Mister O(11)

“Own and operate.” He taps the counter. “I do a little bit of everything. Be sure to say hi next time you’re here. And hey, are you on Facebook?”

“I am.”

“Look me up. Friend me. Let’s catch up,” he says.

As we walk away, I stare at her. “You do realize he likes you?”

“What?” she asks, like I’ve just told her monkeys live on Jupiter.

“Yes. He likes you.”

“You’re crazy,” she says, shaking her head.

“You’re a trip, Harper. You have no clue sometimes. It’s f*cking adorable,” I tell her, and then, because we came as friends and we’re leaving as friends, but in case any of these other *s who want her might be watching, I drape an arm around her.

“Seriously, Nick. Why do you say that?”

I tug her closer, and she goes with it, letting me. “Princess Clueless, you’re about to get an education in all the things you’re oblivious to.”





5





We grab two stools at Speakeasy, a kick-ass spot in Midtown. The bartender, Julia, slides us two coasters and takes our order.

Julia’s married to the guy who owns the law firm I use for all my contracts. That’s Clay Nichols. He runs the shop, and is pretty much Manhattan’s most fearless entertainment lawyer. His cousin Tyler joined him recently. Tyler’s a beast, too, and handles the day-to-day for me. He’s absolutely the guy I want having to deal with Gino.

Julia pours me an Imperial Stout and then mixes the drink Harper ordered, which is made with tequila and lemon soda.

“And one Long-Distance Lover for your friend, coming right up,” she says with a wink to us both, as I give her my credit card.

Julia shakes her head, sliding the plastic back to me. “Your money’s no good here, handsome.”

“Please. I insist,” I say, trying again.

She stares me down. “As if you can pull the whole I insist act with me. It’s a rule. No client of Nichols and Nichols shall ever pay for his libation. Now, enjoy your drink with your pretty redheaded friend,” she says, then hands Harper the cocktail.

“Hope you enjoy it. By the way, love your hair,” she says, and it’s funny because Julia’s redhead comment doesn’t bother me—she means it as a compliment, since her hair is the same shade, while Gino meant it in a douchey Neanderthal way. Kind of like how he means everything.

“Thank you,” Harper says, running her hand along her locks. She let her hair down when we left the bowling alley. “Same for you.”

“It’s true what they say. Redheads have more fun. So be sure to have fun,” she says, then presses her hand to Harper’s arm before she heads off to serve a new group of customers.

Harper looks at me, surprise in her eyes. “She’s quite friendly.” She brings the drink to her lips, and takes a long sip. Her eyes widen and she points to the glass as she swallows. “She makes good drinks, too. This is amazing.”

“She’s not an award-winning bartender for nothing. They have the best drinks at Speakeasy. Just don’t tell your brother we’re here,” I joke, since Spencer and Charlotte own three bars in Manhattan.

She pretends to zip her lips. “Our secret is safe with me,” she whispers, and as soon as those words ghost past her lips, I find myself wondering if we’ll ever have other secrets, like about the things we crave, the things that drive us wild, that turn us on in the dark, and if hers would match mine.

“By the way, did I do okay as your shield tonight?”

“You were the best,” I tell her, then I take a long swallow of my drink. Damn, the beers here are spectacular, too.

“What are you going to do the next time, and the next time? The hits come pretty relentlessly from the ladies. It’s like rapid-fire interest.”

“Hey,” I say, stopping her as I place a hand on her knee. “Pot. Kettle.”

She arches an eyebrow. “How so?”

“From Simon to Jason, you certainly seem to have the men lining up for you.”

She shakes her head and shoots me the universal look for what have you been smoking? She follows it with, “What on earth are you talking about?”

I stare at her. “Seriously?”

“Seriously, what?”

I hold up a hand like a stop sign. “You are aware that Jason has a thing for you? Like I told you at the bowling alley. And Simon the Hemsworth-look-alike dad does, too.”

She narrows her eyes. “I don’t think so.”

I nod emphatically. “I know so.”

She shakes her head, just as certainly. “Nope.”

“Oh yes, Princess Denial. Jason likes you. It was obvious.”

“No, this is obvious,” Harper says, holding up her left hand, bending her thumb in half, then pretending to magically remove the tip of her thumb, only so badly it’s clear how she does it.

“Wait. So you didn’t really pull off your thumb?”

She holds up all ten fingers. “No! Astonishing feat, isn’t it? I still have them all.”

“And it’s equally astonishing that you don’t realize Jason ‘let me friend you on Facebook’ ex-classmate likes you.”