Mister O (22 page)

I
f this were
one of J. Cameron’s romance novels, the hero would hire a skywriter to pen the heroine’s name across the blue canvas above us. Or he’d stop the airplane at the gate and profess his love. Maybe he’d even tell the woman he adores that he only had eyes for her on a Jumbotron at a packed baseball game.

But this is my life, and Harper’s life.

One thing I know to be true about the woman I’m crazy for is that while she might like public kisses, she’s not one for public declarations of love.

That’s why I don’t do any of those things. I don’t buy flowers. Or chocolate. Or balloons. Or a teddy bear. I don’t grab a boom box and play Peter Gabriel outside her window. Instead, with an eight by twelve envelope in hand, I head to her building and press the button for her apartment.

It rings, and it rings, and it rings.

I take a deep breath.

Maybe she’s in the shower. I look at my watch. It’s two in the afternoon.

I buzz again.

And it rings, and it rings, and it rings.

I grab my phone from my back pocket. Maybe I should have called first. I definitely should have called first. This was fucking stupid. She could be anywhere. She could be doing a magic show.

Okay, maybe not on a Monday afternoon.

Wait.
I snap my fingers. She said she was taking a class. Then doing laundry. I slide open the screen to call her, and when I see a message from her, my heart goes into overdrive. Holding my breath, I click open the text.

I learn she’s doing none of the above.

That note is followed by another.

My heart soars at her words. She’s at my house. Holy shit, she’s at
my
house. I dial her number, but before I can hit send, my phone beeps. “I’m at your building,” I say as soon as I answer her call.

“I’m at yours,” she says, and I can hear something like lightness in her voice, like hope. I want to clutch the possibility of what it might mean tight in my hands.

“I have an idea,” I say, thinking quickly. “Meet me in the middle?”

“Eighty-Fourth Street then?” She lives on Ninety-Fifth, and I’m on Seventy-Third.

“I love it when you do math. Yes, meet me at Central Park and Eighty-Fourth.”

“Are you Ubering it or walking?”

“Walking.”

Ten minutes later, I stand by the park entrance, under the bronze and wine-red leaves of a cherry tree, as afternoon traffic whizzes by. I pace, waiting for her, searching for her, until I see her, walking fast, practically running to me.

My heart beats like a wild bird, and I don’t know how it can stay inside my chest. I have no idea what she’s going to say, or why she was at my house, or what’s going on, but she’s here now. She came to find me, and the last time she came to find me was the start of our first real night together.

The autumn breeze blows her hair, red strands floating past her cheeks as she marches right up to me, looks me square in the eyes, and says, “I’m in love with you, Nick. If you ask me to go with you, I will.”

And my heart, I swear, it jumps out of my chest into her hands, where she can hold it forever because it belongs to her. I fall deeper into love with her in that moment.

She cups my cheeks and says more before I can even speak. “I didn’t say anything when you told me this morning because I wanted it to be your decision,” she says, her blue eyes fixed on mine. “That’s why I left right away, so you could be free to make the choice that works for you. I didn’t want you to worry about me, or think you had to turn down something you love because of me. But the whole time I was a wreck because I feel the same way you do. And I know how much this means to you, and you mean so much to me, and I want you to know I’d go with you. Because I love you, too.”

I can’t not kiss her. I slant my mouth to hers, brush my lips against hers, and kiss the woman I love, who loves me, too.

New York and autumn. Harper and me. Love and friendship.

I’m so damn happy it can’t be contained. There’s no way I can hold all this joy inside me. We kiss, and we kiss, and we kiss, and I can’t stop. I thread my hands in her hair, the soft, silky strands spilling over my fingers as I kiss her outside Central Park where I’ve met her in the middle.

Only, there’s no need to compromise. There’s no need for her to give up anything for me. When I break the kiss, I’m lightheaded and grinning like the love-struck fool I am.

“You can’t go with me,” I tell her, and her expression morphs as sadness flickers in her eyes.

“Why?” Her voice breaks.

I press a finger to her lips. “Because I’m not going.”

“What?” She swats my chest. “Are you crazy? This is the opportunity of a lifetime.”

I shrug. “Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. I don’t care about the show right now. The show has given me everything I could ever want, but it hasn’t given me you. My whole life, I’ve loved to draw more than anything. It’s been what I love most,” I say, running a hand through her hair. “Until you.”

She trembles. “Stop. That’s crazy.”

I shake my head. “It’s not crazy. It’s true. There can be another show. There won’t be another you.”

She brings her hand to her mouth, like she’s trying to cover up the quivering of her lips. But the tear that slips down her cheek gives her away.

“Harper, I love you more than
The Adventures of Mister Orgasm
. And I can’t ask you to leave New York.”

“But I would. I would for you. I’m really good at what I do, and there are moms everywhere who’d hire me. One referral and I’d be gold in L.A.”

