Mister O(57)

When she comes down from her high, she whispers in my ear, softly, sweetly, “Fuck you.”

I laugh lightly. “Fuck you, too.”





26





“I don’t know how I’m going to resist her,” Wyatt says with lustful longing in his voice the next morning in Central Park.

“Natalie?”

He shakes his head. “Little Cocoa Puff. Look at her. How am I not supposed to take her home? She can fit in my tool belt,” he says, practically cooing as he gestures to the chocolate Min Pin he’s walking. By my side is a dachshund mix.

“You don’t even wear a tool belt,” I say, as we turn down a path. “You just love to hold on to the handyman image, even though you’re behind a desk half the time.”

“What can I say? I’m good with tools, as well as juggling my growing empire.”

“Then you should take Cocoa Puff home with you,” I say, goading him on as I point to the pooch. “Think about how much help she can give you when it comes to women. She’s a chick magnet, and let’s be honest.” I drape an arm over his shoulder sympathetically. “You need all the help you can get, Woody.”

“Randy,” he retaliates with a huff. “Our parents gave us the worst middle names.”

I laugh. “Pretty sure they wanted to torture us, starting at birth.”

He stops in the middle of the path and gives me some sort of knowing eye inspection. “But let’s not talk about middle names. Let’s talk about . . . hey, how about girls with alliterative names? HH, ahem.”

“You know what alliteration is?” I ask, deflecting, as I wind the dog leash tighter around my wrist.

He shakes his head dismissively. “I do. In addition to a working brain, I also have a powerful nose to sniff out your bullshit,” he says, and I pretend to be preoccupied with the dachshund’s exploration of a bush.

Wyatt soldiers on, his voice stripped free of sarcasm or our usual trash talk. “When are you going to say something to Spencer?”

“About what?” I scowl. I’m doing an awesome job feigning confusion.

He laughs. “C’mon man. Drop the act. I know there’s something between you and Harper. I saw you dancing with her.”

“It was just dancing.”

Just dancing. Just kissing. Just f*cking. Just the best nights of my life. My chest warms with memories of the last few nights with Harper.

Wyatt sighs. “Nick,” he says, and I can tell he’s serious, since he’s using my first name. “I saw her coming to your apartment last week. I saw you dancing with her at the wedding. I saw the way you looked at her on the train.”

Alarm bells go off. We were so cautious. Could my brother tell something was up just by looking at us?

“If you like her, just say something,” he adds, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

I scoff.

Because it’s not that simple. Harper and I aren’t doing something that needs to be discussed or approved. We’re not going anywhere beyond the bedroom. I don’t even have to ask her to know her feelings on that topic. They’re crystal clear, and have been from the moment I witnessed her secret language with men at Peace of Cake. Not only do her actions speak clearly, but so do her words. For starters, she acts normal around me. She’s never once fumbled on words, or turned into a hot mess with me, as she does with Simon. On top of that, the woman has been amazingly specific when it comes to voicing what she wants. She asked me point-blank for dating help with other guys. Then she kicked it up a notch and requested lessons in sex and seduction.

She never expressed an interest in having me as her boyfriend, and that’s one hundred percent fine with me. Best of both worlds. I’m having her in the bedroom, and we still can hang out together when these lessons come to an end after this week.

“There’s not anything to say. It’s just not like that with her,” I explain with a casual shrug.

Wyatt brings his dog to heel by his side. “Listen, you can tell yourself it was just dancing, but you’re not fooling me. The question is, are you fooling yourself?”

His question echoes. It sounds important, the way it lingers in the cool fall air, drifting through the leaves on the trees. But I’ve had my eyes wide open from day one. “Nope. I totally know the score.”

He sighs. “Fair enough. But in a few days, Spencer will return,” he says, reminding me of the expiration date. I hardly need the reminder. I’m well aware that Spencer makes landfall after his honeymoon in Hawaii after midnight on Sunday. Six nights from now. But who’s counting? “And you need to think about the fact that you’ve got something going on with his little sister,” Wyatt adds. “The sooner you figure out what it is, the better off you’ll be.”

But Spencer is out of sight, out of mind. He’s on the other side of the world, and I don’t need to worry about him right now, despite what his cat and my brother might think.





27





The next few nights roll by in a haze of orgasms for Harper, and hey, I’m not complaining that I get to have plenty, too. Turns out Harper’s quite a giver, and she insists on working on her blow job technique. Who am I to deny the woman her practical training? If she likes taking me in her mouth, she should damn well avail herself of the opportunity.