The Wingman

by Natasha Anders

  “Sorry.” The word was surly, and Daisy sighed inwardly, disgusted that she always allowed her mother and sisters to drag the latent teenage drama queen out of her.

  “So what’s he like?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve only had one conversation with him. But he wanted to . . . to discuss his dog with me.” The lie tumbled over her lips without thought, and her mother’s brushing stopped for a millisecond before she continued on.

  “But he can do that during office hours,” Lia pointed out.

  “I got caught in the rain this afternoon, and he gave me a ride home. We were talking about his dog, and he suggested we continue the conversation over dinner.” Oh God, where were all these crazy half-truths coming from? Daisy wasn’t exactly a master of subterfuge, which made her plan with Mason even more insane. She would never be able to keep up the pretense.

  “So you see, it’s more like a business dinner or something. No need to get all dolled up.”

  “Daffodil, hand over your hair clip,” her mother commanded, ignoring Daisy’s words, and Daff reached up and tugged a pretty, ultra-feminine floral crocodile clip from her hair. Her sleek hair, which had been held out of her face by the clip, slid forward like a silk curtain, and Daisy sighed in envy. Her sisters both had perfect hair. Naturally.

  “There,” her mother announced happily as she stepped back. “Lovely.”

  Daisy glanced at her reflection in the mirror, and her jaw dropped. How did her mother always do that? It hardly seemed fair that no matter what Daisy tried, she couldn’t work the same magic on her own hair. It looked like such a simple fix too: her mother had dragged back the hair that usually just hung on either side of her face and pinned it back, while at the same time twisting it into an exotic, slightly off-center loose knot. The rest of her hair feathered down in soft, dreamy little curls that made her round face look a little less plain.

  “Now we can see your pretty face,” her mother said fondly, her expression softening as she gently stroked one of Daisy’s cheeks before stepping back.

  “Next we need to do something about this top,” she said, immediately back to business. She took a step back and perused Daisy from head to toe before gasping in horror. “Oh, good grief, Daisy! Are you wearing one of your father’s shirts?”

  “Men’s shirts are all the rage now,” Daisy said, pretending indifference, when really she was mortified. She had grabbed the first thing she could find, and she now saw that it was one of her dad’s shirts. She often borrowed his shirts if she went to her parents’ place for dinner after work. God knows she couldn’t fit into her mother or sisters’ clothes.

  “It’s an old flannel shirt,” her mother said. “And it would probably have been repurposed into a dust rag by now if you hadn’t taken it.”

  Daff was riffling through her wardrobe and making disgusted sounds as she went through Daisy’s clothes.

  “These are all awful,” she said, and Lia and their mother both went over to have a look.

  Humiliated and getting more than a little pissed off, Daisy had finally had enough.

  “I know you all have good intentions, but I’d like you to leave now,” she said sternly, but they ignored her and just continued to mutter among themselves as they went through her personal things.

  “Hey, enough!” Daisy’s eyes widened in surprise when she heard the unfamiliar voice bellow in fury. Wow, was that really her? She sounded awesome. No-nonsense and a little scary in a cool take-charge kind of way. It definitely got everyone’s attention, and their heads—even Peaches’s—all swiveled toward her in unison.

  “Please leave. I’m sorry that I’m not pretty enough or skinny enough or well-dressed enough to pass your exacting standards. I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment to you all.” She sucked in a deep breath and softened her voice but was unable to keep the wobble out of it. “Look, I love you guys, and I know you mean well, but I’d appreciate it if you were all gone by the time Mason gets here.”

  It was entirely against Daisy’s nature to speak out against her sisters and mother. It was easier to just let them have their way and then quietly go back to doing things her own way . . . This—whatever this was—felt liberating and terrifying.

  Her sisters and mother hadn’t deliberately set out to make her feel inadequate, and their advice and criticism over the years had always been well intended. But none of them ever considered how hurtful they were being, and Daisy had simply allowed them to treat her that way, to make her feel that way, and she knew that was on her. But she was twenty-seven years old, a partner in her father’s veterinary practice, independent, and self-sufficient, and it was time she stood up for herself.

