The Best Men (The Best Men 1)

And I use the moment to wrap an arm around Mark, because I’m smooth like that.

“Sir Trevor will think of something,” he says, relaxing against me.

“He’ll make a spreadsheet,” I say, stroking Mark’s shoulder.

“In 1821?” Mark chuckles.

I lean in and nibble on his ear. Just a little.

“Are we still watching this show?” Mark asks.

“Of course we are.” I lick his earlobe. “I’m just pre-gaming. There’d better be a sex scene soon. My patience is not infinite.”

Mark leans back a little farther into my embrace, but I try to behave. Meanwhile, Sir Trevor discovers that Lord Oliver’s bride is in love with someone else. He writes her a poem so heartbreaking that she breaks down, weeping.

And, even more cleverly, he helps her elope to Scotland with her man.

Then—praise Jesus—Lord Oliver and Sir Trevor meet up in the dead of night for some hot lovin’ at a hunting cabin on Ollie’s ancestral grounds. “Here we go!” I crow as Sir Trevor bolts the door. “You go get it, man. You know you want him.”

“Will Ollie bottom?” Mark asks, eating the last grape.

“Nah, Trevor is a power bottom, and probably a size queen.”

Mark snorts out a laugh. “Rip his shirt off, Ollie! Hurry!”

And he does. Our two heroes stumble into the bedroom where the sex fairy has kindly popped by to light about seven hundred candles.

Trevor pushes Ollie onto the giant bed. “We don’t have much time.”

“We have all night,” Ollie argues, gripping Trevor’s chin. “Now kiss me with that clever mouth of yours.”

“It’s more clever even than that, Lord. Would you like a demonstration?”

“Say yes, Ollie!” Mark yells.

Ollie crushes his mouth to Trevor’s instead. And then more clothes come off.

Mark’s hand lands on my knee and begins to stroke.

Yesss. I put a hand on his abs and spread out my fingers temptingly. “You like this, huh?”

“And you don’t?”

“Oh, I do.” I kiss his neck. “But I’m really here for the fashion and the British accents.”

“Sure you are.” He runs a hand up my thigh to tease my bulge. “This semi is for the knee pants, I bet.”

“And the waistcoats,” I add.

I wait for his snark. After all, fuck you is our love language.

But that’s not what happens. Instead, he turns around and takes my mouth in a bossy kiss. And with his knee, he closes the laptop.

“I was watching that,” I say against his lips.

“But now you’re not anymore.”

He pushes me back against the pillows, and my temperature jumps a good ten degrees. God help me, but I cannot resist Mark Banks in a bossy mood.

We may never get to the end of the show.

I don’t even care.

We do finish the show. Later.

Much later. And then, lying naked in the dark, we debate what might happen in the next episode.

“Lord Ollie will be sent back to the country,” Mark says, emphatic. “And Sir Trevor won’t chase him.”

I scoff. “That bad boy poet is going to be commandeering the next carriage to go after his man.”

“Nope.” Mark insists he’ll be right.

I do the same.

Funny, I can almost see us conducting this same kind of post-mortem when the next episode airs. But I file that under things that will never happen, like me driving a minivan, or keeping a spreadsheet.

Just because you can picture something doesn’t mean it can or will come true.

When I turn off the light, I kiss the back of his neck, savoring the scent of this well-fucked man. “Hey, Mark?”

“Yeah?”

I kiss him one more time. “Fuck you.”

I can feel his smile in the dark when he says, “Fuck you too.”

36

NOT SO FLOOFY NOW

SATURDAY

MARK

I wake up alone, and my first reaction is surprise.

And isn’t that just nuts? I blink up at the ceiling, wondering what’s happened to me. For a year, sleeping alone was just fine. It was normal. Now it isn’t anymore.

Yet my time in Miami is nearly over. Twelve hours from now, I’ll be checking into an Orlando hotel with Rosie.

These four days went so very fast. I can’t even stand it.

Can’t stand being in this bed alone either. It feels wrong. Tossing off the covers, I get up, eager to inhale my final minutes alone with Asher before our best man duties kick in.

Maybe he’s in the living room or kitchen, though I don’t hear him.

But I hope I’ll find him there.

I pull on clothes and glasses and head into the empty kitchen where Asher has left me a love note on the counter. It’s written on crisp white stationery with a palm tree in the corner. Something supplied by the property management company probably. Maybe for secret trysts. I pick it up and read.

Have some coffee, nerd boy.

Your suit is hanging in my bedroom closet. You will look hot in it.

Aren’t you glad I didn’t make you try on the salmon one?

I will find you later to check for love bites.