Page 8 of Super Hot Wingman
“I’m in love with him. He’s in love with me,” she says, as she sails into the dining room. “Why would it be a bad idea?”
“You know why,” I say. But there’s another reason too. A big one I’ve learned firsthand—when relationships level up too soon, they shatter, causing collateral damage to a family. “Please give it some time,” I beg, following her.
She pats my shoulder. “You don’t have to worry about me. Here’s what you can do though.”
“Sure,” I say, eager to help. Maybe I should run a background check on Mister Monopoly, for instance.
“If you know anyone at your bank who might want to sublease my cute little studio apartment in the Village let me know.”
On that note, she breezes into the kitchen, where Flip wraps an arm around her waist and drops a kiss to her cheek.
They look too perfect. That’s the trouble. If something is too good to be true, it usually is.
But there’s no time to dwell on Flip since the elevator doors chime once again, and I tense. I just know it’s going to behim.
“I am here, so now we can begin,” Asher says, his too sexy, too rumbly voice floating through the apartment, coasting down my back and making my skin prickle.
Whoever invented the idea of lust is pissing me off.
But it’s poker face time.
As Asher joins the crew, I focus on the other guests in the kitchen, making small talk with Oscar and Felicity, a pair of Brits who are here from Paris, and Archie and Danya from a few blocks away. They ask if I know some dude at some hedge fund, and some other dude at a private equity firm. I act interested in flipping through my Wall Street rolodex since it helps me avoid the guy several feet away who turns me on and frustrates me at the same damn time.
Once it’s time for dinner, Hannah shows me to my chair at the dining room table.
Right next to Asher.
That’s not gonna fly. I scan my brain for a good excuse to sit someplace else when my phone rings. Hannah gives me a look that translates toturn your phone off at dinner.
But I grab it from my pocket and waggle it at her. “Rosie’s calling to say goodnight,” I explain, then slip into the living room, relieved to get away from the object of my inconvenient desire.
Rosie and I chat about her day at school, then I say goodnight. “Love you, cupcake,” I tell her.
“Love you too, Daddy,” she says as a fork clinks on a glass from the dining room.
I hang up the phone and prepare to enter the lust zone once more.
STANDING WOULD BE A BAD IDEA
MARK
As I head toward the dining room, the conversation grows louder.
“Asher, if you’re going to make one of your epic toasts, may it not take an hour this time,” Danya says with a laugh. “We’ve got to get home to our sitter by ten. Ticktock.”
“And how is my adorable little Elizabeth Ann the Second doing?” Asher asks.
“Such a darling. We love her so much,” Danya says. “Thank you again.”
Why is she thanking him for her kid?
“Here’s to shivering puppies in newspaper kiosks finding their forever homes,” Asher says. “Apparently, I’m a dog matchmaker now too.”
Are you kidding me? Elizabeth Ann is a dog, and Asher both saved her and found her a home? Can’t he just be hot? Nope. He’s hot, and cocky, and he’s a dog superhero.
Fuck you, lust.
As I enter the dining room, Asher clinks his glass to Danya’s.
