Page 132 of The Best Men
Which reminds me.
“I know you don't like surprises but I do have a surprise for you tomorrow that I think you’ll like,” I tell him.
“Is it a sex surprise?”
“No, it's someplace I want to take you in New York. Sort of like an errand.”
“I like sex errands.”
I run my thumb along his wrist. “Are you always thinking about sex, Captain Filthy Mind?”
He stares at the ceiling. “Not always, but a good ninety-five percent of the time.”
“Consider this a five percent errand then.”
“And you think that’ll get me to agree to a surprise? Making itnotabout sex?”
I picture where I want to take him. Fine, we can squeeze in certain five percent things. “Do you have a spreadsheet for risky places in New York for . . .?” Then I whisper the number in his ear.
A sharp intake of breath comes from my guy. “I might like this surprise now.”
I pull back, brush my knuckles along his jaw, smirking at Mark. “Thought you might.”
“Dude, stop touching me. We need to go,” he says, sounding ornery.
Ornery Mark is hot.
But all Marks are hot to me.
And that makes all the sense in the world.
“By the way, I can’t wait to see your place. I bet you have navy sheets and gray pillowcases,” I say.
He stares dead-eyed at me. “Why do I like you so much?”
Tossing my head back, I crack up. “That's a very good question.”
For a while, I asked myself the same question about him. But I know exactly why Mark Banks does it for me. He’s never once tried to change me. He sees exactly who I am. He takes me as I am.
And he’s still here.
I squeeze his hand. Check the goods. We’re presentable. “I’d say we’re ready. Let’s go pretend to be social. Ten minutes?”
“Ten minutes tops,” he agrees.
I drop his hand, and we leave the library.
I fucking love libraries.
* * *
As much as I’d like to drink and dash, I can’t. After I grab my weekend bag from the coat check, I track down the man of the hour. Flip’s holding court with some old friends, entertaining Danya, Jasper, and Archie, so I catch his eye, and nod toward the door.
He lifts a finger to them, then peels away.
As we duck into an alcove, he stares curiously at my weekend bag, slung over my shoulder. “You never leave a party early. Even for jet lag . . . ergo?”
Flip isn’t dumb. He’s likely done the math since I’ve been here less than thirty minutes. “Change of plans. For your thirtieth birthday, my present is to give your home all to you and your wife tonight.”
