The Best Man

by Natasha Anders

  “Oh my gosh, I forgot about that,” Lia said. “‘Daffodil. Tell me you will . . .’”

  “‘Be mine. Your smile is like gold and like diamonds your eyes do shine,’” Daisy continued. She grabbed Lia’s hand and they went in for the big finish together.

  “‘I’ll love you forever and forget you never.’”

  They collapsed against each other and screamed with laughter while Daff glared at them and their mother smiled in delight.

  “Oh my, how sweet,” Millicent said once the cackles had died down. Daff was less than impressed with her sisters for bringing up the poetry. They’d teased her relentlessly about it at the time, and she couldn’t believe that they’d actually gotten their hands on one long enough to memorize it.

  “Do you remember that, Daff? All those poems?” Lia asked.

  “Of course I remember it,” she grumbled. “It wasn’t that long ago. And there’s nothing going on between Spencer and me, so can we please focus on the task at hand? We have under three months to plan this thing and the clock is ticking, ladies.”

  That got them all refocused immediately, and Daff heaved a silent sigh of relief when they all started looking at color and fabric samples again.

  “That’s the fourth easy shot you’ve missed tonight. What’s going on with you?” Mason asked as he lined up his own shot and sank yet another ball. At this point, Spencer might as well stand back and enjoy the show, because Mason wasn’t going to let him in with another chance. Spencer rarely lost at pool and he’d known—with his atrocious lack of form—that it would be only a matter of time before Mason figured out something was up.

  He watched as his brother lined up yet another perfect shot and allowed his thoughts to drift back to Daff. He had a raging case of blue balls and had barely been able to focus at work today. Even an intense wank session in the shower just before coming out tonight hadn’t done much to take the edge off his horniness.

  He thought back to the prim thank-you text she’d sent him earlier, accompanied by a selfie of her licking the hot sauce from the homemade burrito off her fingers. Like she didn’t know exactly the effect that picture would have on him.

  He barely swallowed back a groan now.

  “I’ve been instructed to ask you how many groomsmen you think you’ll have.”

  “Instructed, is it? Daff running the show?”

  “Only as much as I’ll let her.” He thought back to how he had kept her hovering on the brink of orgasm for nearly half an hour, then flushed—grateful for the low light in Ralphie’s pub that disguised both flush and instant hard-on—at the entirely inappropriate memory.

  “And it’s a valid question. I need to know how many people to plan for.” He willed his dick to go down and was happy when he managed to wrangle some control over the unruly boner.

  “What’s the rush? It’s three months away.”

  “Apparently that’s nowhere near enough time to plan a wedding and all the flash and fuckery that goes along with it.”

  “Hah? I’m beginning to get that.”

  “So? Any idea?”

  “Yeah. You’re my best man, with Chris and Sam as groomsmen.” Christién was one of Mason’s modeling friends—now a trained chef with a restaurant in the area—and Sam Brand was one of his army buddies, as well as his former business partner. Spencer hadn’t met either man yet, but he’d heard that Sam had saved his brother’s life—and vice versa—more than a few times.

  “You can’t have just three guys at your stag party, Mase.”

  “I have three more ex-army buddies flying in, and there’s also my future father-in-law.”

  “You’re inviting Dr. McGregor? Man, what if I wanted to hire a stripper?”

  “Fuck, Spence. No strippers . . . Daisy would kill me.”

  “She would?”

  “Okay, maybe not,” he confessed sheepishly. “She’s curious. She’d want to know what the strippers’ go-to moves were and then she’d—” He stopped talking abruptly and cleared his throat. “Anyway, no strippers.”

  Fascinated by the way his brother refused to meet his eyes, Spencer grinned. Well, then, wasn’t Daisy McGregor the little dark horse? He was tempted to hire a stripper just to give his brother a fun night of role-playing, but he didn’t think Mason and Daisy needed any help in that department.

  “Okay, so the good doctor will be joining us. Anyone else?”

  “Daff and Lia aren’t seeing anybody right now, are they?”

