Mister O

Spencer yanks out a stool, parks himself on it, and plops a white plastic bag from Duane Reade on the kitchen counter. He says nothing as he opens the handles and methodically removes each item.

A box of orange hair dye and a razor.

“Shit,” I sigh heavily as a new and equally nasty emotion crashes into me. Shame. I’ve lied to him, and he knows it.

He tilts his face, strokes his chin, and stares at me. “Tell me why I shouldn’t shave your head and dye your eyebrows orange in the middle of the night.”

I drag a hand through my hair and blow out a long stream of air. Then I just shrug. “Can’t think of one.”

He scowls. “Seriously? That’s all you’ve got?”

I hold out my hands in surrender. “You are well within your rights,” I say, my voice empty. Because really, who cares now?

He scratches his head. “You’ve been messing around with my sister, and that’s all you’re going to say?”

“What do you want me to do?” I spit out. “Deny it? Ask you how you know?”

“Umm,” he begins, and he’s speechless. He really did expect me to deny it.

“Look,” I say, because I’m not in the mood right now. “I’m sure you figured it out. I’m sure you saw me dancing with her at your wedding. Right? Am I right?”

He nods, his green eyes registering some kind of surprise that I’m not tap-dancing around this confrontation. “Charlotte mentioned it, and I told her there was no way in hell. So we bet on it, and I came here to prove her wrong. But holy shit. Is there something going on for real?”

I nod, then shake my head. “There was. There’s not. I don’t know. Either way, take your revenge.”

His eyes bug out. “C’mon. For real?” he asks, and he’s the one in denial now.

“Look, I’m sorry, but I’m not sorry,” I say, my voice rising as I lean against my fridge, frustration, anger, and sadness coursing through me.

He holds his hands out wide in a what gives gesture. “How the fuck did that happen?”

I give him a look. “I’m not getting into the details.” The way it started is no one’s business. I promised Harper I wouldn’t tell a soul, and I’m not going to break that promise, even if she saw fit to slice my heart in two with her feel-free-to-go-to-L.A. send-off.

“You mess around with my sister, and that’s your answer?” His tone darkens, and he’s clearly pissed now.

“It’s private, okay? It’s private, and it’s personal.” I move away from the fridge and press my hands against the counter, staring him in the eyes. I thought I’d have to ask his approval to fall in love with his sister, but now I see that what happened with Harper isn’t about his permission. It isn’t even about him. I’ve gotten that part all wrong. She was only off-limits if I didn’t care about her. I care about her so fucking much I don’t know what to do with this surplus of feelings for my best friend’s sister. It’s time for him to know that. “It happened, and it happened again, and now here I am.” I tap my sternum. “I’m in love with your sister. So there you go. Get out the hair dye, shave it off. Whatever, man. It’s not going to change the fact that I told her I love her, and she told me I’m free to go to L.A.”

“Whoa.” Spencer shakes his head like there’s water in his ears, then he makes a time-out sign. “Back it up. I got in love and L.A. Start at the beginning.”

Whatever anger was brewing in him seems to have quieted down.

I don’t start at the beginning. I don’t share the nitty-gritty. But I give him the basic ingredients of my lucky-bastard life and first-world problems. “Look, here’s the truth. I’ve had feelings for her for a while now. I tried to deny them. I tried to ignore them. But the more time I spent with her, the tougher it became to fight it. I didn’t ask you at first because what was happening was about her and me. I’m not saying that makes it okay. I’m saying that’s how it went down, and I’m not sorry for how I feel. It all became clear when you were on your honeymoon. How much I care about her. And how much I’m in love with her. And the real rub in all this is now that I’ve told her, I can’t even be with her.”

He frowns. “Why?”

“They’re moving my show to L.A. Gino already gave my timeslot to someone else. If I want to keep doing the show, it’s California or it’s over.” I heave a sigh. “I don’t expect you to feel sorry for me. I don’t expect anyone to.” Dragging a hand through my hair, I drop my voice. “I just want the girl, and I can’t have her.”

Spencer sighs, too. “Man,” he says, sympathy in his tone. “It’s not even noon, and we need to break out the Scotch because there is nothing worse than falling in love.” He reaches for the hair dye and razor and drops them back in the bag.

“I get a reprieve?” I ask, with a quirk of my lips.

He nods.