Page 108 of The Best Men
We’re snuggled close together so we can both see his laptop screen. And we’re drinking seltzer water and picking at a bunch of grapes while we watch two Hollywood actors in period costume give each other smoldering looks.
It’s so . . . nice. And healthy. Usually I come to Miami for the nightlife. But there’s no place else I’d rather be right now. I haven’t had a TV buddy in a long time.
“She’s going to trick Lord Oliver into signing the marriage banns,” Mark says, his wrist grazing my abs as he reaches for a grape. “I called it.”
“No way,” I say, taking the other side as a reflex. “He’s too smart for that.”
It may not actually be true. But Lord Oliver is a blond guy with floofy hair. I have to stand up for my people.
Sure enough, the duchess slips a marriage contract into the stack of papers Lord Oliver’s secretary placed onto his desk for his signature. “Nooooo,” I bellow. “This is a disaster. I want a refund.”
And I use the moment to wrap an arm around Mark, because I’m smooth like that.
“Sir Trevor will think of something,” he says, relaxing against me.
“He’ll make a spreadsheet,” I say, stroking Mark’s shoulder.
“In 1821?” Mark chuckles.
I lean in and nibble on his ear. Just a little.
“Are we still watching this show?” Mark asks.
“Of course we are.” I lick his earlobe. “I’m just pre-gaming. There’d better be a sex scene soon. My patience is not infinite.”
Mark leans back a little farther into my embrace, but I try to behave. Meanwhile, Sir Trevor discovers that Lord Oliver’s bride is in love with someone else. He writes her a poem so heartbreaking that she breaks down, weeping.
And, even more cleverly, he helps her elope to Scotland with her man.
Then—praise Jesus—Lord Oliver and Sir Trevor meet up in the dead of night for some hot lovin’ at a hunting cabin on Ollie’s ancestral grounds. “Here we go!” I crow as Sir Trevor bolts the door. “You go get it, man. You know you want him.”
“Will Ollie bottom?” Mark asks, eating the last grape.
“Nah, Trevor is a power bottom, and probably a size queen.”
Mark snorts out a laugh. “Rip his shirt off, Ollie! Hurry!”
And he does. Our two heroes stumble into the bedroom where the sex fairy has kindly popped by to light about seven hundred candles.
Trevor pushes Ollie onto the giant bed. “We don’t have much time.”
“We have all night,” Ollie argues, gripping Trevor’s chin. “Now kiss me with that clever mouth of yours.”
“It’s more clever even than that, Lord. Would you like a demonstration?”
“Say yes, Ollie!” Mark yells.
Ollie crushes his mouth to Trevor’s instead. And then more clothes come off.
Mark’s hand lands on my knee and begins to stroke.
Yesss.I put a hand on his abs and spread out my fingers temptingly. “You like this, huh?”
“And you don’t?”
“Oh, I do.” I kiss his neck. “But I’m really here for the fashion and the British accents.”
“Sure you are.” He runs a hand up my thigh to tease my bulge. “This semi is for the knee pants, I bet.”
