The Best Men (The Best Men 1)

He’s wearing a blue cashmere sweater that I sent him as a gift. The color makes his eyes pop just as I knew it would.

And he’s smiling at me from behind those sexy glasses. In spite of every inconvenience I’ve caused him. In spite of my pathetic drunk texts, he’s smiling like he’s won the lottery.

He looks just how I feel.

Finally he’s here, and I’m pulling him into my arms. His bag hits the floor with a slap, and we kiss like we haven’t seen each other in a year instead of a month.

“I love you,” he says against my lips.

“I love you more,” I argue. And it’s probably true. I wasn’t looking for love when I offered to work through Mark’s spreadsheet with him.

But that’s what I found, and I’ll do whatever I can to keep it. And I’m pretty sure I know exactly what I can do for him—for us. But, first things first. “There are things I need to explain,” I say, forcing myself to break our kiss. “I’m sorry I got all broody last night.”

“I’m not,” he says, his blue eyes taking me in. “Happy birthday, hot stuff.”

“Thank you. But I’m serious. There are lots of things I need to say to you.”

He tips his head to the side. “What things?”

Things like . . . let me show you how fucking happy I am that you’re here. And get naked right now and fuck my mouth.

And now, this . . .

“God. Yes. Get there,” I pant, letting him fall from my lips for a second.

“Babe,” Mark groans, his tongue on my cock.

Our heart-to-heart took a sudden turn with Mark pushing me down on my bed the moment we arrived back at the flat.

Now we’re communicating mostly in moans as he draws me back into his throat, and I give his cock the same mind-bending treatment. He thrusts faster, pushes deeper, signs he’s close. His hums around my shaft intensify, but so does his sloppiness, and that flips the switch in me?him losing control. My whole body flashes with heat, and the world blurs deliciously out of focus as we hit the end together. Happy birthday to me, indeed.

Neither one of us moves for several, long, lust-drenched seconds.

“Two down, twenty-nine to go,” I say when I pop off his dick.

“We’ll hit your birthday requirement, especially if we go hard on the sixty-nines,” Mark says.

I roll onto my back. “Holy hell, I’ve missed you.”

He snickers from somewhere near my feet. “I can tell.”

“No, honey. I really miss you. Not just your impressive technique.” I prop myself up on an elbow and run a hand along his strong leg.

“I miss you too. Every day. In case that wasn’t clear from the last-minute, overnight flight.”

Yup. Time to tell him. I may not be a planner, but I have a plan for us. Since I do have a lot of things to say to Mark. Things well beyond get on my dick.

“We’re going to eat eclairs, and then I have a surprise.”

“I hate surprises,” he grumbles, but he doesn’t sound annoyed. Maybe he’s come around to my kind of surprises.

“This is a good surprise, and I don’t just mean the gold in the eclair,” I say, since I think he’ll like my idea. At least, I hope so. But he flew across an ocean to tell me he loved me, and that’s all I need to know to skydive once again.

We’re at the bakery, sitting inside at a tiny table, sharing a plate of two of the most amazing eclairs, and it’s almost time to tell him my plan.

“So, eating gold is kind of weird,” he says. “Because I suppose you poop gold afterward.”

“The French are so decadent,” I say, then take a sip of strong espresso and gather my courage. My plan crystallized during the hungover cab ride to the airport. Then, when I saw him, I knew for certain that I was about to do something big. I’m the only one of the two of us who can take this step.

He can’t make this leap for us, but I can.

“Babe,” I begin, “I want to talk about the next six months. I want to move back to New York. Right away.”

Mark freezes with the eclair in hand, a serious expression on his face. “Seriously? But what about your job here?”

I shrug. “It’s just a job. It was a passion project. But lately, all the passion in my life is reserved for you.” I reach across the table and squeeze his arm. “Unless I’m terrifying you right now and you don’t want a mess of a boyfriend parachuting back into your life.”

“Hey.” Mark grabs my hand and holds it. “Don’t say that. You’re not a mess. Except for that hair.” He winks. “But I like it floofy, and I like it swoopy. And if I ever meet this asshole Garrett, I’m going to tell him he’s nuts.”