The Wingman (Alpha Men 1)

“I was just curious,” he said. “Wondered why you weren’t out there dancing with your friends.”

“I don’t dance,” she confessed.

“Everybody can dance.”

“Well, I didn’t say I couldn’t dance. I said I don’t dance.”

“Why not?”

“Because the only dance I truly excel at is the chicken dance. Every time I attempt to dance like an adult, I always bust out some stupid chicken dance moves and wind up embarrassing my dance partners.”

“You’re shitting me again, right?” he asked after a beat, looking honestly uncertain.

“Nope.” She kissed her index finger and crossed her heart with it. “God’s honest truth. If I went out there right now, I’d start flapping about and doing that ridiculous butt thing.”

He burst out laughing, the sound so genuinely amused that Daisy couldn’t help but smile at the belly-deep laughter coming from this intimidating-looking man. Now it was his turn to wipe his streaming eyes, and when Daisy silently offered him the napkin back, it just set him off again. The sound was starting to draw attention from people at the other tables and booths. Daisy tried not to notice how astonished they all looked to see him sitting there with her.

His laughter eventually wound down to just a few rumbling chuckles, and he shook his head and stared at her for the longest time.

“Do you want to go someplace quieter to talk?” he asked, his voice still carrying a trace of laughter, and she glanced over at the group of women who were tossing speculative glances in their direction.

“We’re talking now,” she pointed out.

“I suppose so.” He took another swig from his bottle, but upon realizing it was empty, signaled one of the overworked young waiters to bring him another. “So we’ll stay here then.”

“You don’t have to sit with me. You now know why I don’t dance. Curiosity appeased, right?”

“Thanks, dude,” he told the waiter with a nod when the guy brought his beer. He scratched at the edges of the label on his beer bottle with his thumbnail before refocusing his attention on Daisy and responding to her previous comment. “I have no one else to talk with.”

“Weren’t you here with your brother?” she asked, looking around for Spencer Carlisle and lifting an eyebrow when she saw him out there dancing with her group. “He’s got some moves.”

“Yeah,” Mason agreed.

“Why don’t you join them?”

“Nah, I’m okay where I am. I’m enjoying our conversation. And I don’t dance either.”

“Don’t? Not can’t?” she asked sharply, and he grinned.

“Yep.”

“Why not?”

“I never discuss that on the first date. That’s second-date material,” he said, and her eyebrows leapt up.

“This isn’t a date, though,” she reminded him, and he took another swig of beer before shifting those big shoulders uncomfortably.

“Yeah, only because you won’t go someplace quieter with me.” She laughed incredulously at that bit of nonsense. Had her world just taken a turn into crazy town? Because this made no sense. Why was she having “date” conversations with this man?

“Maybe I missed something here,” she said, circling her finger in the space between them. “Or maybe I’m drunker than I thought because this conversation stopped making sense about two minutes ago.”

“I asked you out,” he said, and she blinked, before laughing.

“Guys like you don’t go out with girls like me,” she ridiculed.

“Well, not if you’re going to have that attitude,” he said, looking almost angry.

“Take a look at all of you, and then take a look at all of me.” She rolled her eyes, and his jaw clenched.

“I’ve been looking at you for the last half an hour, and up until this very moment, I saw a smart, funny, entertaining woman with whom I wanted to spend more time,” he said, his voice so low she barely heard him over the crowd and the music. “That was before the self-pity, though.”

“Self-pity? I was being realistic.”

“Fine, don’t go out with me!”

“Fine! I will go out with you,” she rejoined, and he looked completely confused.

“Wait, what?”

“Come on.” She grabbed her jacket. “Let’s go.”

“But . . .”

“Where do you want to go? What’s open at this time of night?”

“MJ’s?” he suggested, still with that confused look on his face.

“Perfect. Let’s go.”

CHAPTER TWO

Mason couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so confused, amused, entertained, and just plain gobsmacked by someone. Daisy McGregor was not at all what he’d been expecting. He’d spent the last thirty minutes completely bemused by her. He glanced over at Spencer, who was trying—and failing—to chat with Daff. The woman appeared to acknowledge his presence with the occasional shimmy in his direction but didn’t seem to have much to say to him. Mason felt kind of sorry for his brother, but hell, he had tried to warn the guy.

Mason looked up at Daisy, who had jumped to her feet and grabbed her coat, and he wondered at the impulse that had driven him to ask her out to MJ’s. He wasn’t attracted to her, but he for damned sure wouldn’t mind talking with her a little longer. He was enjoying their exchange so much that he was almost resentful of the thumping music and loud background noise in the pub, which made it hard to hear her clearly. So he had suggested they go someplace quieter and had even used the dreaded date word. He shouldn’t have referred to it as such; it fostered expectations.