The Wingman (Alpha Men 1)

Uncomfortable with being put in the spotlight so abruptly, Daisy shrugged.

“They’re not worth getting upset over,” she muttered.

“You’re always so Zen about stuff.” Tilda sighed, taking a sip of her drink only to discover that it was empty. “Anybody up for a round of tequila shots?”

When the group responded with high-pitched whoops, she grinned and summoned the waiter over.

“Let’s get this party started,” Nina yelled and turned every male head in the place when she jumped up and did a little hip-thrusting dance to go with her words. Someone behind the bar cranked up the music, and after a few more shots, all the women were soon dancing exuberantly. Daisy groaned and tried to hide in her corner, downing her shot in a desperate gulp. This was so not her scene. The other women, after trying to coax her out of her seat, gave up and swanned off onto a makeshift dance floor and were all happily bumping and grinding away with a few of the younger guys in the bar.

“You don’t dance?” A deep, dark voice suddenly intruded from almost right beside her, and she yelped and looked up . . . and up . . . and up to the tall man standing on her left. He was propping up the wall next to the booth, his back and shoulders resting against the wooden panel as he stood with one knee bent and his foot braced against the wall. He was staring down at Daisy with a slight smile. She shook her head rapidly, trying to dispel the haze from several tequila shots and a flaming black Sambuca as she tried to figure out why the heck Mason Carlisle was standing here talking to her. All the head shaking resulted in a spell of dizziness and nausea as the alcohol rebelled against the movement.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, his deep voice rolling over her like a wave of warm honey. He didn’t wait for her to reply and sat down anyway, moving around the table to sit in the spot Lia had vacated. None of the other women had noticed him at their table yet and were chatting and flirting with guys on the dance floor.

“You’re Daisy McGregor, right?” She nodded stupidly in reply to his question. Why was he here? This was so weird. “I’m Mason Carlisle. I went to school with Daffodil.”

“I know,” she said, her voice finally returning. It sounded rusty and unused, but at least it was functioning again.

“So how have you been, Daisy?” he asked, taking a long, thirsty pull from his beer. She watched his throat work as he tilted his head back to drink and was riveted by the way his Adam’s apple bobbed with each swallow. Why was that so sexy to her? Probably the tequila.

“I’ve been good,” she finally responded after he lowered the bottle and stared at her with those penetrating forest-green eyes of his. His lashes were dark, long, and spiky, and she was fascinated to note that she could differentiate between each individual lash. Gorgeous.

“And your sister’s getting married, I hear. Who’s the lucky guy?” Why did he want to know about that? Was he another in the long line of men who had fallen into despair when he’d heard about Lia’s engagement? How very disappointing and predictable of him. She cleared her throat and was irritated to find it parched in the presence of this overwhelmingly gorgeous man. In an attempt to dispel the dryness, she snagged the glass closest to her and downed the contents, which caused her to wheeze, cough, and blink away tears. Amused by her reaction, Mason picked up the glass and sniffed it.

“Scotch. Neat, if I’m not mistaken. Hell of a drink, not quite what I expected from you.”

“What were you expecting?” she asked, her voice full of challenge. Why was she so offended by that comment? It wasn’t even her drink. “Wine?” The last word emerged on the closest thing to a sneer she could manage, and he shrugged as he carefully replaced the glass.

“Well . . . yeah.”

Daisy discreetly nudged her half-full glass of white wine away and lifted her chin rambunctiously.

“I’ve had tequila shots and flaming Sambuca tonight, so a little Scotch is like mother’s milk to me.”

“Of course,” he said, obviously fighting back a grin. “I’m sorry for not realizing that immediately.”

Daisy paused and pinched the bridge of her nose sheepishly, acknowledging that she was being a bit silly.

“Okay, it was awful. I didn’t really know what was in the glass,” she admitted and saw his eyes light up in appreciation of her honesty.

“Yeah, I’m not a big Scotch drinker myself,” he confessed.

“I thought it was a man’s drink,” she pointed out, and he lifted his powerful shoulders comfortably.

“Guess I’m not the man I thought I was.” She scoffed at that response and gave him a pointed once-over.