The Wingman (Alpha Men 1)

“Glad I amuse you,” she said stiffly. Not like she hadn’t been the butt of someone’s stupid joke before. He sobered almost immediately and took a couple of steps toward her.

“Hey, come on. I wasn’t . . .”

“I take it you weren’t dumb enough to ride a motorcycle in this weather?” she asked, and he shook his head.

“Daisy.” He lifted a hand as if to touch her, but she stepped out of reach and turned away.

“I just have to see to Peaches’s food. Feel free to wait in the car.”

“Daisy, come on . . .”

Shit. He hadn’t meant to offend her; he just liked her prickly and prim reactions sometimes. But this wasn’t prickly or prim; this was something else. He’d hurt her . . . again. And he wasn’t entirely sure how. He watched her gracefully move around the tiny confines of her kitchen and felt awkward as hell. Did he really need this kind of grief in his life? Why the hell was he putting up with her shit anyway? He couldn’t figure it out. He couldn’t figure her out.

“Look, I was joking, okay? I didn’t mean to offend you or upset you.” She stopped moving, her back still to him, and sighed before throwing back her head and staring up at the ceiling. For some kind of divine intervention perhaps? Who knew with her?

She turned to face him, her pretty eyes strained.

“I may have overreacted a bit, it’s just . . .” She paused, and he gritted his teeth in exasperation.

Just what? Jesus, and she called him frustrating.

“I’ve been the butt of someone’s joke too many times to count.”

“Oh.” Oh. Fuck.

“I’m stupidly oversensitive sometimes. I just thought you were . . .” Different. She didn’t have to say it. The unspoken word hovered between them, and Mason swore beneath his breath.

“I’m an asshole,” he muttered, trying—and failing—to keep the defensive tone out of his voice. “I told you that last night. But in this case the assholery was unintentional. Daisy, I didn’t mean to make you the butt of my lame joke. I enjoy your reaction to my teasing; you’re cute when you get all grumpy and righteously indignant.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “So the fishing thing wasn’t serious?”

“Nope. That was totally serious. We’re going fishing as soon as the weather clears.”

“But why?”

“Because I think you’d like it. And when we go camping, you and Peaches will love roughing it in the wilderness.” Her eyes widened, but something in his expression must have clued her in because her face cleared almost immediately.

“You’re teasing me again. Right?”

“Only partly. No way in hell will we be taking Peaches camping with us.” Another small frown from her, but by this time he was openly grinning, and a shy, sweet smile blossomed at the corners of her mouth.

“Stop that,” she grumbled good-naturedly.

“Now you’re getting it, babe.”

They left a few minutes later, and despite knowing that he’d only been pulling her leg earlier, Daisy was relieved to note that he had indeed arrived by car. The BMW. He wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders as he hustled her to the car, keeping her shielded from the wind as he opened the door for her.

“Hell of a day,” he said breathlessly when he slammed his way into the driver’s seat. He switched on the ignition, and she winced when hard rock immediately blasted from the speakers. It was so loud, she could practically see the windows vibrate.

“Shit. Sorry.” He turned down the sound to a less glass-shattering setting, and she was able to recognize the guitar solo from Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Free Bird.” The guy had good taste. “You can change the playlist if you want to.”

“That would be sacrilegious!”

He shot her a shocked glance before refocusing his attention to the road. “You appreciate a bit of classic rock, then?”

“Who doesn’t like ‘Free Bird’?”

“Only all of my ex–lady friends. I think it was a little too old for them.”

“Great music never ages. Pick your ladies more carefully next time,” she advised. She curled up in the huge seat and gazed out as they passed through Main Street. It was after eight by now, and most of the businesses were just opening. She spotted a few familiar faces, and Mason was driving well below the speed limit, which allowed pedestrians to pause and admire his car before glancing up to check out the occupants. Luckily the rain had let up enough to allow them all a good, long look. She grinned and waved saucily at a few of the stunned faces that recognized her.

“Having fun?” Mason asked, and she nodded enthusiastically.

“This is awesome. I feel like passing royalty or something. Oh, that’s Mrs. Turlington,” she said, giving a happy little squeak when she spotted the town’s most notorious gossip. “This will be all over town by lunchtime. This was a great idea, Mason.”