The Best Men (The Best Men 1)

Hannah smiles through her tears. “And I love you for it. But this is about more than ham casserole, Mark.”

I squeeze her ankle to emphasize my point. “I get that. But I think Flip manages his mother by yessing her to death. And then he does what he pleases. If I’m right, we could learn a thing or two from him.” That’s what Asher had said. And after watching the Dubois family in action, I believe him.

“But what if you’re wrong? What if he wants to ship our child off to boarding school before their first visit from the tooth fairy? Does the tooth fairy even visit European boarding schools?” Her lip trembles.

“Hannah, come on, now. Did you ask Flip if that’s what he wants? Did you pull him aside and tell him that some of the things his mother says scare you to death?”

Slowly, she shakes her head. “Not yet. I’m afraid to hear what he’ll say.”

“Don’t be,” I insist, flashing back to the night of the engagement party, the way Flip wrapped a protective arm around my sister?to shield her from me.

He’ll listen. He cares for her so much. Even if I couldn’t admit it then, I see it now.

“Look, you and Flip are not Bridget and me. You’re just not. Even though I worry about you—which is basically my job as your older brother—you guys were never like us. I barely knew who I was when I met Bridget. I got myself a wife without ever asking if I wanted one. But you and Flip were both ready to meet your forever partner. You two were practically planning your wedding on date number three. Nothing has changed here. You love each other.”

She swipes at her eyes. “I do love Flip.”

“Do you trust him too?”

“Yes,” she whispers. “I trust him to listen.”

“Then just go talk to him.”

She draws in a deep breath, swipes away her tears, and nods resolutely. “You’re right. My freak-out is unwarranted.”

“Yes and no. Your mother-in-law is a category-five hurricane in pearls. But that’s just life, and that needs to be managed by you and Flip together.”

“Together,” she repeats. “I need to speak to him. Right now.” She sounds like my strong, determined sister again as she pulls her feet out of my lap and stands. “God, Mark. I’m sorry to be such a drama queen. I’d blame the pregnancy hormones, but that sounds like a cop-out.”

“Hey, don’t be sorry.” I stand up and pull her into my arms. “Commitment is scary. Some people get burned. There are no guarantees. But you can’t let his mother throw you off course. She’s not the one who matters.”

“Okay. I know. I let her scare me.”

I give her one more squeeze. “Now go and tell Flip that you are not sending a six-year-old to boarding school. See what he says. I’ll bet he already agrees with you. But even if he doesn’t, I bet he’ll listen.”

“He will. You’re right.” She stands up on her tiptoes and kisses me on the cheek. “I love you. Thank you for being here for me.”

“Anytime, Banana. Seriously.”

She darts off toward the house. I listen to the door open and then close again. But I’m still standing here by the pool chair, replaying that moment.

Sometimes you just have to go after what you want tenaciously, whether it’s your forever, or just one night.

34

GREATEST THEFT OF ALL TIME

MARK

With that behind me, I can resume my beeline for the guest house.

And what I want most.

The second the door shuts, I erase the rest of the evening. I turn the lock and I am not opening it for anything less than a five-alarm fire.

“This is your five-second warning!” I announce. “If you’re asleep, I am waking you up with my mouth. Five, four, three—”

I turn into Asher’s room, and I can’t even finish.

My throat goes dry.

He’s waiting for me, all tanned and muscled and gloriously naked. Ankles crossed, flipping through a glossy magazine. “It’s about time. I was almost going to have to learn how to play beginner’s chess since I just read this Travel & Leisure cover to cover. But don’t ask me a damn thing about traveling to Fiji, because I was thinking about sex on a tropical island the whole time.”

He tosses the magazine off the bed, and it skids across the tiles.

My eyes are greedy, and they drink up the sight of Asher stretched out in bed, his cock half hard, his hair still a little damp.

“I had to . . . talk to . . .” But I don’t finish that either. I’m done with words.

I take off my glasses, yank off my shirt, and climb on top of him. And I just start kissing him.

His neck, his jaw, his face.

He’s all shower clean and soapy and that drives me wild, since it’s mixed with that rainfall and summer breeze scent that is all Asher. Maybe I can bottle it, and inhale a whiff every now and then when I want to remember the good times.