The Wingman Page 3

  His laughter eventually wound down to just a few rumbling chuckles, and he shook his head and stared at her for the longest time.

  “Do you want to go someplace quieter to talk?” he asked, his voice still carrying a trace of laughter, and she glanced over at the group of women who were tossing speculative glances in their direction.

  “We’re talking now,” she pointed out.

  “I suppose so.” He took another swig from his bottle, but upon realizing it was empty, signaled one of the overworked young waiters to bring him another. “So we’ll stay here then.”

  “You don’t have to sit with me. You now know why I don’t dance. Curiosity appeased, right?”

  “Thanks, dude,” he told the waiter with a nod when the guy brought his beer. He scratched at the edges of the label on his beer bottle with his thumbnail before refocusing his attention on Daisy and responding to her previous comment. “I have no one else to talk with.”

  “Weren’t you here with your brother?” she asked, looking around for Spencer Carlisle and lifting an eyebrow when she saw him out there dancing with her group. “He’s got some moves.”

  “Yeah,” Mason agreed.

  “Why don’t you join them?”

  “Nah, I’m okay where I am. I’m enjoying our conversation. And I don’t dance either.”

  “Don’t? Not can’t?” she asked sharply, and he grinned.

  “Yep.”

  “Why not?”

  “I never discuss that on the first date. That’s second-date material,” he said, and her eyebrows leapt up.

  “This isn’t a date, though,” she reminded him, and he took another swig of beer before shifting those big shoulders uncomfortably.

  “Yeah, only because you won’t go someplace quieter with me.” She laughed incredulously at that bit of nonsense. Had her world just taken a turn into crazy town? Because this made no sense. Why was she having “date” conversations with this man?

  “Maybe I missed something here,” she said, circling her finger in the space between them. “Or maybe I’m drunker than I thought because this conversation stopped making sense about two minutes ago.”

  “I asked you out,” he said, and she blinked, before laughing.

  “Guys like you don’t go out with girls like me,” she ridiculed.

  “Well, not if you’re going to have that attitude,” he said, looking almost angry.

  “Take a look at all of you, and then take a look at all of me.” She rolled her eyes, and his jaw clenched.

  “I’ve been looking at you for the last half an hour, and up until this very moment, I saw a smart, funny, entertaining woman with whom I wanted to spend more time,” he said, his voice so low she barely heard him over the crowd and the music. “That was before the self-pity, though.”

  “Self-pity? I was being realistic.”

  “Fine, don’t go out with me!”

  “Fine! I will go out with you,” she rejoined, and he looked completely confused.

  “Wait, what?”

  “Come on.” She grabbed her jacket. “Let’s go.”

  “But . . .”

  “Where do you want to go? What’s open at this time of night?”

  “MJ’s?” he suggested, still with that confused look on his face.

  “Perfect. Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Mason couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so confused, amused, entertained, and just plain gobsmacked by someone. Daisy McGregor was not at all what he’d been expecting. He’d spent the last thirty minutes completely bemused by her. He glanced over at Spencer, who was trying—and failing—to chat with Daff. The woman appeared to acknowledge his presence with the occasional shimmy in his direction but didn’t seem to have much to say to him. Mason felt kind of sorry for his brother, but hell, he had tried to warn the guy.

  Mason looked up at Daisy, who had jumped to her feet and grabbed her coat, and he wondered at the impulse that had driven him to ask her out to MJ’s. He wasn’t attracted to her, but he for damned sure wouldn’t mind talking with her a little longer. He was enjoying their exchange so much that he was almost resentful of the thumping music and loud background noise in the pub, which made it hard to hear her clearly. So he had suggested they go someplace quieter and had even used the dreaded date word. He shouldn’t have referred to it as such; it fostered expectations.