  But her sisters and mother all looked so shocked and distressed by her uncharacteristic outburst that Daisy immediately forgot her resolve to stand up for herself and fled to the en suite. She locked herself in like the little coward she was and sank down on the commode while she listened to the other three women quietly murmur among themselves.

  “Daisy, we’re leaving,” she finally heard her mother say through the closed door. “I hope you have an enjoyable evening . . .” There was a long pause, and she heard her mother sigh through the thin wood of the door. “I—I love you sweetheart. I’ll see you soon.”

  Daisy screwed her eyes shut and swallowed back a sob. She felt awful and was about to call out when she heard her bedroom door click shut. Peaches’s mournful little howl a few moments later confirmed that they had left the house. Daisy crept out of the bathroom slowly, half expecting Daff or Lia to be waiting for her in the bedroom. But they weren’t, and Daisy had never felt lonelier.

  She unbuttoned the stupid shirt and tore it off before sinking to the edge of the bed and dropping her face into her hands as she considered the repercussions of her little meltdown.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It was still raining when Mason rolled to a stop in front of Daisy McGregor’s small house. He sat there for a long moment, feeling strangely nervous about the evening ahead. He wasn’t sure exactly what to make of this woman. She was oddly compelling. He knew she was going to back out of last night’s drunken proposition and figured it would be for the best, but at the same time the little ruse would be a welcome diversion for him, and God knows, Mason needed to get out of his own head for a while.

  He rubbed a hand vigorously over his buzz cut, a nervous habit that he’d developed after joining the army, before inhaling deeply and dashing out of the car to the front door.

  He shook his head as the dog started up a cacophony just inside the door. He heard Daisy frantically try to shush the animal, but the little puffball only barked louder.

  Daisy looked flustered when she opened the door, and he grinned down into her flushed face.

  “Hi. I’m sorry. She gets a little carried away . . . Peaches!” The last word emerged as the dog actually made a dash for his ankle.

  “Stop that!” Mason made sure his bark was louder and more authoritative than the dog’s, and she backed up in confusion, hiding behind Daisy’s legs when Mason stepped over the threshold and into the small lobby.

  “Nice place,” he said after giving the cozy living room a look around. She had a way with colors that made the place seem warm and inviting.

  “Thanks.” She hovered awkwardly at the front door, obviously not having expected Mason to come inside. “Would you like a drink or something?”

  The question lacked some serious conviction, and he knew that having him in her home, sipping a beverage like some proper fucking gentleman caller, was the last thing she wanted. Perversely it made him feel suddenly very thirsty.

  “Yeah. What you got?”

  “Coffee, tea, some soda.”

  “Coffee, thanks.”

  “I only have instant,” she said, and he shrugged, sidestepping her to peruse the wall of framed photos behind her.

  “I’m not fussy,” he said absently as he studied a photograph of Daisy and her sisters. They all had the same pretty eyes, the same clear
skin, and the exact same smile. Daffodil and Dahlia had sleek brown hair a shade darker than Daisy’s crazy curls, and they were both slender and tall, while their baby sister was significantly shorter with less-fashionable, lush curves. The photograph was at least five years old, and Daisy’s figure had ripened a bit since then, her hair was longer—she looked less like a brown-haired Little Orphan Annie.

  He sensed her hovering behind him before she headed to the open-plan kitchen, Peaches trailing anxiously in her wake. Mason kept his eyes on the photos. They told the tale of a happy family, lots of smiles, laughter, family pets, and outings. A life without hardship, a life of privilege and upper-middle-class wealth, a stark contrast to Mason and Spencer’s upbringing.

