Page 131 of The Best Men
Has anything ever made me weak in the knees?
Nothing except him.
My toes are curling as he kisses me luxuriously, with slow, soft, wet kisses along my jaw, like he’s relishing the taste of me.
“Mmm. Missed this,” he murmurs.
I groan, running my hands through his hair. “So you have to leave tomorrow?”
Another kiss on my jaw as he nods.
“I’ll take tonight, Asher. If it’s all I get,” I say.
He lifts his face, dusts a soft, tender kiss to my lips. “I’ll change my flight. I want to see you, Mark Banks. I want to spend the weekend with you. I want to take you up on the best sleepover offer ever.”
The way I felt when I walked in? Sick and nervous?
I’m the opposite. I’m electric and elated. And I never want this to end. But I’ll take two days. I will gladly take two days with Asher St. James.
And make the best of them.
I grab his face again. “So you really came here to see me?”
“I kind of can’t stop thinking about you, Banks.”
I know he said he can read me in other ways. But sometimes, words matter. I run a hand through that swoopy hair and go for it. “I missed you, Asher St. James,” I whisper, feeling a little wobbly as I lay out the truth for him.
“You have no idea,” he says.
“I’m pretty sure I have every idea,” I whisper. “But I have to tell you something.”
“Yeah?”
“You snore too.”
44
A MUTUAL MANHANDLING
ASHER
We don't leave yet. I don't want to advertise to all our friends that I mauled the guest of honor’s brother-in-law.
Or, wait, did he maul me?
Well, if the way his hair looks is any indication of mine, it was a mutual manhandling. So I stop Mark, before he opens the door.
“One thing,” I say. “We can’t leave yet. We’re not presentable.” I step to him, gently smoothing his tousled hair. “There.”
He dips his reddening face. “Thanks,” he says, while lifting a hand to adjust his glasses. They might have gotten knocked around a bit, and the photographer in me wants to capture this look. I’d call it . . .relentlessly kissed man.
That might be my favorite photo ever.
I snap it in my mind’s eye, then my gaze drifts down. “Also, we need to wait one more minute.”
He laughs. “Yeah, it’s good that you do the thinking at times like this.”
But I don’t let go of his hand. Don’t want to stop touching him. I’m tempted to drag him against me one more time, but that won’t help us make our great escape. So I keep things chaste as I adjust the collar of his maroon shirt with my free hand.
