The Best Men (The Best Men 1)

Which means something big, big, big.

Mark is either a fun-loving, super open-minded Wall Streeter from Ohio with a thing for sexy period drama, no matter the storyline. Or, he, like every queer man I know—the fun ones, anyway—cannot wait for Lord Ollie and Sir Trevor to bone down.

Standing in my bathroom like a dingus, my ears strain to hear what’s on Mark’s screen. But now, everything is quiet.

Whoa. Was the whole thing my imagination? It’s entirely possible. Let’s face it—I have a thing for him. An attraction. A curiosity. I’m a little stuck on this man. I don’t know how it happened either. He’s certainly never encouraged me. But the more I get to know him, the more attractive he becomes.

A banker. Or a trader—whatever he calls it. And with a kid. Fuck me.

But now I have to know.

In stealth mode, I leave my room and step into the living room. But I hear nothing out here. So I slip out the front door and circle the guest house. Mark’s room has a sliding glass door, just like mine. It’s pathetically easy to position myself in a way where I can see his laptop screen.

And there’s Lord Oliver, frantically penning a message to Sir Trevor, who’s about to set off on a journey to the colonies.

There, also, is my hot banker, lying against the pillows with his knee cocked, and an arm propped up over his head. He’s wearing basketball shorts and a thin T-shirt that hugs his frame . . .

The screen freezes, and the sound cuts off.

I stop breathing.

A long moment glugs by with only the beating of my heart as the soundtrack.

“Well?” Mark asks drily. He doesn’t even turn his head. “Are you just going to stand there like a creeper? How worried should I be right now?”

“S-sorry,” I sputter. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“Really?” He tosses the clicker onto the quilt as he finally turns to me. “So you’re not watching me from outside the door? I’ve seen horror movies with scenes just like this.”

My face is on fire. But if I slink away now, it will only get weirder. So I square my shoulders and take a step closer to the door. “Can I come in?”

“I’m guessing I can’t stop you, so . . . sure?”

I slide the screen door open and step inside. He doesn’t move from the bed, though. He just watches me with amused blue eyes. There’s something sturdy about his character that I find refreshing. He’s unflappable.

And I dig it.

“Look,” I try. “I just heard your show through my open door. So I stepped outside to see if we were watching the same thing. I’d been working on a theory about you, and this seemed like a harmless way to investigate. I wondered if you were a fan of Lord Oliver.”

He actually rolls his eyes. “Is that the secret pass phrase? Hey man, are you a friend of Lord Oliver’s?”

Our gazes lock. His gives away nothing. My crush is seriously formidable. Not for the first time, I wonder if he plays poker.

He should.

I run a hand through my hair—then stop. That’s always been my tell. “Look. It’s none of my business. I just thought you’d want to know this show is about to get gayer than a kick line in a pride parade.”

“Thank you.”

That’s it. He doesn’t even blink.

For once in my life, I don’t know what to do or say. I’ve literally got nothing. “Right.” I gulp. “Thanks for sharing.”

Mark snorts. And something in his expression slips. “Is that a requirement? That I spill my guts to you?”

“No,” I say quickly. He’s right. Of course he is. I cannot figure out how to stop being a dick where Mark is concerned. “Never mind. Sharing is, well, not easy for some people.”

Then he snarls at me. Actually snarls as he sits bolt upright in bed, staring hard at me. “You don't know me, asshole. You think I'm just an uptight banker. I could be anyone. I could be a guy who has always known he was bi, and couldn't wait to take that out for a test drive. But then he got his ungrateful college girlfriend pregnant and is now an overworked single dad who knows everything there is to know about Peppa Pig but who has been off the market so long he has no idea when he'll ever relieve some of this unbearable tension since he doesn't know how to find some willing, non-creepy single dude with good hygiene to sixty-nine.”

Holy wow.

I’m still trying to take that in when Mark swings his legs off the bed and stands up. Suddenly, we’re eye to eye. His are angry. “We don’t all have a big, loud life on four continents. But here you are, interrupting my show! For what? To say Aha! I knew it? That’s just rude. My entire sex life for the past year has basically been replaying the Troliver kiss over and over while I got myself off. So, thanks for busting in here to satisfy your own curiosity.”