  Their father and mother had been less successful at the parenting thing. The old man had been in and out of jail for petty crimes, and their mother was a functioning alcoholic. While Mason’s parents had cared about their children in their own dysfunctional way, the boys had been left to their own devices much too often. And after their mother’s death, money was scarce, and both Spencer and Mason had been guilty of shoplifting food because there often wasn’t enough money for basics like bread and milk. They were lucky not to be caught; their lives would probably have turned out quite differently if they’d been arrested for shoplifting.

  Mason shrugged off the sudden bout of melancholy, tucked his hands into his jean pockets, and turned to face Daisy. She had her back to him as she moved around the kitchen, and he found himself absently checking out her round, lush ass in those slightly-too-tight blue jeans. She was also wearing a simple long-sleeved black top, nowhere near as baggy as the other stuff he’d seen her in so far, and he was surprised to see the distinct nipped-in waist that gave her a full, curvy hourglass figure. She was built like a fifties bombshell—a particular weakness of his—with generous extra padding distributed attractively in the butt, thigh, and boob area.

  She turned to face him, and he noted, for the first time, that the front of the top was some kind of V-neck wraparound thing that tied around the waist. It did fabulous things for her cleavage. Man, Daisy McGregor had killer tits, and Mason shifted uncomfortably when his cock went unexpectedly hard at the sight of her plump chest. She had a magnificent body, and he didn’t think Daisy or anybody else really appreciated that fact. He walked toward the island that separated the kitchen from the living room and placed himself behind it, grateful that it was high enough to keep his crotch out of sight. He was stunned by this unexpected development. He liked the woman, but he hadn’t expected to find himself turned on by her. He needed time to process this information and time to get his rampant dick back under control.

  “Sugar or milk?”

  “Black. Thanks.” Thankfully his voice was passably normal, just a little gruffer than usual. “You look nice.”

  “Oh. Thank you.” She blushed, and he was fascinated by the way the color crept up over her chest, into her neck, covering her cheeks and tinting the tops of her ears. A full body blush. He wondered where the rosiness originated from and figured that the only way he’d ever know was if he made her blush while he had her naked and pinned beneath him. He choked a little at the thought, which wasn’t helping his hard-on go down in the slightest.

  She placed a mug on the marble countertop in front of him, and he sat down on one of the high barstools, still careful to keep his lower body out of sight. She had fixed herself a cup of tea and stood awkwardly on the other side of the island, fiddling with the infuser.

  “I like your hair like that,” Mason observed and was delighted when the comment caused another one of those all-over blushes. He did think her hair looked pretty. How did women achieve that effect? It wasn’t up, it wasn’t down, but it was somehow both. It was a mystery to him, but it looked good on her, and the wispy tendrils that framed her face and trailed down her neck suited her.

  “Thanks.”

  There was a long, awkward silence while he sipped his hot coffee and she continued to nervously dip the infuser in and out of the hot water in her mug. She didn’t seem to know what else to do with her hands, and she had her gaze fixed on that tea as if her very life depended on it.

  Mason kept his attention on her downbent head and wondered what it would take to get back the relaxed, charming Daisy of last night.

  “You going to drink that?” he asked after a few more moments, when it became apparent that she wasn’t going to be the one to break the silence. His voice startled her into dropping the infuser, and they both watched it plonk into the hot water, chain and all.

  “Damn it,” she whispered and sighed deeply before raising her wary eyes to meet his.

  Here it comes. Mason braced himself for the words he could practically see forming in her head.

  “This is not a good idea.”

  “We’d better get going,” he said, ignoring her statement and keeping his voice jovial as he handed the coffee mug to her. “I made reservations.”

  “You did?” She seemed flummoxed by his words, but he didn’t give her time to think about it, and before she knew it he had her bundled into her coat with her handbag over her shoulder. Mason waited by the front door while she settled Peaches. He had swiped an umbrella from the stand in her foyer and courteously escorted her to the sleek and sexy BMW i8 crouched like a waiting leopard in the driveway behind her Renault.

  “Is this your car?” she asked as she took in the dark interior of the car while he buckled himself in.