  “You’re about to become their brother-in-law, wouldn’t you be more qualified to answer that question? And why do you want to know, anyway?” He sounded cagey, even to himself.

  “Well, they may want their boyfriends included, and it’ll pad the numbers.”

  “You need more friends.”

  “I have a shit ton of friends, just not in this country. If you had more friends, we could invite them.”

  “Not my wedding.”

  “What about old school friends? We may have a few of those in common.”

  “We didn’t have school friends,” Spencer reminded.

  “Who needs friends when I have you?” Mason quipped, but there was a note of sincerity in his voice and Spencer smiled.

  “Ditto, bro. Okay, so seven guys? We can make that work.”

  “It’ll be awesome, man.”

  “I just hope Daisy’s lady friends don’t outnumber us when it comes time to merge the parties.”

  “She doesn’t have too many friends, either. Her sisters, her mom, that chick Tilda, and a few others. It doesn’t matter if the numbers are uneven—it’s not a hookup party.”

  “Yeah.”

  Mason focused on his game and sank two more balls. He sized up the table while dusting the tip of his cue with some chalk.

  “So Daisy tells me you and Daff had dinner last night.” Spencer, who’d been in the process of taking a sip of beer, nearly choked and quickly lowered the bottle, clearing his throat vigorously in the process.

  “Hmm.” He grunted for lack of anything better to say.

  “That go okay?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Where did you go? Daisy and I were at MJ’s last night and didn’t see you there.”

  “Why’d you go to MJ’s? Spying on us?” Spencer asked suspiciously and then instantly regretted the question when Mason gaped at him.

  “Why the fuck would we do that, man? Daisy burned dinner last night, and instead of starting from scratch, we decided to eat out. We thought we’d run into you guys.”

  “Sorry.” Spencer scrubbed a hand across the nape of his neck. “I don’t even know why I said that. I took her to Leisure Isle.”

  “In Knysna?”

  “Figured it’d be a nice change and right up her alley.”

  “Like a date?”

  Spencer winced at the incredulous note in Mason’s voice. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Spence, c’mon, you know she treats you like dirt most of the time. Why put yourself in the position to get rejected yet again?”

  “Don’t worry, it wasn’t like a date. She made sure to point that out a few dozen times.” Mason grimaced. “Sorry, buddy.”

  “Nothing I wasn’t expecting.” Spencer shrugged. “We managed to have a pretty pleasant evening for the most part.” Followed by unpleasantness . . . followed by the most confusing and intense sexual encounter of his life.

  Speaking of which, it was time he wrapped this up and got home, just in case Daff decided to grace him with her presence tonight.

  “Daisy still with her sisters?” he asked casually, and Mason checked his phone.

  “Looks that way. She said she’d text me after they left.”

  “Can’t believe they kicked you out of your own home.”

  “Apparently a lot of this wedding stuff is super-secret, in addition to being a crap ton of work.”

  “I always figured it was a party, and how hard can planning a party be?”

  “Right?”

  “This
stag party, I thought you, me, a bunch of guys, some alcohol, and music. Sorted, right? But now it’s become an ‘event’ with ‘activities’ and ‘speeches.’”

  “You’re using air quotes,” Mason scoffed, and Spencer snorted.

  “That’s because I’m quoting Daff.” These were some of the things they’d discussed over dinner last night.

  “Wait, why would there have to be speeches at a stag party?”

  “I don’t know.” Spencer threw up his hands in frustration. “Man, I don’t fucking know. It makes no sense to me. But Daff . . . she seems to know what she’s talking about.”

  “She did help plan Lia’s wedding,” Mason said dubiously. “So she has some experience.”

  “That wedding was a failure.”

  “But it was flawlessly planned.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.” Spencer grinned, reaching into his front jeans pocket and dragging out a bill. “This should cover my beers. I’m headed home.”

  “Hey, hold on a second, I was winning,” Mason protested. “You can’t just leave in the middle of the game.”

