44. A Mutual Manhandling
A MUTUAL MANHANDLING
Asher
We don't leave yet. I don't want to advertise to all our friends that I mauled the guest of honor’s brother-in-law.
Or, wait, did he maul me?
Well, if the way his hair looks is any indication of mine, it was a mutual manhandling. So I stop Mark, before he opens the door.
“One thing,” I say. “We can’t leave yet. We’re not presentable.” I step to him, gently smoothing his tousled hair. “There.”
He dips his reddening face. “Thanks,” he says, while lifting a hand to adjust his glasses. They might have gotten knocked around a bit, and the photographer in me wants to capture this look. I’d call it . . . relentlessly kissed man .
That might be my favorite photo ever.
I snap it in my mind’s eye, then my gaze drifts down. “Also, we need to wait one more minute.”
He laughs. “Yeah, it’s good that you do the thinking at times like this.”
But I don’t let go of his hand. Don’t want to stop touching him. I’m tempted to drag him against me one more time, but that won’t help us make our great escape. So I keep things chaste as I adjust the collar of his maroon shirt with my free hand.
Which reminds me.
“I know you don't like surprises but I do have a surprise for you tomorrow that I think you’ll like,” I tell him.
“Is it a sex surprise?”
“No, it's someplace I want to take you in New York. Sort of like an errand.”
“I like sex errands.”
I run my thumb along his wrist. “Are you always thinking about sex, Captain Filthy Mind?”
He stares at the ceiling. “Not always, but a good ninety-five percent of the time.”
“Consider this a five percent errand then.”
“And you think that’ll get me to agree to a surprise? Making it not about sex?”
I picture where I want to take him. Fine, we can squeeze in certain five percent things. “Do you have a spreadsheet for risky places in New York for . . .?” Then I whisper the number in his ear.
A sharp intake of breath comes from my guy. “I might like this surprise now.”
I pull back, brush my knuckles along his jaw, smirking at Mark. “Thought you might.”
“Dude, stop touching me. We need to go,” he says, sounding ornery.
Ornery Mark is hot.
But all Marks are hot to me.
And that makes all the sense in the world.
“By the way, I can’t wait to see your place. I bet you have navy sheets and gray pillowcases,” I say.
He stares dead-eyed at me. “Why do I like you so much?”
Tossing my head back, I crack up. “That's a very good question.”
For a while, I asked myself the same question about him. But I know exactly why Mark Banks does it for me. He’s never once tried to change me. He sees exactly who I am. He takes me as I am.
And he’s still here.
I squeeze his hand. Check the goods. We’re presentable. “I’d say we’re ready. Let’s go pretend to be social. Ten minutes?”
“Ten minutes tops,” he agrees.
I drop his hand, and we leave the library.
I fucking love libraries.
As much as I’d like to drink and dash, I can’t. After I grab my weekend bag from the coat check, I track down the man of the hour. Flip’s holding court with some old friends, entertaining Danya, Jasper, and Archie, so I catch his eye, and nod toward the door.
He lifts a finger to them, then peels away.
As we duck into an alcove, he stares curiously at my weekend bag, slung over my shoulder. “You never leave a party early. Even for jet lag . . . ergo?”
Flip isn’t dumb. He’s likely done the math since I’ve been here less than thirty minutes. “Change of plans. For your thirtieth birthday, my present is to give your home all to you and your wife tonight.”
“Why do I feel like that’s more of a gift to you?”
No point beating around the bush. “I'm staying an extra night, and spending the weekend with Mark.” I don’t even attempt to joke about it or make it seem light. There’s nothing casual about my decision to fly to New York or to take Mark up on his offer.
Flip’s gray eyes bore into me. “Let me get this straight. You flew to New York. And you’re spending the weekend with my brother-in-law?”
“Correct.”
“So this is more”—he stops to sketch air quotes—“ a little harmless fun? ” he asks as he quotes me back to me. “A weekend with bennies?”
Actually, it’s not that at all. Not for me.
I wish I could tell him what it is. “I’m not sure what this is. The only thing I know is that I don’t want to end things with him,” I say, and I’m pretty sure I’ve shocked my best friend senseless.
Flip blows out a long stream of air. Takes a weighty beat. “Wow. Gotta say, I didn’t see that coming.”
I chuckle. “That makes two of us.”
Flip strokes his chin, eyeing me. “So, you and Mark Banks. I guess stranger things have happened, but not by much.”
“I know, but somehow it just kind of works," I say, and I haven’t entirely figured out why. I just know that it does. We fit .
Flip shrugs, holds out his hands to show he’s got nothing. “I can’t even give you a hard time. Or a you better be careful line.”
“Lucky me. I dodged a bullet,” I joke.
But his eyes turn serious, and I half expect he’s going to issue some kind of growly if you break my wife’s brother’s heart, you’re dead to me warning. “So, should I be worried about your heart getting broken now?”
Words I never expected to hear from Flip. But the last few months have been unexpected.
“Maybe,” I say, without any pretense.
“I have no idea who you are and what you did with my best friend. But I’ll say this—you better not back out of our hang gliding plans for next summer.”
“Flip, come on. I’m the one going hang gliding. You’re going to watch since you’re the guy with a kid on the way and a low tolerance for risk.”
He stares at me. "You do know your boyfriend has a kid. That means?”
I wag my finger back and forth. “No one’s using the boyfriend word yet.”
Emphasis on yet.