  “Yes. I like to use it for special occasions.” He loved this car and grabbed every opportunity he could to drive it. Not that he often did. It seemed ostentatious to speed around their tiny town in this electric beauty, and he couldn’t exactly take it on his off-road adventures, so he had driven it a mere handful of times since he’d indulgently purchased it just a year ago.

  “This isn’t exactly a special occasion.” Her negativity was starting to get on his nerves, and he gritted his teeth before responding.

  “Allow me to decide for myself which occasions I think are special,” he just barely refrained from snapping at her, and she was silent for so long, he wondered if some of the impatience he was feeling had managed to creep into his voice after all.

  “Are we going to MJ’s?” she asked, and he gave her a quick look, trying to read her expression in the dim light.

  “Yep.”

  “You don’t need a reservation for MJ’s.”

  Aaahh. Mason felt his lips stretch into a grin.

  “I was wondering when you’d pick up on that.”

  “Why’d you say you had reservations?”

  “I’m hungry and wasn’t in the mood to stand there having yet another ridiculous discussion with you about whether we’re doing this or not.”

  Daisy didn’t respond to that, averting her gaze out of the passenger window instead. The roads and sidewalks gleamed wetly beneath the pale streetlights as rain continued to torrent down. She tried not to think about how good Mason smelled, how she was completely enveloped by his scent, how she wanted to lean closer and just inhale him all in. Okay . . . so maybe that last one was a little creepy, but heck, the guy smelled amazing. And he looked absolutely breathtaking too. He was wearing faded jeans and a gray Henley under an open black, waist-length down coat, with a furred hood. He wore his clothes with an ease that Daisy kind of envied. He gave ordinary clothes a sexy, chic masculine appeal that she hadn’t ever seen any other man achieve. She felt positively frumpy next to his splendor.

  He parked as close to MJ’s as he could on a Saturday night, which, despite the wet weather, was still about five doors away. He reached for the umbrella and told her to wait, while he leaped out of the car and dashed around to her side to open the door for her.

  Daisy wasn’t used to such chivalry from the opposite sex. They usually dove to assist her sisters, leaving Daisy to open her own doors and carry her own shopping. This was a complete novelty. He raised the umbrella above her head and made sure she received the lion’s share of
the protection it offered. The left side of his body was wet when they reached the restaurant entrance. He held the door open for her with one hand while he shook the umbrella vigorously with the other.

  MJ’s was jam-packed as usual, and Daisy’s wet glasses fogged up the second the hot air hit them, making it hard for her to see. She reached up to remove them, while Mason took a light hold of her elbow and followed one of the staff who led them to an empty table in the middle of the floor and informed them that their waitress would be right with them.

  He dragged a chair out for Daisy, and feeling both self-conscious and flattered, she slid into it. She wiped her glasses, and by the time she had them back on, he was already seated opposite her. A quick glance around the room confirmed that there were a lot familiar faces around and that some of them were quite openly staring at her and Mason.

  “Man, I haven’t been to MJ’s in years,” Mason was saying. “I think the last time I set foot in this place was as a dishwasher.”

  Mason used to bus and wash dishes here. He must have been close to eighteen at the time. And while she would never admit to it now, a fourteen-year-old Daisy used to come to MJ’s hoping to catch a glimpse of him. He hadn’t noticed her, though. In fact, he hadn’t really paid attention to any of the girls who had tried to flirt with him back then.

  “It hasn’t changed at all,” he said, shaking his head ruefully. “It’s like it’s still stuck in the early twenty-ohs.”

  “Nothing much changes in Riversend,” Daisy said, and his eyes smiled into hers, sending her tummy aflutter again.

  “Yeah, I noticed. I was gone, what? Twelve, thirteen, years? And everything is exactly the same. I mean Mr. Kane is still the principal of the high school, for God’s sake.”

  “How do you even know that?” she asked.

  “Spencer. He’s often invited to give motivational talks to the kids. Can you believe that? Old Man Kane hated us, and now he’s asking Spencer to talk to the students? Apparently he wants me to speak to them too.”