The Best Man (Alpha Men Book 2)(19)

He paused, his face clearing as he lowered his fork back down to his plate.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, the words brimming with sincerity. “It’s a touchy subject. My dad, I mean.”

“You brought him up.”

“Hmm. I also feel a little uncouth in a place like this.” The confession was hushed, and his eyes were directed out over the dark lagoon in an effort to avoid meeting her stare. Daff could barely hear him over the piano music in the background and the chatter of the other restaurant patrons. “With its weird wine rituals and place settings and unrecognizable food.”

“Then why come here?” she asked again, her voice gentling.

“I thought you’d like it.”

Oh.

For God’s sake. Why was he so damned sweet?

“I do,” she said after a beat. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

His eyes swung back in her direction, and she met his scrutiny head-on. Her expression was serious, but she hoped that he could see that she was being sincere. His eyes darted back and forth between hers for an excruciatingly long moment before he smiled. The parting of his lips was slow and hesitant, like a foal taking its very first steps. It was like watching the sun come out from behind a cloud, and the subsequent brightness was almost blinding after so much gloom.

“You’re welcome.”

“Now try the fish. It’s freaking awesome.”

“There’s barely enough here to feed a fuckin’ gnat,” he complained, and she laughed.

“This is the first of seven courses. You’ll be stuffed after this, trust me.”

He looked dubious but lifted his fork nonetheless.

“I hope so, or we’re stopping at a McDonald’s on our way home.”

“Trust me,” she repeated, keeping her gaze level, and he nodded.

“Hmm.”

“What a fucking revelation that was,” Spencer groaned in the car a few hours later. The evening had gone surprisingly well after his stupid, embarrassing first-course rant. They had kept the subjects neutral and limited to mutual acquaintances and party planning. Daff was an easygoing, witty companion, and his fascination with her was stronger than ever by the time the long and shockingly good meal was finally done.

“I mean, most of that stuff looked like art—how the hell did they manage to make it so delicious and so filling at the same time? I don’t get it. It’s like some weird sorcery.”

“You ate seven courses, Spencer,” she reminded him. “That’s a lot of food.”

“It didn’t look like a lot of food.” He shook his head, still astonished.

“But it was.”

“I didn’t hate it.” He could hear the shock in his own voice, and she laughed.

“I didn’t hate it, either. In fact, I found everything about it quite enjoyable. The company included.”

He nearly swerved from the road in his rush to look at her.

“Hey, watch the road, buddy,” she criticized.

“Sorry. I just . . . I enjoyed your company, too.” And now he sounded like a teenage boy after his first date, and he cringed a little.

“Good to know we can spend a few hours together without killing one another, huh? Bodes well for this partnership.”

“I never find your company a hardship,” he said, focusing his attention back on the road. Disturbed by her words. “If anything, you’re the one with some inexplicable grudge against me.” He heard the questioning lilt in his statement, inviting her to elaborate on exactly why she always seemed to have it out for him. But she didn’t respond, just kept her attention on the darkness outside.

Fuck it. He was going to ask and let the words fall where they may.

“Why don’t you like me?”

And didn’t that just sound needy as fuck?

“I don’t not like you,” she said, her voice completely emotionless, which frustrated the hell out of him.

“You always seemed to.” Why was he pursuing this? It was humiliating, but for some reason he couldn’t seem to help himself.

“I just don’t think we have much in common, that’s all,” she elaborated. “You were a rugby player.” She said the words in the same tone of voice one might use to say serial killer.

“Not sure what that’s supposed to mean,” he muttered.

“Nothing, I just tend to get along with more cerebral people.” The dashboard lights highlighted her immediate wince, telling him she regretted the words as soon as she said them. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

“You think I’m dumb.” He was hurt and completely offended by her words and her attitude. And was sorry to witness the resurgence of her snobbery, which had been refreshingly absent all evening. “Guess that explains the mushroom thing.”

“No, I don’t think you’re dumb. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, Daffodil,” he said, quite fucking fed up with this bullshit, “but you barely finished high school and didn’t go to college, right?”

Silence.

“Because while I may have been just a rugby player and it may have been what got me into college, it wasn’t what helped me graduate summa cum laude. It wasn’t what made me start a sports shop from scratch and turn it into one of the most thriving businesses in the area. That all came from here”—he stabbed his forefinger against his forehead and then lowered his hand to jerk a thumb at his chest—“and here.”

“Spencer—”

He’d had more than enough and leaned forward to turn on the radio, flooding the car with loud rock music. She was still trying to talk and he cranked the volume, ignoring her and whatever trite apology she felt the need to throw at him this time.

When would he learn his lesson where Daffodil McGregor was concerned? He was like a dog that kept going back to someone who beat it constantly. It was humiliating. It was past time to grow some balls where this woman was concerned.

The rest of the ride was punctuated by loud, angry music, and when he slid to a stop outside her house, he was still so pissed off he didn’t bother to get out and open the passenger door for her. He could tell from the way she sat and watched him for a few moments that she was expecting him to, and when he didn’t she sighed and opened the door.

Before exiting the car, she reached forward and pushed the mute button on the radio. The immediate silence thundered between them, but he still refused to acknowledge her, maintaining a death grip on his steering wheel as he glowered grimly ahead.

“I’m really sorry, Spencer. I had a pretty great time tonight.”

He wasn’t going to soften, no matter how sweet her damned voice. He’d fallen for that bullshit before—it was the way she operated. Pretend to let him in before shutting him down so hard his head reeled. He’d experienced a few concussions during his rugby days, but none of them had ever left him as dazed and confused as Daff did.

“I’ll see you at lunchtime tomorrow?” His hands tightened on the wheel, and he ground his teeth so hard his jaw ached.

“No.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Good night.” She left without a further word, and much as he wanted to just speed the hell out of there, he still felt compelled to make sure she got into the house safely. Once the door was shut and the lights were on, he took off like a bat out of hell. Promising himself that he would never allow her to fool him again.





CHAPTER SIX



Daff tossed and turned all night. The way things had ended between her and Spencer weighed heavily on her mind, and she felt awful about it. No matter how much he blustered to the contrary, she knew she had hurt him, and it bothered her. He was a decent man and she was smearing all her crazy and her wrong off onto him. But she couldn’t leave it the way it was. She just couldn’t.

She picked up her phone and checked the screen for the umpteenth time since she’d sent her message just after arriving home from dinner. Her apology remained unread, and that stung a bit. Not that she deserved anything better, it was just . . . she didn’t want to ruin whatever it was that seemed to be building between them. She was beginning to discover that liking Spencer was a good habit to have and a hard one to break.

She tossed and turned some more, checked her phone again, and at around 2:00 a.m. knew that she wasn’t going to get any sleep. She sat up and pushed her hair out of her face. She could go around to his store in the morning, take him and his staff some doughnuts, even if it wasn’t their usual doughnut day. Or maybe she could take him lunch for a change.

She drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs, resting her chin on top of them. She stared off into the darkness pensively, wondering how to fix this.

He hadn’t even bothered to open the car door for her this evening, and that had bugged her so much. Not the fact that he hadn’t done it, more the idea that she’d taken a decent guy and angered and corrupted him to such an extent that he’d willingly forgone his hard-earned impeccable manners. And knowing Spencer, she figured he must have fought his chivalrous instincts very hard to make that point. She hadn’t missed that death grip on the steering wheel.

She groaned and got out of bed, dragging on a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and a thick cable-knit sweater. She put her hair up in a sloppy ponytail, shoved her feet into comfy fur-lined boots, and grabbed her keys on the way to the front door. She had to make this right tonight.