  It would definitely give her the wrong idea. And while Mason had been forced to do a lot of shitty things in his life, he had never deliberately hurt a woman, and he feared that this path would only lead to pain for Daisy McGregor. She was too damned nice to be hanging out with a guy like him. He had tried the long-term relationship thing and decided it wasn’t for him. These days, he tended to fuck and flee, and maybe that made him an asshole, but the women he usually associated with knew what to expect from him. They were happy enough with the short-term arrangements he preferred. Somehow, he didn’t think Daisy McGregor was the kind of woman who indulged in that type of fleeting sexual encounter. Still, he was committed to this now and had to see it through, so he beckoned the waiter over and quietly requested the bill, asking the guy to include Daisy’s drinks on his tab.

  “My drinks have been covered . . . Hen night,” she elaborated for the waiter, who nodded his understanding. “Anything in addition to that will be taken care of by my sister. The bombshell in purple over there.”

  “No problem, ma’am,” the guy responded and then asked Mason to hold on for a couple of minutes while he retrieved the bill.

  Mason and Daisy stood waiting without speaking, the ease of the last few minutes suddenly replaced by a weird tension and awkwardness that told him she was as uncertain about this so-called date thing as he was. Mason was thinking of ways to back out gracefully when Daisy, with the forthrightness that he was beginning to recognize was stock in trade for her, just came out and said exactly what he’d been thinking.

  “This probably isn’t a good idea. I won’t hold you to it,” she said with a rueful smile, and he noticed her dimples for the first time. They were cute as hell.

  “What do you mean?” he asked perversely, despite knowing exactly what she’d meant.

  “I mean going to MJ’s with you is a dumb idea; we should both just head home.”

  “I don’t think it’s a dumb idea, and you’re not getting out of it that easily.” Mason was aghast to hear the words cross his lips, and he wondered why the hell he had uttered them when he basically agreed with everything she had just said.

  “I’m just saying that we’ve probably exhausted all topics of—” He interrupted her before she could finish her sentence.

  “Nonsense. We’re going to MJ’s.”

  “Anybody ever tell you that you’re incredibly bossy?” she asked, not doing anything to disguise the irritation in her voice, and he grinned.

  “All the time.”

  “Fine, but I’m calling it now, this is probably the worst idea in the history of the world.”

  “Anybody ever tell you that you have a tendency to exaggerate?” he fired back at her, and she shoved her dark-rimmed glasses back up her nose and rolled her eyes.

  “About a billion times a day.” He grinned at her response. The waiter returned with his bill, and Daisy excused herself to go to the powder room.

  “Hey, Daisy,” he called as she turned away from him. She stopped and glanced back over her shoulder. “No ducking out the bathroom window.”

  She snorted and waved her hand dismissively before walking away.

  “I’ll wait outside,” he said as she headed toward the back of the pub. She held one thumb up to signal that she’d heard him but didn’t look at him again.

  Mason settled his bill, leaving a hefty tip for the grateful waiter, and grabbed up his leather jacket before heading out the door. He stood just outside the pub, facing the empty street as he listened to the muffled sounds of laughter and music coming from inside. Riversend had a population of only about three thousand permanen
t residents. It was very much a summer tourist destination, and the quiet little town went into hibernation during winter. There was no nightlife to speak of, and most people commuted to the larger outlying towns for work every day. Mason appreciated the tranquility of the place so much more now than when he was a restless, borderline-delinquent kid. And even though the years away had defined his character and broadened his worldview considerably, it was good to be home. Back when he was a kid, he had felt trapped, but now—knowing that he could leave any time he wanted to—he felt a sense of belonging.

  Aside from the bustling pub behind him and the bright light coming from the always-busy MJ’s farther down the street, the tiny town’s main road was quiet. Riversend was sleepy and peaceful and—after years of violence and craziness—exactly what Mason needed.

  It was a brisk late May evening, and he could see his breath misting in front of his face. The cloud of steam was reminiscent of smoke and made him yearn for one of the cigarettes he had given up more than a year ago. He shoved his hands into his jean pockets and swayed back and forth on his heels as he continued to wait.