“I know,” I say softly, and it’s true. She’s right. She could relocate and somehow make it all work. “But I love New York, too. And I want to be with you here in Manhattan. This is our home, and you’re the thing I can’t afford to lose. Not the show.”

“So what happens?”

I shrug. “I told Tyler to turn down the offer. Gino thinks he has me over a barrel, but he doesn’t. Because here’s the thing. Gino’s a jerk, and I don’t like working for him. He thinks he owns me because he found me, but the show is portable. It goes anywhere. Gino might own everything I’ve created so far, but whatever it becomes next”—I stop to tap my temple—“that’s up here. It belongs to me. It’s my creation. And Tyler and I both think someone else will want it. He’s shopping it around.”

“You decided that before you even knew about us? Before I even told you I feel the same?” she asks, astonishment coloring her tone as she curls her hands over my shoulders.

“Sometimes you have to go out on a limb and put your heart on the line. Like you just did for me,” I say softly.

“Like you did for me,” she says, her lips curving up in a smile that matches mine. Those lips—they’re impossible to resist. And I don’t have to resist her anymore . . . not that I ever earned high marks in that class. But now I have free rein to kiss the hell out of her. I capture her lips again with a possessiveness that comes from the certainty that she’s mine.

When we break the kiss, I take her hand and guide her to a bench inside the park, where we sit. “There’s this new idea I have. I want to show you. A certain sexy princess I love was my inspiration.”

She feigns a look of curiosity. “Whoever would this sexy princess be?”

“I had this idea when we went bowling the first time,” I say, and I reach into the envelope and take out the copies I made of the panels I’ve worked on. Though work is hardly the word.
Play
is better, because drawing Harper always felt fun. “I pictured you as this crazy-hot mechanic.”

I show her the first one. She laughs, and looks at me. “That’s me?”

I nod.

“I’m rather busty,” she says kind of proudly, wiggling her chest.

“Yes, you are.”

“And I’m a mechanic?”

“In this comic strip, you are.”

“You do realize I don’t even know how to drive?”

It’s my turn to laugh. “Like I said, L.A. would be terrible for us. You’re such a New Yorker.”

I show her the rest of the cartoons I drew—the text message tutorial, the lube job joke, the mechanic in the cape, and many more. What began as random doodles has turned into the start of a storyline. Her eyes are wide and filled with something like wonder as she takes her time, studying each one.

“Remember when you asked me the secret to drawing a great cartoon?” I ask, reminding her.

She looks up from my work. “I do. You said you have to like what you’re drawing.”

“That’s true. But I need to amend that. It helps even more if you
love
what you’re drawing.” I tap the last one, in which the puppet ogles the mechanic in the cape.

Her lips quirk up in a grin. “Is that you?”

I shrug. “Maybe. I don’t know. But I have a lot in common with this puppet. He has a filthy mind and loves sneaking peeks at a certain gorgeous redhead.”

She cracks up. “I love you, and your dirty cartoons, and your crazy brain, and the fact that you see me as a mechanic even though I’m a magician.”

That last word reminds me of something I’ve never quite figured out when it comes to this woman. “Tell me something. I used to think you weren’t into me because you were never Princess Awkward around me. Does that mean your feelings changed when you said you were”—I pause to sketch air quotes with my fingers—“
cured of your affliction
?”

She smiles slyly and shakes her head. “Nope.”

“Then when?” I ask curiously.

“I’ve never had trouble talking with you.” She runs her hand through my hair with a look in her eyes that’s full of mischief. “Want to know the secret to that little trick?”

“Yeah, I do. That always kind of baffled me.”

“Pay attention, because I don’t give away how I do my tricks.”

“I’m listening.”

She raises her chin. “
Practice
.”

“What do you mean?”

Her voice goes soft and vulnerable. “I’ve had years of practice. I’ve liked you since forever. You were my friend when we were younger, and you were always so handsome. I never felt awkward around you, because I’ve known you for so long. Pretending I didn’t have a crush on you was the greatest trick I ever pulled off.”

I let her admission soak in, and it makes sense, in a way, as I flashback to all the compliments she’s given me in the last few weeks. Still, I’m kind of amazed, and awed, too. “Are you for real?”

“I’ve always had a thing for you, Nick,” she says, as splashes of red color her cheeks.

A new burst of happiness spreads through me. “Do one thing for me, Harper.”

“Name it.”

“Don’t ever break that spell.”

“I won’t,” she says, taking my hand and threading her fingers through mine. She squeezes then adds, “That’s why kissing you and making love with you never felt like lessons. It didn’t feel like practice to me, Nick. It always felt real.”

There’s a warm glow in my chest, and I’m sure I’m the luckiest guy in the world to have this girl be mine. “It was always real for me, too,” I say softly. “It was always true.”

