“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.