The Best Man (Alpha Men 2)

A fledgling flirt, she had managed to keep him hopeful with the occasional smile, greeting, or slow, seductive sweep of those long, dark lashes of hers. And she had always given him just enough attention to make him think he had a chance. Which often resulted in him making a complete fool of himself.

What a pathetic, lovesick idiot he had been, sending her all those heartfelt notes and flowers and truly awful poems. He winced at the recollection now. She had had him wrapped around her pretty, spiteful little finger.

He had grown out of it, of course, or so he’d thought, until last year when—fresh out of a failed relationship—he had tried and been shot down again. Only this time both Mason and Daisy had been casualties of his stupidity. Luckily his mistake had eventually yielded positive results for the other couple, but Daff had irrationally accused him of hurting her sister, when—as far as Spencer was concerned—she had been just as much to blame for the entire debacle.

Spencer dragged his eyes away from her and surveyed the rest of the room. A shitload of beautiful people wearing beautiful clothes and dripping in expensive jewelry. Spencer didn’t belong here—he should be at home eating pizza, drinking beers, and watching TV. Mason fit into this world; he knew how to talk to these people, but Spencer felt completely exposed, like an impostor pretending to be more than he was. He didn’t know what to say or do. Literally the only person he felt comfortable with in this room was his brother, and Mason was wholly preoccupied with Daisy. Spencer tried not to feel a sting of betrayal and hurt by that. Mason was getting married; this was how it was going to be from now on, how it was supposed to be. But rationalizing didn’t make him feel any less excluded from his brother’s changing life. It was just that after Mason had returned home following twelve years abroad, Spencer had believed they’d have more time together. Instead, Mason had spent a year traveling around the country and had been back in Riversend for just a short while before meeting Daisy, falling in love, and setting up house with her.

Spencer sighed and chugged down his drink.

“We’ve been watching you, young man.” The creaky old voice coming from right beside him startled him, and his head jerked down to stare at two of the four old ladies who had been glaring at everybody from the comfort of their sofa all evening. The one who had spoken looked likely to keel over any second; she was hunched over, holding onto a cane with a gnarled, shaking hand, and glaring up at him through Coke-bottle lenses. Spencer had heard about Daisy’s aunts from his brother and knew that nothing good could come from this confrontation. He peered over at the sofa, where the other two old women were avidly watching the exchange.

“Hello,” he ventured tentatively, but she merely sniffed—a disturbingly wet sound—before carrying on with what she’d been saying before.

“We’ve been watching you lurk in the shadows like a thug. Am I going to have to tell Millicent to count the good silver after you leave?” Insulted, Spencer glared at the horrid old woman and said nothing. “Strong, silent type, are you? That won’t get you anywhere in this family. You’ve got to speak up for yourself.”

“Maybe he’s a little . . .” The other woman spoke up for the first time. She did little loops at her temple with her index finger and crossed her eyes. This woman was even shorter and older than the one with the cane and sported a few impressive dark whiskers on her jaw. Even her wrinkles had wrinkles. She cackled, showing off her ill-fitting, startlingly white dentures. “Hit your head a few too many times, didn’t you, boy? Bless.”

Spencer frantically scanned the room, searching for an escape route, but the other two women had left the sofa to join their cohorts and Spencer was surrounded by gray-haired little old ladies. How the fuck had they managed to ambush him like this?

“Why aren’t you married and making babies yet?” one of them—he didn’t know which—demanded in an obnoxiously loud voice. “You’re not getting any younger, you know. And the older you get, the more your sperm loses its motility and desire to swim. I read that on the Google.”

“I, uh . . . I think my brother’s calling me,” Spencer prevaricated desperately.

“Nonsense, he’s too busy making cow eyes at our Daisy. So why aren’t you talking to anyone? You’ve been standing in this corner all evening, barely sparing a word for anyone.”

“That’s not true.” The most fairy-godmother-ish of the quartet spoke up in a sickeningly sweet voice that perfectly matched her snow-white hair and rosy apple cheeks. “He spoke with Daffodil.” She graced Spencer with a beneficent smile before adding, “She’s single, you know.”