Page 14 of The Best Men
That makes dating tough. But even if it didn’t, the prospect of dinner and drinks with someone new sounds equal parts exciting and horrifying. The last time I dated, I lived in a dorm.
Although I’m definitely eager to get back in the sex saddle.
It’s been a while.
A long, long while of just me and my hand.
If dirty thoughts were an origin story for a superhero, I’d be Captain Filthy Mind. But there’s a big difference between entertaining my long list of sex wishes alone at night and going out and getting them.
What would Asher do if he knew I had a spreadsheet buried on my laptop, with nearly a hundred lines dedicated to various fantasies?
He’d laugh his ass off, that’s what.
Good thing that sucker is password protected.
“When you’re ready, I’ll be your matchmaker,” Valencia says as Rosie rushes over, Alba by her side, the bats, balls and gloves all neatly sorted.
“We cleaned up, and now I’m ready for a burrito with my bestie,” Rosie announces.
“And fro-yo. Can we go to that new shop?” Alba asks.
“Yes! We have to try the pineapple-mango-coconut cake flavor.”
“With Gummi Bears and Sno-Caps on top,” Alba adds, intensely serious, and I have a feeling they’ve been planning their dessert all day. Goals.
Then, before I can remind her, Rosie remembers her manners and turns to Alba’s mom. “Thank you for taking me with you to dinner.”
“And thank you for taking care of Blackbeard while I’m gone, too,” I tell Valencia.
Rosie lifts a finger, all six-year-old bossy, as she sometimes is. “He gets two-thirds of a cup of cat food a day. That’s sixty-six percent of a cup. Well, almost sixty-seven.”
With an eyebrow arch, Valencia stares daggers at me. “This is your fault, Mark. All this mathing.”
I hold up my hands in surrender. “I happily take the blame.”
I say goodbye to my friend, then my kid and hers, and hoof it several blocks south to the designer’s showroom.
Fashion is not my thing. Shopping for my own suits is a bit like changing cat litter. A necessary chore.
Just like this outing with Asher.
That’s what this outing is?just another task. This mental trick works just fine until I reach Thirteenth Street, where my gaze lands on a tall, toned, ridiculously good-looking guy jogging down the block.
Effortlessly.
Looking really fucking good, and yeah, it’s a good thing Rosie isn’t here since I'm thinking about item 2B on my spreadsheet.
Focus, Mark.
Asher stops in front of me, looks at his wrist. “Damn, I impress myself. Forty minutes. Made it exactly on time,” he says, sounding insanely pleased.
I lift a brow. “You’re congratulating yourself for making it on time? Do you pat yourself on the back when you remember to brush your teeth, too?”
He shoots me a mega-watt smile, all gleaming teeth, and perfect lips. “Maybe I do, Banks. Maybe I do.”
“To each his own,” I say, as Asher eyes me up and down.
“I had no idea you owned anything other than your Wall Street uniforms,” he remarks, his gaze traveling over my navy-blue polo shirt and jeans.
