Page 37 of The Best Men
“Really?” He tosses the clicker onto the quilt as he finally turns to me. “So you’renotwatching me from outside the door? I’ve seen horror movies with scenes just like this.”
My face is on fire. But if I slink away now, it will only get weirder. So I square my shoulders and take a step closer to the door. “Can I come in?”
“I’m guessing I can’t stop you, so . . . sure?”
I slide the screen door open and step inside. He doesn’t move from the bed, though. He just watches me with amused blue eyes. There’s something sturdy about his character that I find refreshing. He’s unflappable.
And I dig it.
“Look,” I try. “I just heard your show through my open door. So I stepped outside to see if we were watching the same thing. I’d been working on a theory about you, and this seemed like a harmless way to investigate. I wondered if you were a fan of Lord Oliver.”
He actually rolls his eyes. “Is that the secret pass phrase?Hey man, are you a friend of Lord Oliver’s?”
Our gazes lock. His gives away nothing. My crush is seriously formidable. Not for the first time, I wonder if he plays poker.
He should.
I run a hand through my hair—then stop. That’s always been my tell. “Look. It’s none of my business. I just thought you’d want to know this show is about to get gayer than a kick line in a pride parade.”
“Thank you.”
That’s it. He doesn’t even blink.
For once in my life, I don’t know what to do or say. I’ve literally got nothing. “Right.” I gulp. “Thanks for sharing.”
Mark snorts. And something in his expression slips. “Is that a requirement? That I spill my guts to you?”
“No,” I say quickly. He’s right. Of course he is. I cannot figure out how to stop being a dick where Mark is concerned. “Never mind. Sharing is, well, not easy for some people.”
Then he snarls at me. Actually snarls as he sits bolt upright in bed, staring hard at me. “You don'tknowme, asshole. You think I'm just an uptight banker. I could be anyone. I could be a guy who has always known he was bi, and couldn't wait to take that out for a test drive. But then he got his ungrateful college girlfriend pregnant and is now an overworked single dad who knows everything there is to know aboutPeppa Pigbut who has been off the market so long he has no idea when he'll ever relieve some of this unbearable tension since he doesn't know how to find some willing, non-creepy single dude with good hygiene to sixty-nine.”
Holy wow.
I’m still trying to take that in when Mark swings his legs off the bed and stands up. Suddenly, we’re eye to eye. His are angry. “We don’t all have a big, loud life on four continents. But here you are, interrupting my show! For what? To sayAha! I knew it?That’s just rude. My entire sex life for the past year has basically been replaying the Troliver kiss over and over while I got myself off. So, thanks for busting in here to satisfy your own curiosity.”
“Jesus.” His blue eyes are on fire. “Sorry. But . . .” The image of Mark stroking himself has lodged right in the center of my brain, making it hard for me to finish sentences. So I manage to say exactly the wrong thing. I raise my hand into the air and pull a total Katniss. “I volunteer as tribute.”
Mark blinks. “What? You’re teasing me right now?Thisis when you decide to do that again?”
“No. No, no, nope.” I shake my head. “I tease you a lot. I know. But this time, I’m serious. We could, uh, have a little vacation fun. Totally harmless fun.” I’m practically babbling right now.
And I don’t babble. The last time I was this flustered was five years ago when a bull ran onto the field mid-match during a game against Barcelona. For the long moments between the bull’s invasion and the ref’s whistle, I couldn’t decide whether to run down the ball or cover my balls.
This is almost exactly the same situation. I can’t figure out if I should dive to safety through the screen door, or start stripping off my clothing like a go-go dancer who’s late for his shift.
I prefer the second option.
13
THIS COULD BE THE BIG ONE
MARK
Icannot believe the words coming out of this man’s mouth.
“There’s no such thing as totally harmless fun,” I say, sounding just as uptight as the duchess from the show. But I don’t do well with surprises.
And Asher St. James propositioning me definitely falls into thesurprisecolumn. He can’t actually be serious. Nothing he does is serious.
