The Wingman (Alpha Men 1)

They got dressed; Mason pulled on a pair of gray cargo pants, canvas shoes, and a navy-blue Henley before turning to her with his arms outspread.

“Golfy enough?” he asked, and she shook her head.

“You look much too sexy in that getup. My father probably has a plaid-shorts-and-shirt combo you can borrow.” He looped his arms around her and dropped a kiss on her neck.

“Sexy, huh?”

“Don’t you dare fish for compliments, Carlisle,” she warned, and he hugged her close for a moment before letting her go with a lighthearted tap on her rump.

“You look pretty hot yourself,” he said, eyeing her appreciatively, and Daisy flushed. She glanced down at her simple white shift dress—another new purchase—pink cardigan, and scuffed tennis shoes. She looked like a librarian, or maybe somebody going to Bible study group. Hot was not the adjective she would have used, but Mason’s gaze was sincere, and she was going to simply accept and enjoy the comment.

They parted ways in the hallway, Daisy stopping to knock on Daff’s door while Mason stopped a few doors farther away to pick up the golf clubs. She felt a pang of loss as she watched him walk away and wished she could spend the morning with him.

Daff yanked the door open and thankfully distracted her.

“Oh my God, you look awful,” Daisy said. Her sister had black circles under her eyes, her hair was a mess, and she looked as pale as a Goth. “Are you sick?”

“A little hungover. And sleep deprived.” Daff glared at her before taking her hand and dragging her into the room. “You and Mason weren’t exactly quiet last night.”

“You heard us?” Daisy whispered, dismayed.

“I’d be surprised if the whole hotel didn’t hear you too. You guys were pretty damned vocal. What the hell, Deedee? One minute you’re telling me there’s nothing between you, and the next you’re shagging each other’s brains out?”

“It just kind of happened.”

“You’re not the type of woman these things ‘just kind of happen’ to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She was immediately offended, and Daff rolled her eyes.

“You’re the good one, that’s what I mean. I’m the one who usually makes the dumb life choices and winds up in bed with the wrong guys.”

“Well, sometimes being good is boring. Mason and I are both consenting adults, and we had fun. He made me feel sexy and raunchy and—”

“Stop. For the love of God! I don’t need to hear any more.”

“Maybe you do,” Daisy insisted. “Do you know that I’ve never had a real relationship?”

“I . . . did not know that,” Daff admitted reluctantly, the wind leaving her sails. “You’re really private sometimes, and I always assumed there were guys at college. You always talked about guys.”

“I was embarrassed. I felt unattractive and unwanted. Mason makes me forget that I’m the sad girl who never had a boyfriend in high school and never dated in college. The twenty-seven-year-old virgin who had no prospects of ever changing her status.”

“You were shy,” Daff said heavily. “I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

“I was shy, and I thought I was boring and ugly and fat.”

“But you’re not.”

“I’m beginning to see that,” Daisy said with a smile, and her sister sat down heavily, staring up at her contemplatively.

“You look happy and confident and really goddamned sexy,” her sister mused, and Daisy’s smile widened as she sat down in the other chair.

“I feel all those things too.”

“So maybe Mason isn’t a total douche bag.”

“Not even a partial douche bag.”

“But, Daisy . . .”

“It’s nothing serious. We’re just having fun. I think I’m entitled to a bit of no-strings fun.”

“Are you sure?”

Was she? She had no option but to be sure. After this weekend with Mason, they would go back to normal. There would be no reason for them to inhabit each other’s worlds anymore. She felt a huge pang of regret at the thought. She didn’t want to lose him, but every time that rogue sentiment surfaced she quashed it by reminding herself that he wasn’t hers to lose.

“Daff, we need to talk about Lia,” she said, deliberately changing the subject. Her sister, alerted by the absolute seriousness in her voice, sat up straighter, her eyes sharp.

“What’s going on?”

It didn’t take very long to lay out the sordid little story in its entirety. Daff remained absolutely quiet while Daisy spoke of her discomfort around Clayton, about the innuendos, the subtle sexual harassment. And by the time she stuttered to a halt, Daff was pale and there were lines of strain on her forehead and around her lips. She didn’t speak for the longest time, while Daisy watched her anxiously, fearing repudiation, laughter, or anger. What she got was a shuddering sigh as her sister dropped her face into her hands.

“Daff?”

“Oh, Daisy,” Daff whispered, looking up to meet her gaze. Shockingly, her eyes were wet, and Daisy wasn’t sure what that meant, until Daff got up and knelt on the floor next to Daisy’s chair. Her sister reached out and pulled her into a hug, and Daisy exhaled the breath that she’d been holding on a relieved sob. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”