The Wingman (Alpha Men 1)

“Spencer. He’s often invited to give motivational talks to the kids. Can you believe that? Old Man Kane hated us, and now he’s asking Spencer to talk to the students? Apparently he wants me to speak to them too.”

“And will you?”

“I don’t know. It’s not my scene. What do I have to say to a bunch of teens?” He looked uncomfortable and more than a little embarrassed at the thought.

“You’ve done really well for yourself, Mason,” she said. “And you came from such humble beginnings. A lot of the students come from similar backgrounds. You and your brother could inspire them to do more with their lives.”

“It wasn’t anything special. We worked hard. I had three jobs, and I saved every cent I earned so that I could afford the airfare out of here. That meant no dates, no social life during my entire adolescence . . . no kid wants to hear that.”

“They might not want to hear it, but it’s exactly what some of them need to hear.”

He cleared his throat and fiddled with the salt and pepper shakers, before reaching for the menu.

Their young waitress drifted over to their table.

“Oh, hey, Dr. Daisy,” she greeted when she saw Daisy and then stared at Mason with open curiosity. “Do you want your usual drink?”

“Hello, Thandiwe,” Daisy greeted the teenager with a friendly smile. “I think I’ll have a glass of your house red tonight.”

“Make that a bottle of your best Pinotage,” Mason said, and the girl nodded, her riot of beaded braids bouncing pertly. She was a pretty girl, with a warm smile, and one of those troubled teens Daisy had just been talking about.

“Okay, I’ll be back in a few minutes with your wine and to take your order,” Thandiwe said, and Daisy nodded.

“So what’s your ‘usual’ drink?”

“I’d rather not say; it’s embarrassing.”

“As embarrassing as the chicken dance?”

She snorted and shook her head. “Nowhere near as bad as that.”

“So come on, tell me.”

“Virgin piña colada,” she confessed, keeping her eyes on the red-checkered tablecloth and wincing when he laughed.

“A little rum never hurt anybody,” he said.

“‘A little rum’ leads to a lot of rum leads to the chicken dance.”

“Seriously?”

“Don’t ever watch my parents’ twenty-fifth wedding anniversary DVD. It’s . . . epically awful.”

“Hell, you shouldn’t have told me that,” he said, an element of unholy glee in his voice.

“I doubt you’ll ever get to know them well enough to see the horribly embarrassing family DVD collection, so I think I’m safe enough,” she said smugly.

“Challenge accepted.”

“It wasn’t a challenge.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Mason . . .”

“Your wine,” Thandiwe said, interrupting what was proving to be the most frustrating and entertaining conversation Daisy had had in a long time. The girl popped the cork on the wine with a flourish and decanted a portion for Mason, who took a sip before nodding at her to go ahead and pour.

“Are you ready to order?” Thandiwe asked, reaching into the kangaroo pouch in the front of her black apron and pulling out her notebook.

“Not quite yet,” Mason told her with a smile, and she nodded.

“Just call when you need me,” the girl said before flouncing off to a neighboring table.

“So was I mistaken or did the lovely Thandiwe call you Dr. Daisy earlier?” Mason took another appreciative sip of his wine and stared at her with those beautiful and unsettlingly penetrating eyes of his.

“I’m a vet,” she said, trying to remain unaffected by that all-seeing gaze of his.

“No shit? That’s great. Just like your dad, huh?”

“Yes, I can’t remember ever wanting to be or do anything else. I spent my childhood tagging along behind my dad as often as he’d let me, and when I was a teen, I helped out in reception. I’ve only been a qualified veterinarian for a year now and in partnership with my father.”

“And? Is it everything you thought it would be?”

“It’s hard work and often gut-wrenching, but it can heartwarming and rewarding as well. I started a free clinic at Inkululeko about six months ago, and it’s my favorite part of the week. I feel like we’re really making a difference with that clinic. We run it on Wednesdays and half days on Saturdays. We’re always slammed on Saturdays, but I love it.”

“You worked today?”

“Yes. That’s why I was stuck walking Peaches at such an impractical time.”

“And what do you do for fun, Daisy McGregor?” he asked with a smile, and Daisy’s breath caught when she noticed the sexy dimple winking at her from his left cheek.

“Uh . . .” She lost her train of thought, distracted by the dimple. And she tried to gather her thoughts as she fought to regain her composure. “Nothing much, really. Work takes up a lot of my time right now, what with us still trying to get the clinic properly running and funded. When I do have a moment to spare, I bake.”