He chuckles. “You’re so good at switching topics. And to answer your question . . . yes. Everyone’s life is changing,” Asher says, more pensive than usual.
“True, but you’ll still have plenty to keep busy. Work and stuff,” I say, since the man likely has a crazy schedule lined up of sexy photo shoots and glamorous parties when we return to New York and go our separate ways.
“I will, but it doesn’t mean I won’t miss . . . the good times.” He punctuates those last words with a sweep of his lips along my neck.
Exactly.
This is good times.
This is not anything else.
I’d do well to remember that.
And when I run into him in New York?since that’s inevitable?I’ll thank myself for sticking to my own rules.
“The good times have been fun. And soon, it’s back to reality for this, as you’d probably call me, nerdy single dad,” I say.
His grin stretches to his eyes. “I do call you that affectionately. You’re a good dad, Mark. I admire that,” Asher says.
I shouldn’t need his compliment on my parenting skills, but I like it all the same. “See? Sometimes you’re not an arrogant prick at all,” I say drily, then spread my hand across his abs.
Asher laughs. “As long as it’s only sometimes. You’re impossible to compliment, actually. You hardly ever let down your guard.”
“I know.” I take a beat then say something hard. “Although I do appreciate the kind words.”
He gives me another kiss. Another soft flick of his tongue, and a gentle wave rolls down my body. “You let down your guard in other ways. I don’t have to read you with words.”
Do I truly want to know how he’s reading me? No idea, but mostly, I don’t want him to stop reading me. Or touching me.
At least for today.
This is all I want today.
But all good things come to an end, and soon, the sun is sailing toward the sea.
We roll out of the hammock awkwardly, which is pretty much the only way to exit a hammock—tumbling and bumping into each other.
Once we land in the sand, Asher offers me his hand, and I take it. It’s time to go.
32
HOMICIDAL MANGOES
ASHER
When we reach the car, I toss Mark the keys.
He catches them easily, gives me a flirty, dirty look. “So you do want me to drive.”
I grab Mark’s hip. “Yes, I want you to drive tonight. Been wanting that the whole time.”
He growls. The look in his eyes is incendiary. “Me too.”
I dip my face to his neck, drag my nose along his skin, inhaling Mark. “Mmm. Now you smell like the beach. I like this smell on you.”
“Turns out, I like this beach,” he says, a little breathy.
I pull back. Meet his eyes. “Is that so?”
Mark doesn’t look away. “It is. I like this beach . . . a lot.”
My gaze drifts down to his throat. Then back to his dark blue eyes. “I do too,” I say.
I don’t think he’s talking about the beach. I’m not either.
And there’s nothing to be done about that, except enjoy the hell out of tonight.
By the time we arrive back on Star Island, I’ve tucked this afternoon’s beach detour?in all its tingly perfection?away in a corner in my mind. Maybe I’ll revisit it another time, but we’re back to being the best men now, rolling up alongside a restaurant truck in the driveway.
“That’s for dinner on the pool deck?” Mark asks. “Hannah said Flip had called someone.”
“That’s right,” I agree, parking the car in the last available space. “His parents wanted to swoop in for dinner, so he called the Cote d’Azur Bistro and asked them to cater a meal.”
“We could have handled that,” Mark says.
“No, we could not.” I set the parking brake and kill the engine. “You and I are maxed out, Banks. Let’s retire from party planning, okay? Let’s go eat a meal that we didn’t plan, cook, negotiate, or shop for.”
Mark blinks. “Sometimes I forget that’s even possible.”
“Come on.” I climb out. “You’ve never met Flip’s parents, right?”
“No. Neither has Hannah, if you can believe it.”
“Oh, I can.” Just thinking about Mr. and Mrs. Dubois makes me grin. “Monsieur still does some consulting work in Hong Kong. And she insists on spending springtime in their house in the Dordogne. And they go everywhere together, spending the year circling the globe.”
“Wow. Sounds intense.” Mark follows me to the door of the mansion.
“You have no idea.”
The house is quiet. But in the dining room, three strangers are putting the finishing touches on a table set for eleven people.
“Wow. Do we have the timing or what?” Mark asks, eyeing the seafood salads that are landing at each place setting.
“We better have the timing tonight. Ticktock.”
Mark snorts and follows me through the open French doors. When we emerge onto the pool deck, we find the whole crew. Flip is chatting up Hannah’s college friend Yasmin, who must have arrived while we were gone. Hannah and Bridget—both in sundresses—sit side by side on the edge of the pool, watching Rosie splash around the shallow end. Mark’s parents look on, holding cans of soda.