Mister O

I nod. She told me she had some parties there this weekend for a few of the Manhattan moms she’s worked for, who’ve since moved to the suburbs, and asked me to feed Fido on Sunday. I don’t even know why she wants me to go with her to Grand Central. But I’ll go. “Of course.”


My chest is hollow. Taking her to the train station feels so inadequate for all that I’m learning I want with her. But I can’t hang my hat on something a romance writer thinks. Jillian wants to believe in true love. She makes a living out of buying into storylines about how the little sister falls for her brother’s best friend, and how lessons in sex turn into happily-ever-after. But this is real life. Real life is full of asshole bosses, and unrequitedness, and guys who are lucky enough to have everything they’ve ever wanted when it comes to work, and life, and art . . . but who would be fools to think they get to have it all in love, too.

I’m not bitter. I’m not angry. I’m just realistic. Harper Holiday has always been a moment in time, and I’ve never been a love-struck fool. I’m a serial monogamist, and this series of nights with her is chugging to its inevitable end.

I reach for her shirt, tug her close, and bring her body flush to mine. “Harper,” I breathe. “You have to know how much I’ve loved everything with you.”

“Me too, Nick. Me, too.” She plays with my hair then says, “Do you want to tie me to the fridge?”

I manage a small laugh. “No. I want something else.”

“What do you want?” she asks, her eyes looking so vulnerable.

“I want to have you. As many more times as I possibly can.”

She presses her forehead to mine, her lips brushing my lips as she whispers, “Have me.”

That begins another night of bliss with her, even though I can’t help but hear the ticking of the clock as we wind down.





31





I pace up and down Sixty-Second Street. I drag my hand through my hair. I stare at my phone again.

I am not jealous that she’s with Simon. I am not annoyed.

I check my texts again.

Princess: Running late. I helped them clean up and then had to grab a coffee after the party.





I will my teeth to unclench. I let go of the jealousy roiling inside me. Harper is a friend, and I won’t lose her as a friend.

I think of my dad and his yoga mantras, his calm demeanor. The guy is unruffled, and he takes everything in stride. Yup. That’s me. Life is good, I’m a lucky bastard, and I’m as cool as Saturn’s surface with the fact that Harper is getting a coffee with Simon before I take her to Grand Central Station for God knows what reason.

Besides, I’ve got my own coffee. So there.

When Harper rounds the corner, clutching a paper cup, the Hemsworth dad by her side, his hand wrapped around into his daughter’s smaller one, I take a deep, fueling breath.

Because you know what? He’s better for her than I am. She likes kids. She wants kids. She’s really good with them. I didn’t even know what a Braxton Hicks contraction was.

If I’m going to be her friend, I have to let this envy go.

They stride up to me, and I paste on my biggest, brightest, happiest, shit-eating, nothing-is-fucking-wrong-with-me smile. “Hey Harper. How are you?” I turn to Thor and say hello. “How’s it going, man? Was the party good?”

Hayden goes first. “It was the best ever. Anna the Amazing did the coolest tricks.”

“She was incredible,” Simon says, chiming in, and nope, I totally don’t want to put chicken bouillon in the showerhead in his bathroom. Nope. I don’t want to swap out his deodorant for cream cheese. Because really, I haven’t done that shit since I was sixteen and pranking Wyatt.

I’m a grown man, and I don’t need to beat my chest or stoop to that level. Besides, I can be Harper’s friend, even if she dates this dude and wears her butterfly panties for him.

Smoke billows out my eyes as that image evilly taunts me. I crush the coffee cup in my hand, and the remnants of my drink squirt all over the sidewalk.

Oops.

Hemsworth: one. Nick: zero.

“Everything okay?” Harper asks as I toss the cardboard cup in the trash can then try to wipe the drink from my hands.

I laugh it off. “Shouldn’t have upped the weights at the gym this week. Didn’t realize how strong my forearms were getting.”

“My daddy is strong, too,” Hayden says and grabs Simon’s arm and holds it up. Yeah, he’s a candidate for arm porn, too. Curses. “He’s a super star!”

“That’s what she calls me,” Simon says, in an “aw shucks” manner, and it is not fair that this guy looks like a movie star and is humble, too. It’s like finding out your favorite athlete gives all his money to animal charities.

“It’s adorable,” I say, and I’m sure no one can hear the acid in my voice. I’m masking it so well. Besides, Harper won’t even notice. She’s probably blushing and unable to speak around the man she really wants.