Page 136 of The Best Men
“Yup,” is all I can manage.
“You have navy sheets and a one-eyed cat.”
I pick up my head just a few degrees and spot Blackbeard licking his paw on top of my dresser. “Yup.”
“I think he’s plotting to kill me.”
“He is. But I’ll save you.”
Asher laughs. He reaches for my hand, lifts it to his mouth, and kisses my knuckles.
This small maneuver makes me unreasonably happy. “So, what do you want to do this weekend?”
“I just did it,” he says. “And as soon as I’m able, we’ll do it again.”
46
MORE THAN HANDCUFFS
ASHER
Iam facedown on Mark’s couch, recovering from round number . . . actually, I’ve lost track at this point. We just can’t keep our hands off each other. On and off, all night long. In his bed, in his shower. This last time, I bent him over his own couch and held him tightly until I made him shout.
Now it’s about eleven a.m. New York time on Saturday. That means it’s five p.m. in Paris. I’ve barely had four hours sleep in the last day and a half, but I couldn’t be happier. I guess I’ll sleep when I’m dead. And now he’s making coffee, so that will probably help.
I doze.
The couch depresses with Mark’s weight. At least, I hope it’s him and not that freaky cat. That cat is proof that Mark Banks is full of surprises?I never expected him to have a pet. And one who’s a pirate.
A warm hand lands on my back and then travels up to sift through my hair. “Have I finished you off? Or do you have enough strength left to drink this coffee?”
“I can’t wait to drink that coffee.” With a yawn, I push myself up to a seated position.
Mark puts his feet onto the coffee table. He hands me a steaming mug, keeping one for himself.
I prop my feet up right beside his. And then I rub his instep with my foot while we silently sip our coffee.
This is so . . . nice. A Saturday at home with Mark. I want all the Saturdays, damn it. I don’t know what it is about Mark, but he makes me want things I don’t usually crave.
My hand finds its way onto his thigh. I’m not putting the moves on him. I just want to touch him.
His hand slides over mine. “I stirred up some pancake batter. And I also put some bacon in the oven. How do you feel about bananas in pancakes?”
Maybe the jet lag is getting to me, because the idea that Mark is making us breakfast almost makes me want to cry. “I feel great about it,” I rasp. “Feed me all the things.”
I take a big breath and, yup, the air is bacon-scented. I’m basically in heaven right now.
Then the door buzzer rings. Apparently there are visitors in heaven.
“Fuck,” Mark says. He gets up.
“What’s the matter?”
“I forgot about Brett.”
“Brett from work?”
“Yeah. We were going to play tennis.” He walks over to the vestibule and lifts a phone that’s attached to the wall. “Yes, thanks. Send him up.” Then he glances down at his gym shorts and threadbare T-shirt before turning to give me a head-to-toe sweep, and then a smile. “Just making sure we’re both decent.”