She dives in for another kiss, then gives me a dopey smile. “So you really love me, huh?”

I laugh. “I really love you.”

“I am one lucky girl.”

I sigh contentedly. “This has been a perfect afternoon. There’s only one thing that can make this better.”

“Cake?” she asks eagerly.

“That, and something else.” I wiggle my eyebrows. “Want to get out of here?”

She squeezes my fingers. “Hell yes.”

I take her back to my place, and as soon as the door falls shut, we strip each other, tugging off clothes and grabbing at hair and tumbling into my room.

In seconds she pins my wrists, lowers herself onto me, and rides me hard and beautifully as the sun dips in the sky. She takes control, her hips circling, her back arching, her lips falling open as she moves up and down. She sets the rhythm, and I follow her lead, watching every flutter of her eyelids, every bounce of her breasts. Soon, she bends lower, brings her face to mine, and whispers in my ear, “I just love you.”

“I just love you, too,” I say as I yank her closer, and the woman I treasure falls apart with me as we come together again.

We stay in bed for a little while, talking and touching, until my phone rings. It’s Serena, and she’s home from the hospital. A little later, we stop by to visit her and Jared and give them the baby gifts for their son. They named him Logan. Then Harper and I go to Peace of Cake to celebrate being together.

It’s a date. It’s definitely a date.

Wait. It’s so much more. It’s the start of a new storyline for us. The story of this great love of my life.

S
everal Months Later

T
hey wobble
. They sway. Then, with a resounding clatter, all ten bowling pins fall. Harper thrusts her arms high and struts over to me.

“Strike!”

I high-five her, even though she’s walloping me.

“Say it,” she says playfully, as she loops her arm around my neck.

“You kick my ass in bowling every single time,” I say, repeating the truth of our life together. I’ve only beaten her once, in our very first rematch after the night she went sexy librarian on me. Every time since then, she’s destroyed me, and I swear it has nothing to do with how absolutely distracted I get checking out her ass as she takes her turn in the lane. Nope, she’s just really good, and she’s about to clobber me for the tenth match in a row.

“And do I get a special present, like you promised, for beating you for the tenth time?”

I nod. I’ve been giving her gifts after each win. A new magic wand. Yes,
that
kind. A lingerie set. A satin bow for her hair that happens to have other uses too. “If you win you’ll get a gift.”

“And do I ever have to throw a game again?” she says, her eyes glinting.

“Never,” I say, like it has ten syllables.

She gives me a quick kiss. “Never ever.”

That’s because I don’t work for Gino anymore. My show’s not on Comedy Nation. The deal didn’t happen overnight, but a week after I turned down the Comedy Nation offer, I landed a new one. The show’s new home is on the broadcast network Serena’s husband works for—RBC.

I’m not saying helping his pregnant wife to the hospital got me the gig. Not at all. But it sure didn’t hurt when Tyler needed to land a quick meeting with a new network. Jared greased the wheels, and Tyler did the deal, moving
The Adventures of Mister Orgasm
to the ten o’clock hour on RBC, where it’s killing it in the ratings every week. Funny thing is the head of RBC doesn’t play games, doesn’t toy with me, and doesn’t care if I beat him at golf, softball, bowling or anything else. What he does care about is that I deliver the best show possible, so that’s what I do every week.

Well, technically I deliver two shows. RBC owns the cable network LGO, and LGO is now the proud home to the new five-minute cartoon short—
Naughty Puppet Theater Presents Dirty Girl Mechanic.

It’s early days, but viewers seem to like it, and there’s talk of turning that show into a full-length weekly comedy. Seems I’m not the only one who likes a hot mechanic.

But the one in my arms is all mine.

And I want to make sure it stays that way.

That’s why when the match is over, and she wins fair and square, I let her enjoy her victory dance for a few seconds until she spins around and finds me on one knee in the bowling alley.

She stops, freezes, and brings her hand to her mouth.

Once upon a time, I wasn’t sure how to share my feelings, but now the words come out with ease, and I mean them with my entire heart. “Harper, I love you like crazy, and I want you to be the one I share detergent with, and bowling matches, and ice cream and cake, and dirty text messages, and showers, and love, and happiness, and inspiration, and all our days and nights. Will you marry me?”

She falls to her knees and throws her arms around me, knocking me onto my back on the floor of the bowling alley. “Yes, yes, yes, yes,” she repeats over and over, lying on top of me, and this couldn’t be a more perfect response to a proposal.

When she loosens her hold on me and we sit up, I slide a gorgeous, platinum, princess-cut ring on her finger as tears streak down her cheeks.

“I love you so much, I’d even take your last name, Nick Hammer,” she says in between dabbing her eyes.

“I love you so much, I’d never ask you to do something that horrible, Harper Holiday.”

I don’t care if she takes my name, because I have everything I thought I’d once lost. I have the girl.