The Best Man (Alpha Men 2)

“So what are we all talking about?” Daff asked as she poured the tequila shots and handed out the salt and lemon wedges.

“Tilda was saying Mason and I should have a blended name, like Kimye or Brangelina. Something like Daison.” It reminded Daff of Spencer’s attempt to blend his name with Daff’s, and she smiled fondly.

“I said Maisy,” Tilda corrected, and Daisy waved her wineglass at the other dismissively, spilling red wine all over the lovely cream rug. Lia grabbed the glass from Daisy before she could do more damage.

“Daison, Maisy . . . they’re both awesome. I don’t think Mason’ll go for it, though, he’ll say something boring like ‘We’ll just call ourselves the Carlisles, angel,’” she said in a gruff imitation of his voice. Which was sweet as hell and probably exactly what Mason would say. “But I don’t mind being just the Carlisles. Or maybe the McGregor-Carlisles. We’re still thinking about it.”

“Would Mason double-barrel his name?” Lia asked, taking a tiny sip of wine. She was a cautious drinker.

“He says we’ll have the same name no matter what, so that everybody can know I’m his and he’s mine.” Daisy said the words matter-of-factly, not even noticing the swoony sighs coming from the women around her. Even Daff barely prevented herself from sighing at the words, and she didn’t have a romantic bone in her body. She shook herself and lifted her shot glass.

“To the future Mrs. Carlisle . . . or McGregor-Carlisle or Carlisle-McGregor. I wish you a life filled with nothing but love, Daisy Doodle.”

“You had to spoil it, didn’t you,” Daisy complained, referring to the nickname, but still looked misty-eyed at the toast. Everybody—even Lia—licked their salt, downed their shot, gasped, and sucked on their lemons before upending the glasses on Mason’s expensive, handcrafted coffee table.

“Where’s Mason, anyway?” Daff asked.

“Suh-suhpensher took him out. Boysh night! S-sh-sho? Sho I figured we should have a la-la . . . girlie night!” The shot had definitely pushed Daisy over the limit, and she started giggling uncontrollably. “Sho? Izz not right. Sho . . . ?”

“God. How many drinks did she have before I got here?”

“A crapload of red wine,” Tilda said. “And then that shot. I think the shot’s knocked her on her ass.”

Daisy was flat on her back and still giggling. Lia and Daff helped her sit up and propped her against the sofa. Her curly head lolled, and she still continued to giggle quietly to herself.

“Daisy, you’re being a terrible host,” Daff said sternly, trying to hide her amusement. They didn’t often see their studious, earnest little sister let her hair down like this, and it was entertaining as hell. Daisy mumbled something in response and then chuckled again.

Ladies’ night was a roaring success, even if their hostess was an incoherent mess and passed out on the floor. Mason returned home a little after one, looking a bit wasted as well, but by that time only Daff and Lia were still there. The other women had been picked up by Tilda’s boyfriend about half an hour before. The dogs greeted Mason exuberantly and he took the time to give each one a couple of scratches before looking up and surveying the room. His brow furrowed when he saw Daisy passed out on the carpet.

“Oh good,” Daff said drily. “Now you can take care of this.”

Mason’s eyes remained on his inelegantly snoring fiancée sprawled on the floor, and his expression softened.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper as he went down on one knee beside her supine body. He brushed her tangled hair out of her face and palmed one side of her face tenderly.

“She’s wasted,” Daff said as she dragged on her coat, while Lia did the same.

“What did you all get up to tonight?”

“Don’t ask me.” Daff snorted. “She was pretty much a lost cause by the time I got here. One shot of tequila and she went from hero to zero in about thirty seconds. I barely had time to speak with her. Lia and the rest got her completely hammered.”

“Please, I didn’t expect it to be a night of drinking. She lured me over here with promises of cocoa and rom coms.”

Mason didn’t appear to be listening to them anymore.

“Daisy? Angel, come on, let’s get you to bed.” She groaned and swatted his tenderly stroking hand away from her face, and he grinned at Daff and Lia. “She does hate having her sleep interrupted, doesn’t she?”

“Since we were children,” Lia confirmed.

“Always with the ‘Five more minutes, Mommy,’” Daff said with a nostalgic smile.

Mason slid his arms beneath Daisy’s limp body and picked her up, going from kneeling to standing with barely a wheeze. Daff couldn’t lie to herself—that was pretty impressive. The guy’s core strength was nothing to sniff at.

He made a few adjustments so that Daisy was more comfortably situated in his arms and then gave both Daff and Lia a pointed look.