Page 78 of The Best Men
I flop down on the bed. Waiting.
When he turns into my room, he stops in the doorway, dips his head. Mark looks a little shy, and a lot happy.
My chest warms. Hmm. Must be from the sunlight.
Leaning against the doorjamb, he scratches his jaw. “Since my parents arrive later this morning, I was busy hiding the casserole dishes,” he says, pointing at the sprawling house. “Like I told Hannah I would.”
“Are they stashed anywhere I should know about? Under the couch cushions? Just so I don’t sit on one.”
A smile curves his lips. “No. I hid them in the pool shed.”
“Explain.”
“Mom loves to clean too. And vacuum. So if I hid them in a linen closet or the pantry in the house, she’d find them. She’ll open all the cupboards and doors, so I had to put them in the one spot she wouldn’t look. With the pool chemicals.”
“Your brain is a very busy place,” I say.
“And then I spotted a pelican. I took a picture of it and sent it to Bridget to show Rosie. She likes animals. My daughter, that is,” he says, and for the first time ever, Mark sounds like he’s rambling. Mark is not a rambler.
“That’s adorable,” I say, because sending bird pics to his kid is cute. But I don’t think he’s telling me about his kid so I’ll think he’s a good dad.
He’s waiting for me to make the next move.
Ah, hell.
That’s why he’s shy right now. He’s got that morning-afterwas-it-good-for-youlook in his eyes.
And I’ve got the answer to soothe his worries. That’s a heady feeling, too—knowing you can give someone what he needs. “Are you just going to stand there looking incomparably sexy in those basketball shorts and nothing else? Or are you going to get your fine ass back in bed? No one expects to see us for a while. After all, I have an excellent track record for not showing my fabulous face till brunch. And everyone probably assumes you’re off solving algebraic equations in that pretty head of yours while jogging ten miles on Key Biscayne.”
“Please. I do differential calculus when I run.” He slides back into bed.
My brow knits as I pluck at the waistband of his shorts. “What the fuck is this? Get naked. Now.”
“Are we fucking again?” He sounds eager. It’s a good sound.
“Not yet. Emphasis onyet. I just want . . .” But I’m unsure if I should fully articulate what I truly crave right now. A little more time with him. “Just want you naked in bed with me.”
“Twist my arm.” He shucks off his shorts and underwear, and that’s what I like to see. All this skin. All these muscles. All of his body that I want again and again.
But I should be a good sex tutor, make sure my straight-A student is holding up. “Are you sore?”
He shrugs. “A little. But I’m good with it.”
That’s pretty much his mantra in bed, I’m learning. He’s good with everything. He wants everything. He’s open to all of the above. Funny, how I thought I was the only one among us with no hang-ups. Seems we’re both that way. I run a hand down his hip. “Good. Glad you’re . . . good.”
“And you?” he asks cautiously.
I get it now. Why he’s all tentative and this side of shy. Grabbing his ass, I haul him against me. “I’m excellent. Last night was incredible.”
He fights off a smile. “Good. That’s good.”
Mark’s not into swoony words, though, so the better way to let him know how I feel might be like this. “So, the pool shed. Is that on your list? Do I need to bend you over the pool pump and fuck you there tonight?”
His eyes glint. “No. That’s what I’ll do to you.”
“Bet I’ll love it. You banging me among the pool chemicals and casserole dish stash has got to be top of my wish list,” I say, and we both burst into laughter.
That feels good too.
