The Wingman (Alpha Men 1)

“What she said,” Daff said smugly, leaving her own expensive vapor trail to mingle with her mother’s as she also brushed past a bemused Daisy.

“Hi, Daisy,” Lia greeted with a warm hug. Her middle sister had always been the sweetest, most eager to please of the three daughters. She never saw the bad in manipulative people like Shar and Zinzi and allowed them to walk all over her. Lia’s sweet naïveté was also why Daff, and even Daisy, despite being the youngest, felt protective over her and had tried to curtail the whole Clayton thing back in its nascence.

“Hey, Lia,” Daisy greeted, returning the hug.

“Sorry about this,” Lia whispered. “I tried to stop them, but you know how they get.”

“Yeah.”

“Thank you again for the boots. They were my favorite gift. I don’t think I’ll use any of the other stuff,” she confessed with a blush.

“Not even that gigantic green dildo?” Daisy asked, raising her voice slightly.

“Sh!” Lia covered Daisy’s laughing mouth with her hand as she darted a frantic glance around to see if their mother had overheard, but the older woman was busy fawning over Peaches. The dog was doing her crowd-pleasing, guaranteed-to-get-her-cuddles, two-legged jig. Daisy’s mother, Millicent, was eating it up with a spoon. The older woman adored animals. She didn’t even mind dogs and cats shedding all over her designer dresses.

“Oh, aren’t you too precious for words,” her mother enthused and played right into Peaches’s manipulative little paws by scooping her up and giving her a cuddle. She turned to Daisy, Peaches’s fluffy face squished up against her left cheek, and was immediately back on task.

“So, it’s probably too much to hope that you’ve bought yourself a dress or two recently,” the older woman said with a resigned little sigh.

“I have the dress I wore to Nana’s funeral, but I’m not changing. I think I look okay for dinner with a friend.”

“Daisy, don’t be difficult, and Nana’s funeral was five years ago; that dress will be both dated and too small.”

“Ouch, Mom,” Daisy retorted without much heat.

“I don’t see why I have to pull any punches; you’ve put on a few pounds since then.” Daisy wasn’t going to argue; she had gained a couple of inches around the thighs and bum, but she was pretty much the same weight she had been since high school. She had always been plumper than her sisters, and her mother tended to focus on that a little too much sometimes.

“Jeez, Mom, she still looks exactly the same,” Lia said, and Daisy could have hugged her.

“Which isn’t necessarily a good thing,” their mother stated, and both Lia and Daisy sighed. There was just no winning with her. “A woman’s look needs to evolve, become more refined and more mature.”

“Mom, I’m a vet. My clothes suit my way of life.”

“Sweetheart, you’re not a vet twenty-four seven, no matter what your father says. You’re allowed to have a life.”

“Look, save this intervention business for a worthier cause than dinner with Mason Carlisle. The guy’s just a friend. I promise, when I find someone I’m romantically interested in, you’ll have free rein”—she paused a beat as she thought about that and then added—“within limits. But this is really not the right occasion on which to waste all that makeover mojo.”

“At least run a comb through your hair.”

“A comb can’t get through this mess,” Daisy snorted, and both Lia and Daff giggled.

“Oh, for goodness sake!” Their mother handed Peaches over to Lia and forcibly grabbed hold of Daisy’s elbow.

“Ow! That hurts,” Daisy protested as her mother dragged her toward her bedroom. The older woman—despite being as thin as a rail—was at least four inches taller than Daisy’s five three, and she used that height difference to her advantage. Her other two daughters had inherited her height and her body, while Daisy took after her paternal grandmother.

“Sit down, Daisy,” her mother said as she pushed Daisy down toward the bed. She was using her no-nonsense “Mom voice,” and Daisy knew arguing would be futile. Her sisters had trailed them into the room and were both watching with interest as their mother picked up a brush and dragged it through Daisy’s thick curls.

“Ow!” Daisy winced again when the brush snagged in her hair. Her mother gentled her movements and began to soothingly stroke the brush through Daisy’s hair. Her mother had always known exactly how to handle Daisy’s uncontrollable curls, and the gentle tug of the brush brought her back to her childhood.

“You have such lovely hair,” her mother said softly. “But you never do anything with it. Braiding it or tying it up does it a disservice.”

Daisy shrugged. “It’s an uncontrollable mess. And it takes way too long to fix it, so it’s easier to just put it up. I need it out of my face for work anyway.”