  The music and chatter increased in volume as the doors swung open behind him, and he turned with an expectant smile on his face, which faded somewhat when he saw his brother’s large frame silhouetted in the doorway.

  “Hey, where are you off to?” Spencer asked, stepping out on the sidewalk with Mason; the door didn’t swing all the way shut behind him, and the noise bled out into the peaceful night.

  “Heading over to MJ’s with Daisy,” Mason replied.

  “Seriously?” Spencer asked with a slightly incredulous laugh.

  “I’m hungry.”

  “Mase, I appreciate you coming out here tonight, but you don’t have to do that.”

  “Do what?” Mason asked with a frown, confused.

  “You know what.” Spencer grunted, closing the gap between them slightly as he stepped closer. “I know I asked you to keep the other one distracted . . .”

  “Her name’s Daisy,” Mason corrected irritably.

  “Yeah.” Spencer waved the correction aside impatiently. “Whatever. Look, I know I asked you to keep her distracted, but taking her out? That’s going above and beyond, Mase. I don’t think Daff’s that interested, so you don’t have to do this. Go home and catch that movie; I know that’s what you’d prefer doing anyway. You’re probably bored out of your skull by now. Sorry about this, man. But like I said, I had to try, you know? It’s just a shame you had to waste your time with the other one while I did so.”

  It was a shitty thing to say, and Mason was about to tell Spencer exactly that when he noticed a pair of earnest eyes behind a pair of unflattering dark-framed glasses peeking up at him from behind his brother’s broad shoulder.

  Fuck.

  She was so damned short that she had actually managed to come up behind Spencer without Mason noticing. And—damn it—were those tears sparkling in her eyes? He felt like a total shit now and glared at his brother for a moment, before brushing by him and following the woman as she quickly turned away and walked up the road at a brisk pace. He heard Spencer swear behind him as his brother realized that Daisy had overheard him. Mason shot him a warning glare over his shoulder and held up a hand to prevent him from following.

  He caught up with Daisy in a few short strides and took hold of her elbow to halt her movement. She went taut but stopped and glared up at him fiercely from behind those heavy frames. They were beneath a lamppost, and he could see every emotion in that expressive face. She looked equal parts angry and resigned.

  “Look, you shouldn’t have heard that,” he began roughly as he agitatedly rubbed his hand back and forth over his scalp and wondered how the hell he had gotten into this situation.

  “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before. I’m the ugly one, remember?” she asked, without a trace of bitterness or self-pity in her voice. In fact, she sounded remarkably calm. “But that’s okay because being pretty isn’t everything, since ‘a brain is just as important as good looks.’ And ‘at least I’m clever.’”

  She used air quotes to make it obvious that she was parroting someone, and he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and felt his brow lower as he considered the casual cruelty those supposedly well-meaning people had subjected her to. She wasn’t even that bad looking. She just needed to do something with her hair, maybe. Put on a little makeup . . . dress better . . . lose a few kilos.

  He appraised her seriously. Her hair was crazy; he couldn’t tell if it was up in a bun or a ponytail, but whatever it was, most of the curly, mouse-brown strands seemed desperate to escape their confinement. She had a round face, a dab of a nose that her heavy-looking black-framed glasses kept sliding down, which meant that she was constantly peering at him from above the rims. Her deep-gray eyes were nice, big, and luminous and surrounded by thick, dark lashes and dark, arched eyebrows. She also had round cheeks, those adorable dimples he had noticed earlier, and a bit of a double chin when she laughed. He liked her lips; they looked soft and were naturally pink and lush. Surprisingly kissable lips set in a round, otherwise ordinary face.

  The woman also appeared to have absolutely no dress sense; she was wearing a flannel shirt combined with a pair of snug faded jeans that clung to her shapely, if somewhat ample, butt rather sweetly. He couldn’t tell much else about her figure beneath the oversized shirt and boxy bomber jacket—who even owned bomber jackets anymore? He thought they’d all been left behind in the nineties, where they belonged.