  “Sure, I’ll give you this win,” Spencer said magnanimously. Mason had never beaten him at pool, and he knew this was going to seriously piss his brother off. Which was exactly why he was doing it.

  “That sucks, man.”

  “Hey, I said you can have the win,” he emphasized, knowing it would drive his brother nuts.

  “You can’t give it to me! I’ve earned it.”

  “Of course you have. No arguments from me. That’s why I said you could have it.”

  “Stop giving me the win, asshole! It’s already mine.” Mason was going slightly red in frustration.

  “Sure it is,” Spencer said agreeably.

  “Just hang on a second, I’m about to sink the eight ball,” Mason said desperately.

  “Ooh, sorry. No can do. I’m running late.” He deliberately turned away and grinned when Mason swore behind him.

  “Running late for fucking what? Bedtime?”

  “I like to stay on schedule, you know that. See ya.”

  “Spencer, wait. Look . . .”

  He left before Mason could finish the sentence and chuckled to himself as he walked to his 4x4. His brother would never forgive him, and even though he’d eventually get over it, he’d still be bitching about it years from now.

  It was nearly midnight when his doorbell rang. Spencer heaved a sigh of relief and pushed himself to his feet to get the door.

  “Hello, darling,” he greeted the apprehensive-looking woman at his door warmly. “How’d the wedding planning go?”

  “Ugh. Can we please talk about something other than freaking wedding plans? I feel like this wedding is starting to take over my life.”

  “How was work?”

  “Boring,” she complained, peeling her coat off. He took it and hung it on the coatrack beside the front door. “You’re in your pj’s already. Nice.”

  He grinned, not sure what her fascination with his pajamas was about, but he’d take the admiring looks she was giving him over her usual animosity anytime.

  “Oh my God, and what’s this?” Her eyes widened as she looked him over and he almost made a self-conscious move to cover his erection with both hands. But she wasn’t focused on his groin—instead she was staring up at his face, and he wondered if he had food on his cheek or . . .

  “You wear glasses?” He lifted a hand to touch one of the arms of his heavy, square, black-framed glasses.

  “Yeah, to watch TV.”

  “It’s so sexy,” she breathed. “Nerdy hot, like Clark Kent.”

  “Uh . . . thanks?”

  “I want to change out of these clothes. I went straight to Daisy’s after work and came directly here after that. I didn’t bring anything to wear. Can I borrow your pajama top?” She didn’t wait for his answer; she was too busy unbuttoning his top. The thought of her in it was unbearably sexy, and he helped her by slipping the thing over his head before she even had it half-undone and handing it over without any fuss or complaint.

  “I’m going to grab a quick shower, ’kay?”

  “You eat?” he asked, bemused by how very at home she seemed.

  “Yep.” She hooked a finger into the collar of the top and tossed it over her shoulder before sauntering to the downstairs bathroom, her hips swaying gently as she walked. His mouth went dry and he couldn’t take his eyes off her sweet, round ass in the formfitting pants she was wearing.

  She threw him a sexy little grin over her shoulder, telling him with just a cheekily raised eyebrow that she knew exactly how she was affecting him.

  “Be right back.”

  “Hmm.” The sound came out more feral than he’d intended, and she laughed huskily as she closed the bathroom door behind her.

  He watched the closed door for a second, tempted to join her, but joining her in that shower—even if it was what she expected him to do—was not an option. He had the feeling that Daff was playing by a very specific set of rules known only to her, and he refused to play her game. No matter how fucking titillating it was. This was more than just a game to him.

  He groaned and forced himself to return to the living room. He stoked the fire he had going, sat down on the sofa, and tried to shift his focus back to his movie. Even though his concentration was shot to hell and all he could think about was the very naked and very beautiful woman in his shower.

  He didn’t join her. Daff didn’t quite know what to make of that. She’d made all the right moves, the expected moves, and he hadn’t responded in the predictable way. Her brain was working overtime by the time she’d soaped and rinsed herself. Delaying any longer was pointless. He wouldn’t be joining her, and it confused her. She wasn’t sure what to do next.

