Super Hot Wingman (The Best Men 0.50)

“We’ve decided that Saturday night will be game night! And you’re going to be there,” she pronounces.

“Oh. I am, am I?”

“Yes. You and Flip’s best friend. I’m claiming you as my Scrabble teammate. And you don’t even have Rosie that night so it’ll be perfect,” she says.

Damn, she’s good. “How did you know I don’t have Rosie then?”

“I might have stopped by Bridget’s wine shop to grab a bottle, and she mentioned it was her weekend. It works out perfectly. So you can’t say no.”

I bristle at the mention of my soon-to-be ex-wife, even though I’m impressed by my sister’s sleuthing. And if anyone should have what she wants, it’s my little sister. “Fine. I’ll be there. What do I need to bring?”

“Just that big brain of yours and your competitive spirit. I’ll text you the address. Come over at eight. Flip and I will handle drinks and everything else. Although I should see if Asher wants to bring some of these incredible mackerel rolls he sent over to us last night from his favorite sushi place. Which is now my favorite sushi place. They were melt-on-your-tongue-worthy rolls.”

What the hell is she talking about? “Some other guy sent you mackerel rolls?”

“Yes, Flip’s BFF. You’ll love him too, I’m sure.”

Whatever. I don’t really care about some dude who’s friends with my sister’s new man. But this guy, Flip? The man Hannah’s suddenly over the moon for? My job is to check him out very carefully, and make sure he’s worthy of my baby sister. She waxes on for a good long while about Flip and how wonderful he is as I head to the kitchen and clean up the tomato and cheese sandwiches I made my kiddo for dinner.

When Hannah hangs up, I check on my six-year-old. Rosie’s sound asleep, and I press a soft kiss to her forehead, wondering briefly what you wear to a game night to meet the dude your sister is nuts for.

Yep. This is my life. Separated single dad at the age of twenty-seven, and the most exciting thing I have to do is play party games with my sister’s new friends.

Yay me.

YOU HANDSOME DEVIL

MARK

On Saturday evening, I’m right on time to hunt for Flip’s flaws. Besides the obvious one—his name is kind of ridiculous.

And the other one. He lives on Park Avenue in a penthouse apartment that spans the entire twelfth floor of the building. When I step off the elevator, I’m standing in the man’s private foyer.

A goddamn Degas sculpture stands opposite the coat rack. It’s a brass one of the dancers. At best, our man Flip is a super-rich art collector.

At worst, he has a thing for skinny teenage ballet dancers.

News flash: I don’t trust this guy.

It’s not that I don’t trust rich people. It’s that I don’t trust people, especially people my sister seems enamored of, and she definitely is fond of the preppy, penthouse-owning, gray-eyed guy who struts into the entryway to shake my hand. “I’ve heard so much about you,” he says, his smile showing perfectly white, straight teeth.

“Nice to meet you,” I manage. And I give him a handshake that says, if you hurt her I will disembowel you.

At least, I hope it says that. I looked this guy up on social media and he’s never been short of female companionship. Year after year, he has beautiful women by his side. I don’t want Hannah to be one in a long line.

She appears next to him a moment later, tackle hugging me, nearly knocking my glasses off. “This is amazing! My two favorite people have met!”

As I adjust my glasses, I feel a little nauseated, honestly, but now Flip is looking at her like he’s already in love. “This is pretty great,” he says. “Good thing Asher suggested I get a hand-carved jukebox at the place right next to the candle-making studio, or else I never would have tried the class. And never would have met my amazing new girlfriend.”

Then Flip kisses her, right in front of me. This is all too soon, and I want to grab my face and scream like the guy in that Munch painting.

Who calls someone his girlfriend after one weekend?

Also, who needs a hand-carved jukebox?

Who needs a fucking hand-carved anything?

This is worse than I even feared.

Twenty minutes later I’m sitting on a giant burgundy sofa, sipping wine out of a glass the size of a fishbowl, and trying to make small talk while Flip and my sister make lovey-dovey eyes at each other.

What we aren’t doing, though, is playing any board games. Because we’re waiting for this Asher guy to show up. “Is he still coming tonight or can we get started without him?” I finally ask.

“I’m sure Ash will be here soon,” Flip says, then tells me how my sister convinced him to binge watch Archibald Lane during their marathon weekend together. “I figure if anyone can convince me to try period drama, I shouldn't let her get away.” He drops a kiss to my sister’s cheek.