Page 48 of Love Me Tomorrow

I barely check back a smile. “Good thing some genius invented the calculator.”

Lizzie’s face brightens. Dropping her phone onto the couch, she leans forward, then, apparently remembering that she’s seven months pregnant and can’t get very far, promptly collapses against the cushions with a defeated groan. “Don’t ever get pregnant, Owen. Moms are always like,it was the best time of my lifeorI’d do it all over again if I could, and you know what I think? I think they’re all full of shit. I mean, I haven’t seen my toes in a month! And don’t even get me started on how well acquainted I am with the bathroom nowadays. Yesterday, Gage taped a sign on the door that saysLizzie’s Lair.Tell me, how do you feel about being twin-less?”

“Can’t say I’m opposed. It’ll give me a chance to shine bright like the diamond I am.”

She lifts an inquisitive brow. “Did you just quote Rihanna at me?”

“You gonna judge me if I say yes?”

“Not at all.” She props her feet up on the dark wooden table. “I knew beneath all that ink you were a pop-singing softie. Oh, look”—she stares down the length of her jeaned legs, wriggling her toes in her sandals—“I do have feet.”

Looks like I’m not going to get my wish on this one. Just call me the new daytime TV superstar: Dr. Owen Harvey, M.D., helping one irate pregnant woman at a time.

I link my arms across my chest and get comfortable. “Will it make you feel better to rant about it?”

“God, yes.”

Classic Lizzie. In the year that she’s been married to Gage, the two of us have struck up a close friendship. The way I look at it, Gage is one lucky son of a gun to wind up with a girl like Elizabeth Danvers Harvey. She puts up with his crap, does it with a smile on her face, and still manages to run two full-time businesses like a total badass. Not to mention that she helps me out with the parlor whenever she can squirrel away the time.

“Hold that thought,” I tell her before pushing up to my feet. I head for my office, grab two sodas out of the mini-fridge—Sprite for both of us, her favorite—and quicken my pace to the front waiting area, where Lizzie has closed her eyes with her head tipped back. I tap the chilled can to her arm. “Here.”

Opening her eyes, she moans at the sight of the beverage. “You’re my favorite.”

I return to my seat, balancing the can on my jean-clad thigh. “I won’t tell Gage.”

“Oh, he knows.” She presses the Sprite to her cheek, like she’s savoring the chill. “After that lair prank yesterday, I informed him that you will continue to be my favorite Harvey twin until the moment I’m pushing this baby out of my vagina.”

I let out a low chuckle. “You’re really going to put a time limit on me like that? I thought what we had is special.”

“Owen,” she says drolly, “you’re a great guy but I hate all men right now.”

“Even ones named Gage?”

She salutes me with her can. “Especiallyones named Gage. I’m miserable.” Dramatically, she wiggles her toes again, as though to prove her point.

“You look great.”

“I’m not sure that I’m meant for motherhood.”

“We’ll hook Gage up to one of those labor simulators, so he’ll know the exact pain you’re gonna experience. Turn the voltage way on up. Do it right and he’ll be lookin’ at this pregnancy situation as a one-and-done type deal.”

Lizzie’s mouth curls in a grin. “You’re evil, you know that?”

“I’m the older brother, baby girl. I created evil.”

At that, she throws back her head with a bubbly laugh. It’s the same warm, infectious laughter that’s earned her over ten million subscribers on her makeup YouTube channel. On paper, she and Gage shouldn’t have even lasted more than a date or two. Former playboy. All around spunky good girl. A total recipe for disaster—if not for the fact that Lizzie brings out the best in Gage and my twin, in turn, pushes his wife to reach for every damn dream that enters her head.

Marrying Lizzie is the best decision Gage has ever made. It brought her into our life, made our duo into a solid trio. After so many years of being a family of only two, it’s been nice to welcome someone new into our midst.

She’s also the only one who knows just how much Savannah’s rejection rocked me to my core.

As though she’s got a radio tap on my brain, Lizzie casts me a sly look. “I heard through the grapevine that you and Miss Rose were dancing it up at the mayor’s auction last weekend.”

More like I was tromping all over her toes, but yeah, we can call it dancing. What could have ended disastrously was saved by Miss Rose herself. The woman moves with complete fluidity, better than any fantasy I’ve ever drummed up. Letting her lead ought to have been embarrassing but, hell, it had been all kinds of sexy instead. Her soft hand at my waist. The other tangling with the short locks of hair at the base of my neck. The way she looked up at me, her eyes twinkling with delight.

Facts of life I don’t recommend, though? Dancing with a hard-on.

There’s nothing quite like admitting to a girl that you don’t have rhythm while also rocking an erection that could double as a coat rack, especially when her dad appears out of nowhere to break up the party. Young, troubled Owen would have snapped back after Edgar Rose’s not-so-sly comment about me being at the mayor’s ball; thirty-six-year-old me doesn’t give a damn. If Rose hadn’t felt threatened by my presence, he wouldn’t have said a word. That, in itself, holds more power than worrying about the man not liking me. Doesn’t mean I didn’t notice his and Savannah’s uncomfortable exchange after I’d walked away, though. And it doesn’t mean I easily forgot the embarrassed expression on her face once I’d left for the night, long before the final call for bidding.

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