Mister O(19)

“Corgi Mastiff pair-up. Who was on top?”

“Mastiff,” I answer immediately, as we return to our other dog game. Because who’s on top is the point of Dog Mash-ups.

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, imagine how the Corgi felt. Greyhound Basset?”

“Greyhound. And now their puppies try to run with those short little legs and their toes turned out,” he says, as we leave the park and make our way uptown to where Little Friends shares space with a doggy day-care.

“Hey, you know the chick who runs the little dog center?” he asks, shifting gears.

“Penny, you mean?”

He nods. “She asked if I would help fix up a section of the rescue.”

Before I can respond, I spot a woman across the street with a long mane of red hair blowing in the breeze, walking into my building. Her hair is like the color of that leaf—red with a golden tint.

“Whoa,” Wyatt says, stopping in his tracks at the crosswalk and leaving the Penny conversation in the dust. His teacup buddy pulls up short. “Who’s the sexy little snake charmer heading into your building?”

I smack him on the back of his head. “Seriously. That’s not cool, man.”

“Ouch,” he says, rubbing his skull as a bus rumbles by.

I shoot him a steely glare. “That did not hurt. Don’t even pretend.”

He matches my evil eye. “It was a legit question. Since when am I not allowed to—?”

He cuts himself off, and his lips form an oval. “Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh.” He repeats the sound as if it’s the refrain to a rap song. He punches me in the arm. “You have a thing for Little Red Riding Hood.”

Shit. This is my brother. My unfiltered, does-not-know-the-meaning-of-TMI, fraternal twin brother. I push my glasses up higher on my nose, and glance at the crosswalk sign. The little man is now green.

“You like her,” he continues as we cross Central Park West.

“No.” I shake my head, keeping all lingering images of the kiss that didn’t count at bay. “She’s a friend, so it’s rude to talk that way.”

“What way?” he asks, challenging.

“I know what you were going to say, Woodrow,” I say using the middle name that he loathes. “That you wanted to tap that.”

He gets in my face as we walk, mocking me. “Aww . . . and look at you going all protective. That’s adorable.” He snaps his gaze to my building when we reach the sidewalk. “Wait.”

I follow his eyes to see Harper turn around and head out of my building, grabbing at her phone, a big grocery bag on her arm.

“Randall Hammer,” he says, throwing my middle name back at me, since I hate mine, too. “Does Spencer know you’re hot for his sister?”

Fuck my life. She’s half a block away now. Her eyes light up when she sees me, and she drops her phone in her purse then waves. All I can think is now would be an excellent time for a cop car or fire truck to roar by, sirens blaring. Wyatt can have all the points he wants and then some if his dog howls.

“I’m not hot for her. She’s a friend. Besides, the chipmunk was on top of the Great Dane,” I say to distract him. Sometimes, you just have to throw a dog a bone.

That cracks him up and earns me a temporary reprieve as Harper arrives and greets my brother first. “Hey, Wyatt. Haven’t seen you in a while. How’s everything?” she asks, and he moves in for a hug. With his hand still gripping the dog’s leash he wraps his arms around Harper and then wiggles his eyebrows at me and mouths, Charming my snake.

He’s such a little shit.

“Do you have a dog now?” she asks once she separates from him, and I swear I breathe easier now that my brother’s arms are no longer around her.

“Does it make you want me?” he tosses back at her.

Harper laughs, shaking her head in amusement. “I see you still haven’t had the surgery yet.”

He smirks. “The one to install that filter between my brain and my mouth?”

She nods. “That one.”

He shakes his head vigorously. “Nope. But the surgeon has an opening next week.”

“Excellent. I’ll come visit you in the hospital.” She gestures to the dogs. “What’s the story here?”

“They’re with Little Friends rescue,” I say.

My brother chimes back in, resting his elbow on my shoulder, acting all casual and cool. “Did you know Nick and I walk dogs from the rescue two days a week?”

Her eyes sparkle at both of us, but she shifts her gaze to meet mine. “That’s really sweet.”

My heart flips, and I’m right back to last night outside her building.

The didn’t-happen kiss, you dumbass.

“It was my idea. I’m the sweet brother,” Wyatt says, turning on his sparkling smile.

“Hey,” I say, butting in. “Didn’t you say you had to talk to Penny about hammering her? Oh, sorry. I meant hammering some nails in her building.”

He rolls his eyes at me. “Ha ha ha.” He reaches for the leash I’m holding. “Give me your little dude. I’ll take them back,” he says. The rescue isn’t far from here. I bend down and give one dog a scratch on the chin, then the other.

As I stand, Wyatt bows to both of us and bids a dramatic adieu. “I’ll let you two get back to your reindeer games.”