.”

“Oh yes, it is,” I say, nodding vigorously as we wander uptown. “I didn’t even know what Braxton Hicks were. I can’t imagine what happened when her water broke in the ladies’ room. Please don’t tell me what that was like.” I hold up a hand like a stop sign. “I’m just glad you were there.”

“Me, too. For her sake. And to answer your question, my friend Abby took a CPR and first-aid class when she started nannying a few years ago, and she asked me to go with her. I figured it couldn’t hurt, since I never know in my job if someone will ever get hurt or sick. And that’s one of the things they touched on. What to do if someone goes into labor.”

“And you had the car right away, too,” I add.

She gives a one-shouldered shrug and a smile. “As for my amazing Uber-ordering skills,” she says, and wiggles her fingers, “all I can say is I’ve got some magic hands. They’re quite fast.”

I kiss her palm. Then each knuckle. “I’m quite fond of these hands,” I say, and for the first time I’m not playing with double meanings. Especially when I slide my fingers through hers. “I like holding your hand.”

“I love it, too.” Then her eyes light up with an
I’ve got an idea
twinkle. “Hey! Want to go get a gift for Uber?”

I frown in confusion.

She nudges my side. “The baby, silly. We can stop at An Open Book. It’s on the way to your house.”

“Let’s do it.”

A little while later, we walk through the front door of the bookstore, and I do a double take.

Holy fuck.

I blink.

Blink again.

Long black hair. Haunting silver-gray eyes. Carved cheekbones. Ten, maybe fifteen years on me. She’s as gorgeous as the day I met her. I’m not seeing things. There, in the romance section, running her fire-engine-red nails along the spines, is J. Cameron.