Mister O(60)

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 f*cking 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.



She 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.