The Wingman (Alpha Men 1)

“Well, how do you ever really know if what you’re feeling is true love?” she asked, throwing his own quote back at him, and he smiled grimly.

“You know when you have basis for comparison. You know when everybody else pales in comparison to The One . . . I know because I can’t think of a single reason I found anybody else attractive or interesting or beautiful before you. I know because I love you so much that the thought of not having you love me in the same way hurt so much that I would rather have let you go than accept anything less from you.”

“So you’d let me walk away, even though you love me?” And how absolutely wonderful it was to know that he felt that way about her. But Mason was a stubborn man, and she would not allow him to throw away their future because he had some crazy idea in his head about how much experience she should have before she could possibly genuinely be in love with him.

“No. Not anymore. Not after last night. You’ve had your chance to escape, Daisy. Now you’re stuck with me.”

“Even though my love might be childish and temporary?” She couldn’t resist rubbing that in, and he winced.

“Look, maybe my opinions are a little extreme and dated and seem silly to you—”

“Maybe?” Oh, that felt good. And he grinned, allowing her the delicious retribution.

“I’ve been a prick.”

“Yes. You have. But guess what?”

“What?”

“I love you anyway.” Oh good, she got a slight, patronizing smile in response to her proclamation this time. The man really was irritating. And stubborn. “So are you willing to stand aside and allow me to gain the experience required before I’m properly able to decide whether I love you or not?”

There was a flicker of panic in his eyes at her question, and Daisy left the dogs and crawled into his lap.

“Whom should I start with, do you think? Kevin, the guy I met at Ralphie’s the other night, was really nice.”

“You know his name?” He seemed really shocked by that fact.

“Of course, I danced with him, after all. You know what a big deal that is for me.”

“I hated seeing you dance with him,” he confessed reluctantly. “I felt like the chicken dance was our thing.”

She shuddered delicately at that and nuzzled his neck.

“The chicken dance should never be anyone’s thing.”

“You make that ass-jiggle bit look sexy.”

“Mason, you’re really going to have to start believing me when I tell you I love you,” she said seriously.

“Tell me why you love me.”

“I’ve always been shy. For years I’ve remained happily curled up in my shell in public, in private, with family or friends. I don’t think anybody ever really saw me. I don’t think even I saw the real me. But something weird happened around you. Even on that very first night when you were being a good little wingman . . . I opened my mouth and I spoke and I laughed and I engaged. You looked at me and saw Daisy. You helped me find myself, and I liked the person I found hiding in that shell. Even after I learned you were just talking to me as a favor to Spencer, there was just no going back to meek little wallflower Daisy. How can I not love you for that?”

“That’s gratitude, Daisy.” She gritted her teeth at his so-called logic.

“You’re incredibly irritating,” she seethed. “And I still love you. And when you’re obnoxious, I love you too. When you’re so arrogant, I feel like there’s no way a room could possibly contain your ego . . . I inexplicably still love you. If being in love with someone isn’t about loving them even when they’re being complete assholes, then I don’t know what it is.”

That made him smile. A big, generous, gorgeous smile that filled every inch of her soul with joy.

“That’s more like it.”

“What?”

“I love you when you’re crazy and irrational and contrary as hell.”

“I love you when your language is foul enough to strip paint from the walls, when you brag about the size of your penis, and when you wake me up at ungodly hours of the morning!”

“Yeah, well, I love you when you bitch about getting up, speak to your dog in that annoying voice, and cheat at car games!”

They stared at each other for a beat and started laughing.

“So I guess you love me,” he said.

“And you love me.”

“Looks that way.”

“So now what?”

“I have a few ideas,” he whispered, lowering his head to kiss her. “Firstly, I have to ask, Daisy McGregor . . . will you be my girl?”

“Oh yes, please.”

“And you won’t go running around and putting yourself in danger at every turn?”

“That happened one time,” she retorted, exasperated.

“Once was more than enough.” He shuddered, his hand reaching up to stroke the bruise on her jaw. “You have to understand, you’re my life’s blood, Daisy. It’s terrifying. Everything that happens to you happens to me. Every offence, every insult, every hurt, I carry it with me too. So promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”