Page 9 of Super Hot Wingman
“Mark, isn’t this amazing? Asher found a home for Elizabeth the shivering Border Collie,” Hannah calls out.
“Amazing. Should have named her Dictionary,” I say, turning to Hannah and plastering on a smile—as I walk straight into Asher’s outstretched arm.
The one that’s holding his glass.
And the drink goes upside down.
All over me.
Great. Just great.
Now I’m wearing his champagne on my chest. I stare down at my navy polo, soaked through with expensive bubbly.
“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m so sorry,” Asher says.
“It’s fine,” I mutter.
“Mark, I can get you a fresh shirt,” Flip calls out.
Yeah, that’d be a no. But I don’t have time to politely decline, since Asher says, “Here. Let me help.”
How does he plan to help?
I look up.
Wait. Nope. Not that. That is not helpful.
This can’t be happening. No way is he taking off his shirt in front of all of us. In front ofme.
“There’s no need for you to wear a soaked shirt all night when that was my fault, Mark,” Asher says.
“I’m fine,” I blurt out, because his shirtlessness must stop. I can’t handle it.
It’s possible Danya is laughing.
Hannah might be catcalling.
Flip is shouting something about Magic Mike.
And I do nothing, because the guy standing next to me undoes the last button on his tight, designer shirt, exposing all of that smooth skin, flecked with chest hair that I want to run my hands through.
My mouth waters, and I officially hate lust right now.
Clenching my fists, I fight the overwhelming urge to rip that shirt off him the rest of the way, explore that unreal six-pack. Wait. Is that an eight-pack? My eyes dart briefly, taking in the details of those muscles as I sit down.
Standing any longer would be a very bad idea.
Asher strips off the shirt completely, then hands it to me. “Here you go.”
Not sure I can speak right now. But at this point, the only thing I have left is my dignity, so I wave off the clothes. “I’m fine.”
When Asher sits next to me, still shirtless, he spreads a napkin across his lap and shoots me a cocky grin. “Yeah. You said that already, Banks,” he says, then returns his focus to the dinner party, telling a story about a photo shoot in Paris.
I settle in for a long, painful meal in my champagne-soaked shirt.
* * *
In spite of my warnings, Hannah moves in with Flip a few weeks later.
