Page 138 of The Best Men
“I like tennis, though.”
“Good to know,” he says.
* * *
I’m a lucky man.
I’ve lived a charmed life. No great childhood drama, no traumatic coming out story. I’m only thirty, and I’ve already had two fantastic careers. The first one on the pitch, the second behind the lens.
It’s very good to be me.
But right now, on a Saturday in September in Manhattan, as I walk through Greenwich Village with Mark, this is the day I want to bottle up.
From the sex marathon, to the pancakes, to meeting his nerdy banker friend.
Every second is perfect.
“And we’re almost there. The five percent errand,” I say, waving to the end of the block.
“Ah, so the sex dungeon you’re taking me to is up ahead?” Mark asks, swinging his gaze around the street.
Reasonable question, since we’ve passed leather shops and sex toy stores, all adorned with rainbow flags.
“That’s for later, pet,” I tease him.
Mark laughs. Something he’s been doing a lot of this weekend. He has a great laugh, dry and full of genuine humor. The man has a fantastic smile too. And I can’t help feeling like a king since I’m the guy who brings it out in him. I’m also theonlyguy who’s brought out this side of him. I don’t have a virgin kink, but I definitely have a Mark Banks one. Being his first for all the good stuff in bed only makes me want to experiencemoregood stuff with him.
Every single night.
I drape an arm around his shoulders. “We can have a whole night of sex dungeon spreadsheets at your place any time you want.”
“Good thing I stocked up on handcuffs, then,” he says, offhand.
I stop in my tracks, and he pulls up short. “Do not tease me about handcuffs,” I say, in a deep, low voice.
Mark grins wickedly. “You kinky fucker. Are you into handcuffs, Asher?”
I’m into you.“I had a dirty daydream about you in handcuffs once.”
“Guess you can come play with mine tonight then,” he says, and yup, this is officially the best day ever.
I grab his face, give him a quick peck.
When I break the kiss, we walk the last several feet to one of my favorite clothing shops. Sexy music filters out, and a tall woman with short white hair and stern glasses glances up at us from the stark white counter.
“We’re going . . . shopping?” Mark asks, brow creased. “That’s your surprise?”
Oh, shit.
“Yes,” I say, and my heart skitters. Now that I’m here, it hits me?he’s going to think I’m trying to change him and I'm not really. This is just fun. “I thought maybe I’d get you some new shirts, but let’s forget it.”
“You really do hate my clothes.” He sounds amused.
But I feel like a jackass. “Actually, I don’t.”
“I’m so confused. You want to take me shopping. Get me some new clothes, but now you don’t?”
I had this idea to buy him some stylish new shirts that I’d want to rip off him, and it felt brilliant at the time. Now, it seems like an insult. “You don’t have to change a single thing for me,” I tell him. “I don’t need to take you shopping.”
