Page 77 of The Best Men
“You really want me to answer that now, St. James?”
“Mmm. I do,” I murmur. “I think it might help me sleep.”
“You sarcastic fucker.”
I drag him close, kiss the back of his neck and drift off.
25
GOOD MORNING TO ME
THURSDAY
ASHER
As the light streaks through the window in the morning, I’m still basking in the after-effects. My helpful brain conveniently replays the reel of the night before—Mark’s throaty groans, the heat of his body, the smell of his skin. A potent mix of chlorine, of all things, and his endless desire.
Mine too.
In fact, I’d like to go again right now.
I flip over in bed, all ready to tug that warm body against mine, when I’m met by . . . nothing.
Cool sheets.
A silent room.
And an empty bed.
I rub my eyes and push up, hunting for him. His glasses aren’t on the nightstand. His phone is gone.
I listen for noise. The shower maybe? The hiss of the coffee pot?
But the guest house is eerily still.
Did he return to his room after we conked out post-shower? My chest tightens. Swinging my legs out of bed, I pad to the bathroom, take care of business, and brush my teeth.
Then I wander past his room to sneak a peek, but the door’s cracked open only an inch. I can’t see in.
But why do I care if he crashed in his room?
Because . . . I do. I just do.
My thumping heart needs to settle down, though. It’s onlysex.
So what if he took off after he got off? I’ve been there, done that. Hell, it’s pretty much been my MO for the last decade. And it ought to be de rigueur for this tryst that’s ending this weekend.
I head to my bedroom when the main door creaks open.
A shirtless Mark strolls in, hair a mess, glasses on. His eyes sail down my body, stopping point-blank on my dick.
“Good morning to me,” he says, with an appreciative hum.
And my dick shows off how much I like Mark Banks by getting harder. Fucking exhibitionist.
Good thing he’s checking out my junk, since the smile I’m wearing is too much. Don’t entirely want him to know I was stupidly worried he took off for his own room late last night. “But mornings are better in bed,” I say casually as I turn into my room.
He’d better follow me.
