Page 67 of The Best Men
“So . . .” Asher clears his throat. “What are we going to do with this extra time together?”
“I have so many ideas,” Hannah says.
I’ll betzeroof them match mine.
22
HARD-ON CHUTZPAH
ASHER
The lady wasn’t kidding.
About five minutes after we help carry their luggage up to the largest suite, Hannah opens up a crate to reveal fifty miniature glass and brass lanterns, plus a bevy of crafting supplies. She sets up shop in the huge, white living room, with the three of us as her minions. “Mark, please cut each ribbon to exactly sixteen inches.”
“Sixteen. Got it,” he says, because she definitely asked the right man to do the right job.
“Asher, tie them into a bow, please. And Flip, you can add one of these tea lights that I’m unpacking. After this job is done, we’ll move on to the Jordan almonds and the goodie bags.”
Great. I have to get through almond bagging before I get my hands on Mark again. That also means Ican’tgive Mark the lingering glance I crave. My face would give me away to Hannah. I might as well rent a billboard with six-foot letters reading: I WANT YOUR BROTHER TO BANG ME RIGHT FUCKING NOW.
After fifteen minutes of hard labor and zero eye contact, I put some jazz on the stereo speakers and raid the beer fridge, then grab a soda for Hannah.
“The room looks like the wedding aisle at Michaels exploded,” I point out, as I seat myself on an armchair across from the happy couple.
“Wait. How doyouknow what the wedding aisle at Michaels looks like?” Hannah asks, a smile lighting her sweet face.
“Woman, a photo shoot can go sideways in a million ways. Ask me sometime about the dozen plastic tiki torches I bought to get just the right flickering light for a Halloween shoot.”
Mark’s amused eyes lift to mine for a split second before darting away again.
He’s avoiding me too. We’re in the same room together, but he’s on the opposite side of the space, in an armchair that I swear he chose for its distance from mine.
But now I can’t help staring. My eyes dart over to where his muscular legs are propped onto a leather footstool. And the open collar of his shirt gives me a view of his neck—and the smooth column I traced with my tongue not so long ago.
I rein in a whimper.
“So how are you taking this change?” Flip asks me.
“Hmm?” I drag my gaze off Mark. “It’s uh . . .” Wait. I have no idea what Flip is talking about. “This change,” I repeat.
My friend tilts his head, studying me. “You seem distracted.”
“No! Just tired . . .” I protest.From twenty-four hours of sexual tension and sexual release. “. . . from a long day of running wedding errands.”
“He won’t ask you to be the photographer, will he?” Flip asks. “Garrett?”
I blink. Now I’m sure I’ve missed something. “The photographer?”
“At his wedding,” Flip says gently. “I just asked you if you saw the Instagram announcement and you nodded.”
“Right,” I say quickly. But inside, I’m reeling. Garrett is getting married? Already? “OfcourseI’m not taking wedding photos for him. He wouldn’t want me to anyway. That’s not my thing. And that would be super awkward.”
“That’s your ex?” Hannah asks, tying a satin ribbon around the last little bag of almonds.
“My ex,” I repeat dully. “We broke up a while back. Actually, it was only eleven months ago. But who’s counting.”
“Oh, ouch,” Hannah says.
