2. You Handsome Devil
YOU HANDSOME DEVIL
Mark
On Saturday evening, I’m right on time to hunt for Flip’s flaws. Besides the obvious one—his name is kind of ridiculous.
And the other one. He lives on Park Avenue in a penthouse apartment that spans the entire twelfth floor of the building. When I step off the elevator, I’m standing in the man’s private foyer.
A goddamn Degas sculpture stands opposite the coat rack. It’s a brass one of the dancers. At best, our man Flip is a super-rich art collector.
At worst, he has a thing for skinny teenage ballet dancers.
News flash: I don’t trust this guy.
It’s not that I don’t trust rich people.
It’s that I don’t trust people, especially people my sister seems enamored of, and she definitely is fond of the preppy, penthouse-owning, gray-eyed guy who struts into the entryway to shake my hand.
“I’ve heard so much about you,” he says, his smile showing perfectly white, straight teeth.
“Nice to meet you,” I manage. And I give him a handshake that says, if you hurt her I will disembowel you .
At least, I hope it says that. I looked this guy up on social media and he’s never been short of female companionship. Year after year, he has beautiful women by his side. I don’t want Hannah to be one in a long line.
She appears next to him a moment later, tackle hugging me, nearly knocking my glasses off. “This is amazing! My two favorite people have met!”
As I adjust my glasses, I feel a little nauseated, honestly, but now Flip is looking at her like he’s already in love.
“This is pretty great,” he says. “Good thing Asher suggested I get a hand-carved jukebox at the place right next to the candle-making studio, or else I never would have tried the class. And never would have met my amazing new girlfriend.”
Then Flip kisses her, right in front of me. This is all too soon, and I want to grab my face and scream like the guy in that Munch painting.
Who calls someone his girlfriend after one weekend?
Also, who needs a hand-carved jukebox?
Who needs a fucking hand-carved anything?
This is worse than I even feared.
Twenty minutes later I’m sitting on a giant burgundy sofa, sipping wine out of a glass the size of a fishbowl, and trying to make small talk while Flip and my sister make lovey-dovey eyes at each other.
What we aren’t doing, though, is playing any board games. Because we’re waiting for this Asher guy to show up. “Is he still coming tonight or can we get started without him?” I finally ask.
“I’m sure Ash will be here soon,” Flip says, then tells me how my sister convinced him to binge watch Archibald Lane during their marathon weekend together. “I figure if anyone can convince me to try period drama, I shouldn't let her get away.” He drops a kiss to my sister’s cheek.
“Don’t you like that show, Mark?” Hannah asks.
“Sure,” I grunt. I don’t go into detail, though, about the side story I liked best—the one where Lord Oliver and Sir Trevor stared longingly at each other from across the drawing room, with gazes that said they wanted to rip off each other’s waistcoats.
I’m really looking forward to the spin-off series starring those two men.
But that’s not a topic I want to open up in front of Hannah’s beau. And, mercifully, the chime of the elevator announces another arrival.
Flip springs up. “That’s Asher,” he says, and wow, they must be BFFs for life if this guy doesn’t even have to get buzzed up into a swank building like this.
Flip heads to the door, and seconds later, two men are laughing in the hallway.
“You’re late!” Flip says.
“I know, I’m sorry. But here I am at last. Hide the liquor and the women, as they say. Except the women are safe with me.” The newcomer rounds the corner.
The first thing I notice is his hair. There's a lot of it. But then I get a look at his face. Holy crap, this guy is attractive. Like, cover-of-a-magazine good-looking. Doesn’t that just figure? The rich playboy and his superhot wingman.
My sister rushes to him. “Hello, you handsome devil. Do you have a good excuse for being . . .” She looks around to check the time.
“Twenty-seven minutes late,” I say through clenched teeth since it’s just rude to show up whenever you want.
The attractive fucker looks at me then, tilting his head as if inspecting me.
And, God, he has beautiful hazel eyes. He makes me nervous somehow, which is stupid. My jaw ticks so hard it’s in danger of cracking.
“Sorry,” he says again. “I was right on time, but you know that newspaper kiosk on the corner of Seventy-Ninth? There was a soaking wet puppy wedged between The Times and The Journal boxes. I almost walked right by, but she whined . . .”
“A puppy?” My sister squeaks. “How does a puppy get left outside in New York City? In December of all months.”
“No idea.” Asher shrugs.
Is he putting us on right now? I rescued a puppy sounds like a close cousin to my dog ate my homework . Is Hannah really going to fall for that?
Asher pulls a finely knit scarf out of his pocket. “Is there somewhere I can hang this? The puppy was soaked. Oh, and here’s a photo of her. Isn’t she sweet?” He pulls his phone out of another pocket and hands it to Hannah, who squeals again. “Oh! Those big, beautiful eyes!”
Shit. This man is good . Twenty-seven minutes late, with an iron-clad excuse and photographic evidence.
“Asher St. James?” My sister hands the man his phone. “This is my brother, Mark Banks. Also known as the man who’s going to destroy you on game night.”