  She seemed to have bigger boobs than one would expect from a woman who was five foot three at most, but he couldn’t tell for certain.

  Okay, he had to admit, she was a bit of a train wreck. Still, it had to suck to hear that the only thing you had going for you was your brain.

  “Look, obviously the MJ’s thing isn’t going to happen now,” she said matter-of-factly. “I think I’ll just head straight home. I’m tired anyway.” Mason felt a pang of regret at the wariness he now saw in her. Gone were the humor and sharp wit of before, and in their place was an obvious reluctance to lower her guard any more than it had already been lowered.

  “How are you getting home?” he asked.

  “Walking, it’s not that far.”

  “It’s a mile out of town,” he protested. “I can take you.”

  “Nah, it’s really not that far, and I could use the exercise, right?” she asked, sending him a crooked, self-effacing grin that just about did him in. How often did she demean herself just to prevent others from doing so?

  “I’ll take you,” he maintained.

  She sighed. “Look, Mr. Carlisle—”

  “Mason,” he interrupted.

  “Right. Just because I overheard your conversation with Spencer doesn’t mean you have to try and make up for it. You were being his bro, right? His wingman or whatever. He’s always been interested in Daff; I remember him sending her really bad poetry in high school.”

  “You’re shitting me! He did?” Mason asked, momentarily distracted. He couldn’t have been more surprised if she’d told him Spencer had donned a tutu and danced ballet.

  “I memorized one,” Daisy said, that wicked grin making a welcome reappearance. “Want to hear it?”

  “Hell yeah!”

  “Okay, hold on, let me think . . .” She held her thumbs up to her temples and swayed slightly before lifting her head and meeting his eyes. “Daffodil. Tell me you will . . . be mine. Your smile is like gold and like diamonds your eyes do shine. I’ll love you forever and forget you never.”

  Mason paused a beat before doubling over and clutching his middle as he went off into gales of laughter.

  “Oh Christ,” he groaned after a couple of minutes of gut-busting laughter. “After that you have to let me repay you with a ride home.”

  Daisy stared up at the painfully handsome man standing in front of her and considered his offer. He really epitomized masculine perfection, all six foot one of him. He had a gorgeous, lean body
, combined with ruthlessly short golden-brown hair that she knew was wavy and thick when it was longer. He had a perfect square-cut, cleft jaw, which was currently bristling with stubble; high cheekbones; chiseled, bow-shaped lips; and straight brown eyebrows set above those gorgeous forest-green eyes she had admired earlier. The only thing that spoiled all that visible perfection was the thin, vicious scar that slashed through his left eyebrow—stopping just shy of the outer corner of his eye—and the slightly crooked nose. All this male gorgeousness was incredibly distracting and muddled her thinking.

  Daisy knew she really had to get away from him and away from this stupid pub. If it hadn’t been for Lia’s hen party, she would never have ventured into town tonight. She hated having to deal with people socially.

  And sure enough she’d had her stupid feelings trampled as usual. After all these years, one would expect her to have a thicker skin, yet people still managed to upset her with their snide little comments. But Mason Carlisle had hurt her in a brand-new way tonight. He had crept beneath her usually stalwart defenses and made her believe he was genuinely enjoying her company and honestly wanted to spend more time with her.

  God, she was such an idiot!

  She should have known when he approached her tonight that it was too good to be true, should have known he was getting her out of the way so that his brother could flirt with Daff. It was the story of her life, after all—she was fodder for wingmen. But she had allowed herself a brief moment of fantasy. Mason Carlisle had never been nasty to her, hadn’t really paid her much attention at all, to be honest. They had been years apart in school and moved in completely different social circles.

  Naturally all the girls—including her sisters—had had a crush on the Carlisle brothers in high school. Who wouldn’t? They were blessed with an overabundance of good looks, were star athletes, and had the appeal of being just a little too rough and wild for the good girls, which had made them irresistible. It still did. And just once, Daisy wanted to see what it felt like to be the center of a beautiful Carlisle’s attention.