Mister O(62)

More cheers come from the crowd at this posh, upscale establishment on the Upper West Side.

“Just keep the viewers coming,” I say with a smile, since Gino eats up those jokes like candy.

He fake punches me and then downs his champagne. He pulls me away from the crowd to the edge of the oak-paneled bar.

“Now listen, Hammer. I’m seeing Tyler on Monday. It’ll all come together then. Good news is headed your way,” he says, with a glint to his eyes.

“Whenever it happens is all good,” I say, and cast my eyes to Harper waiting for me on a red velvet lounge at the edge of the joint, her drink on a low, dark wood table. She flashes a small smile in my direction, a little curve of her lips that’s both sweet and sexy, and it feels entirely like a private grin just for me. I’m trying to savor these moments with her, knowing they’ll run out of steam in about forty-eight hours.

Fuck.

I want to slow down time. I want to stretch the next two days and three nights into a year.

Gino follows my eyes. “Oh.” He says it in a salacious tone, as he licks his lips. “You’ve got your friend with you again.”

I just nod. There’s nothing I need to say to Gino about Harper.

He shakes his head in appreciation. “She is a sight for sore eyes.” He lowers his voice and nudges me. “Is it true what they say about redheads?”

Oh no, he didn’t. I jerk my head toward him. “What the . . .?”

He sighs longingly. “What I wouldn’t give for a piece—”

My jaw clenches, and I meet his gaze straight on. “With all due respect, you really need to stop saying that shit every time I’m with her.”

He raises his eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

I don’t care if this pisses him off. I don’t care if he won’t re-up my show when Tyler sees him on Monday. I’m tired of his games, his dude-with-an-earring-and-a-Corvette insecurities, and his demeaning attitude. “It’s rude. Have a little respect for women.”

He adjusts his shoulders and mutters, “I meant no disrespect.”

“Good,” I say, though I don’t believe him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

I walk away, join Harper, and drape an arm over her shoulder. Not that Gino would have a chance with her even in the zombie apocalypse if he were one of the last men standing. But she’s with me tonight, and she’ll never be with him, and let him chew on that pill of bitterness as I get to touch her.

“Hey, handsome,” Harper says softly, and her greeting surprises the hell out of me. She’s not a hey, handsome kind of girl, but I enjoy the new term of endearment, especially since it’s like a direct shot of that crazy, fluttering feeling in my chest. “You looked kind of insanely hot out there.”

“You think so?” I ask, eating up her compliments, ready and willing for her to pile on more.

She nods, and her eyes draw up my body, lingering on my chest and arms. She runs her hand over my biceps, and all the time I’ve ever spent lifting weights pays off in the way she touches me. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you, and your hair, and your scruff, and your arms. I was admiring the whole package,” she says, letting that last word roll off her tongue, and it’s like she casts a spell on my dick. She did the hard-on trick once again.

“You can admire my package with your tongue later, Princess Sex-In-Your-Eyes,” I whisper as I lean in close, loving her filthy innuendos.

She feigns surprise, covering her mouth with her fingers. “Oh, my. Was it that obvious I was objectifying you?”

“No, what’ll be obvious is how much I like your objectification when I stand up in a few minutes to get you out of here.” I wave a hand in the air. “We need to get rid of this tent in my pants. Talk about pencils in your nose.” I smack my forehead. “Shit, that turns me on, too, now that I’ve seen you do it naked.” Another smack. “Naked. I said naked. This isn’t helping the have-you-got-a-banana-in-your-pocket situation that you caused, Harper.”

She holds up her finger excitedly. “I know! Mashed bananas.”

“Ouch. You’re the erection devil. Thank you for that awful image.”

“Happy to help,” she says, as my ridiculously pregnant publicist waddles over to us, her hand pressed to her lower back for support.

I rise and help Serena sit, even as she waves me off.

“Isn’t it time you actually took your maternity leave?” I ask.

“Oomph,” she says, parking herself on the velvet lounge.

“When are you due?” Harper asks, concern etched in her eyes as Serena huffs and holds up a hand. She winces, grits her teeth, and seems to be counting.

“A year ago, it feels like,” she says, her lips forming an O as she takes a deep breath.

“Can I get you a water? Do you need anything?” Harper asks.

“Just for these contractions to stop.”

My eyes widen. Contractions. That’s just one of those words that means business. “Serena, are you serious?”

She laughs. “I wish! I’ve been having Braxton Hicks for five days now.”

I scratch my head. “Courtesy to speak English please?”

She pushes her curly black hair away from her face and gives me a side-eye glance. “You don’t know what that is?”