Mister O(26)

All the blood rushes to my dick.

There’s no space between us for other people. Her words are between her and me. My brain stops working, lust spins wildly through me, and I say the first thing that comes to mind. “No,” I say, taking my time, too, because this is my territory. I know dirty words and deeds inside and out, and if Harper wants to go toe-to-toe, I’m in it to heat her up. “It’s for hot, dirty sex that lasts all night long.”

Now she’s caught off-guard. She blinks, swallows, and exhales hard.

I’m tense, wishing she’d start speaking in tongues like she did with Simon. Something to give me the confirmation that she’s into me, too. Instead, she bites her lip, then says, “I bet that’s the best kind to have.”

“It absolutely is, princess.” Her eyes darken when I say that last word, my voice sliding into the tone I’d use with her in bed.

Dirty. Rough. Hungry.

That’s the problem.

If I keep lingering in this zone, I’ll be participating in way more one-man shows than are good for my ego.

And I really need to get her out of my head, especially since I’m seeing her brother tomorrow.





11





“Bond. James Bond.”

Spencer adjusts his cuffs, then eyes himself approvingly. He glances over at me as I finish off my bow tie.

“Can’t help myself,” he adds. “It’s a requirement. You can’t wear a tux and not say it. Because I do look like Bond.”

I laugh and shake my head. “You and every guy in the world thinks that about himself.”

We’re at the tuxedo shop the next day for the last fitting for his wedding, making sure the measurements are right. The petite black-haired woman, who runs the shop that’s open even on a Sunday, fiddles with the lapels on my jacket and says, “You look good. You’re all set.”

I tip my head to Spencer as I begin to undo the bow tie. “Got anything that’ll improve his situation? A paper bag, maybe?”

She smiles then turns to the groom to work on final adjustments. I change back into my own clothes, and when I rejoin them, Spencer tilts his head toward me and sniffs the air. “Why do you smell like my sister’s laundry detergent?”

It’s like a car slamming on the brakes. Everything in my head screeches, and I’m caught red-f*cking-handed. My brain sputters, and tons of excuses scurry toward my tongue. Then I tell myself to chill. Tons of people use the same soap, and just because she gave me detergent doesn’t mean I’m wearing a billboard that says I want to bang your sister.

I just feel like I am. As if every little thing—even the most innocuous—reveals my hand. I’ve got to get my shit together especially since I have a dinner with Spencer, Charlotte, and Harper in a few days.

I slide on a poker face. “What are you talking about?” I ask, giving him a look as if he’s the crazy one.

He leans closer, arches an eyebrow, and sniffs again. “Hmm.”

“Dude,” I say, stepping away. That one word conveys everything: this is a no-fly zone. But inside, I panic because how good is this guy’s nose that he can tell I’m using the same laundry detergent as his sister?

“Also, nice cat,” Spencer tosses out.

My pulse pounds in my neck. “What cat?”

“On Harper’s arm,” he adds. “She was with Charlotte this morning, picking up the bridesmaid dresses.”

Oh. Right.

The evidence in ink. On Harper’s arm.

Note to self: Find out why the hell Harper didn’t shower today.

“Yeah? Charlotte liked my Bucky the cat?”

Spencer cracks up. “Absolutely. If the TV business doesn’t work out, you should start aping other cartoonist’s work for a living.”

I roll my eyes.

His expression shifts to serious. “What’s the deal though? Harper told Charlotte you were hanging out more. That you had coffee yesterday, and she gave you detergent since she spilled something on you?”

“Hot chocolate. Everywhere. Like it was a new design,” I say quickly, since that’s the truth. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with us getting a drink now and then. And then, like a frying pan to Woody Woodpecker’s head, it hits me why Harper told Charlotte the simple truth. The fact that we’re hanging out isn’t something Harper has to hide.

I’m the one with the big secret—that I’m completely f*cking tempted by my best friend’s sister in every way.

Unrequited lust sucks balls. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

The tux lady pats Spencer’s shoulder. “You’re all set now,” she says to him.

He thanks her then eyes me in the mirror. “You’re just hanging out with her, right?”

My chest pinches even as I answer honestly with a nonchalant, “Yeah.”

“Good.” He sounds relieved, and part of me wants to ask why the hell I’m not good enough for her. He claps me on the back. “Because Charlotte wants you to meet her sister at the wedding. Natalie’s single, and a babe.”

“Oh,” I say, surprised, because that was not the answer I’d expected at all. I try to play it cool. “I never pegged you as a matchmaker.”

He shakes his head. “Not my idea. My bride’s. And what she wants, I want.”