“Oh, is he?” Asher steps forward wearing an attractive smirk. God, even his mouth is super sexy, with pouty lips. “I look forward to the challenge.”
As I stand to shake, I’m about to agree. But when our hands clasp, the contact sends a sizzle to my central nervous system. The smack talk just dies in my throat.
Get a grip, Banks , I order myself. The world is full of attractive men and women. There’s no need to lose your cool.
“What game should we play first, honey?” Flip asks my sister. “No doubt you’ve already made a plan.”
“You know it!” She beams at him, and my terror notches up once again. Hannah is smitten. She’s all in for Flip the rich playboy prepster, who has an unfairly hot friend. “We’re going to play Draw it Out as a warmup. Then we’ll move on to Scrabble.”
“What’s Draw it Out?” Asher asks, tossing his coat on a chair.
“You have to draw whatever the card says, and the fastest team wins,” my sister replies. “No letters, no numbers, no talking, no tears.”
I snort out a laugh. My sister and I have always been fierce competitors. “We’re partners, right, Banana?”
“Of course! The Bankses versus the men of Lyceum du Lucerne.”
“Lyceum du Lucerne?” I ask, glancing at Flip.
“That’s where we met. At boarding school in Switzerland. We were paired as roommates from our first day, when we were twelve. And that was it. Friends for life.”
A Swiss boarding school? Of course that’s where they met.
Sitting back down on the couch, I put my wine glass on a coffee table the size of a city block. “Let’s do this,” I say, even more eager to match my Ohio public school wits against a couple of snobs.
“Right,” Asher says, rolling up the cuffs of his shirt.
Damn it. My eyes practically pop out of my head as he exposes muscular, golden forearms.
The guy is too hot for words.
He can’t even be real.
But he’s far too real as he sits next to me, making my whole body flash hot. “Hannah, ladies first. You draw the first clue. Pass the woman the whiteboard.”
Maybe we get lucky on the first round. It only takes us fifteen seconds of Hannah’s drawing for me to spit out “pizza sauce” after scrutinizing my sister’s circular artwork.
“Nice one!” Flip marks down our time, and gives Hannah a kiss.
I look away.
Then it’s their turn, and I have to admit they’re a good team. Flip isn’t an artist. But his skier is easy enough to discern, especially after he hashes out a mountain in the distance. Then he draws circles around the figure’s eyes, and Asher blurts out “ski goggles!” for the win.
“Wow, eight seconds,” I say. “You guys have a mind meld.”
“This is Zermatt, right?” Asher points at the peak in the corner of the drawing.
“You know it!” The two high five each other.
I roll my eyes.
Our next turn doesn’t go as well, though. The card I choose reads “vegetarian.”
Christ. What does a vegetarian look like?
“And . . . go!” Asher says.
I hastily draw a face on the whiteboard, with an open mouth. Um . . . okay. I will draw a vegetable. I try a turnip. “Apple mouth!” my sister yells. “Bobbing for apples!”
With the side of my fist, I erase the turnip and draw a carrot instead. And then another carrot. And then a bunch of grapes, which take forever. And a banana.
“Monkey! Hungry! Fruit eater!”
“Time’s up!” Flip calls.
“Vegetarian,” I gasp.
Hannah slaps her forehead. “Ohhhhh . . .”
“Is it just me?” Flip asks. “Or were you thinking?—”
“—Blow job!” Asher says, and the two of them burst into laughter, while high-fiving each other again.
Now I’m thinking about blow jobs.
And Asher’s wicked mouth.
Shit.
“Your turn, boys,” Hannah says sweetly. “Let’s see if you can do better.”
I say a modest prayer. Please, Lord, if you’re going to make my sister gaga over this player and his insanely sexy friend, at least please give them a difficult word .
Asher takes the marker as Hannah readies the stopwatch. He picks a card from the deck, squints at it, and places it facedown on the table.
“Ready?” my sister prompts. “And go!”
Asher begins to draw. And . . . WTF, God? Really? Asher is clearly a damn artist . In the center of the board he draws a perfectly articulated leg. A manly leg, where the calf muscle curves artfully beneath the knee.
Then he draws an arrow to the shin.
Moving to the left, he sketches . . . a big, flaccid penis. My sister hoots with laughter as he deftly adds the curve of a testicle at each side, just in case Flip can’t identify a peen without the balls.
Asher puts a plus sign between those two drawings.
Penis plus shin ? What?
Then he moves to the right and draws a sort of messy cloud. At which point Flip yells, “DICTIONARY!”
“Twenty-nine seconds!” Hannah cries.
“You’re a fucking genius!” Flip shouts. He and Asher embrace like they’ve just won the doubles tournament at Wimbledon.
Which, admittedly, they kind of did.
“Dick-shin-airy!” my sister says. “That really was a mind meld.”
When the Boarding School Wonder Twins break their bro hug, the stupidly hot one winks at me.
My chest heats up. I’m rattled by him. The word flustered takes on a whole new meaning since I have no idea how to behave around this Asher guy.
This is going to be a long game night.