Mister O(66)

Soon, the ice cream left in the pint is melting, and Harper is too, as I travel down her body and shut myself up in my most favorite way in the universe.

If I don’t keep my mouth occupied, I’ll tell her about all the times I’ve drawn her, and then she’ll know how hard it will be for me to let her go.

Even though this isn’t supposed to be difficult at all. This little fling should be the easiest thing in the world.

Only it’s not.





28





I’m beating her, and that drives Harper batty.

“I can pull ahead. I know I can,” she says, as she joins me at the scoring bench, after only knocking over five pins in her frame.

We’re at a bowling alley just above 101st Street, not far from her house. It’s our rematch, and we decided it was best not to frequent Neon Lanes and risk running into Jason.

I blow on my fingers. “I’m on fire tonight, princess. It’s going to be pretty hard to beat me.” But before I can stand up to take my turn, Harper plops her adorable little ass on my lap.

She laces her arms around my neck. I shake my head. “Don’t think you can knock me off my game by being so damn cute.”

“Cute? I’m cute?”

“Hot,” I whisper in her ear. “Hot, sexy, gorgeous, good enough to eat. Come to think of it, I kind of want to eat you up now.”

She laughs, swatting my shoulder. “You want to do that a lot, Nick,” she says.

“I know. I do. And I also know you’re trying to make me lose by talking about this stuff. Let me play, woman.”

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 fucking 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.”