  She dried herself and dragged on his top, inhaling deeply and relishing the scent of him. This was a green-and-black version of the one he’d worn last night. Same old-timey design, with lapels and a breast pocket, so perfectly suited to Spencer. She towel dried her hair and held a hand to her chest for a moment to still the frantic fluttering of her heart before throwing back her shoulders and leaving the bathroom.

  The kitchen and living area were lit only by the cozy, flickering fire and the television set. Spencer seemed to be watching something loud and full of shouting and explosions. He looked up when she stepped out of the bathroom, his glasses gleaming from the light of the television screen.

  “Hey, the movie’s just started, you haven’t missed much.” He held out a hand, motioning her to join him, and she hesitated. He wanted to watch a movie? Seriously? That was . . . that was truly flippin’ weird. Did she have to wear a sign saying “easy lay” for him to understand that he didn’t have to go through the usual tedious motions to get lucky with her?

  Not sure what to do, she took a couple of tentative steps toward the man-size, comfy-looking sofa. When she got close enough, he grabbed her hand and tugged her down next to him. He lifted the little lap blanket—seriously, a lap blanket, this guy was adorable—and dragged her legs over his lap, cupping the soles of her feet in one large hand and hooking his free arm around her shoulders to tuck her snugly beneath his armpit.

  This wasn’t half bad. She snuggled close to his seriously ripped bare chest—ah, the perks of stealing his pajama top—one cheek resting on a firm, smooth pec, his tight nipple just an inch away from her mouth. She tucked one hand into the dip of his taut waist and rested the other in the small of his lower back, just where the curve of his butt began.

  Beneath her calves, she could feel the swell of his penis, and it was hard, which gave her hope that she wasn’t a complete failure at the seduction thing. Still, he did nothing about it, just gently kneaded the balls of her feet with one hand and toyed with her hair with the other.

  “What are we watching?” she asked. Feeling so safe and warm and comfortable that she could barely form the words.

  “Captain America.”

  “First one?”

  �
�Second.”

  “Oh, I’ve seen that one.”

  “Me too, but it’s a fun one to rewatch.” His voice rumbled beneath her ear. She traced little patterns on his chest, and his breath hitched. She smiled at the reaction, but he lifted his hand from her feet and plastered it over her wandering fingers. Pressing her hand flat against his chest.

  “Behave. We’re watching a movie.”

  “But I’ve seen it.” She could hear the pout in her voice and was appalled by how girlish she sounded. What on earth was this man doing to her?

  “Nevertheless, we’re watching it.”

  “Spoilsport,” she grumbled, but she decided to go with this for the moment and see where it led . . .

  Where it led was to the end of the movie. He did nothing for nearly two hours, just watched the movie while stroking her hair, then her back, her feet and occasionally her calves. His erection waxed and waned . . . mostly waxed. The thing had been an almost constant companion throughout the movie. And occasionally she’d rub her legs against it to get some kind of reaction from him, but he’d just still her movements with his quelling hand. He had some serious Jedi mind tricks when it came to controlling his hard-on, because any other man would have had her pinned and staked hours ago. Spencer had phenomenal willpower.

  The credits started rolling, and he made a satisfied sound.

  “Great movie,” he said, letting go of her toes to stretch luxuriously. He turned his attention on her, his eyes heavy lidded and intent.

  “Nobody’s ever thrown me over for Steve Rogers before,” she complained, and his lips quirked.

  “You haven’t been thrown over, just put on hold for a moment.”

  “Still, I’m a little irked.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yes.” It was hard to get a mad going when you were snuggled up to the hardest, hottest, and sexiest chest in town, but Daff was for damned sure going to give it the old college try.

  “I didn’t mean to irk you,” he said and quickly shifted his hands to her waist and dragged her into his lap. “C’m’ere, darling.”

  Before she knew it, she was straddling his lap, her naked mound coming into immediate contact with the hard, thick ridge beneath the crotch of his flannel pants.