I scratch my jaw, unsure how to answer. “Maybe?”
“Did you cheat on him?”
I scoff. “No. I don’t cheat.”
“Did you steal from him, insult his family, treat him badly, ignore his wants and needs, or root for the Boston Red Sox in front of him? Wait. Make that at all.”
I laugh, deep in my belly. “I didn’t do any of those things. Especially the last one.”
Mark nods, like a lawyer pleased with the line of questioning for his expert witness. “And the day you were going to ask him to move in with you, he told you he met somebody else and was into some other guy?”
I squirm a bit from the reminder. But is it the memory of Garrett that’s bugging me or the fact that I don’t necessarily want Mark to think of me that way? “That’s what happened.”
Mark seems to mull this over for several seconds. “Sounds to me like the problem wasn’t you, Asher. It sounds to me like the problem was him.”
Then he turns my tricks on me. My daring fling straddles me and roams his mouth along my neck. In seconds, his lips erase all thoughts of anyone else.
As he kisses his way down my body, he murmurs, “The problem definitely wasn’t you.”
He stops talking when he takes my cock in his mouth, and treats me to a fantastic morning blow job.
Just like that, I’m not thinking about the past—only the deliciously sexy present. I intend to enjoy every second of it since it’s going to end very soon.
Two hours later, I am officially an expert on wedding tents. Add that to my resume after an hour with Ramon in the late morning, surveying the expanse of lawn past the pool.
“It’s going to look great,” I tell the man from Dream Tents.
“Like the wedding tent of your dreams,” he says, and I hate to break it to the mustached man, but I definitely don’t dream about wedding venues.
Even ones that come complete with air conditioning, a wood floor for dancing, white tables, a DJ stand, and firefly lights flickering under the roof. Although it might be perfect for sneaking off to later for an outdoor tryst with Mark.
Or wait. Is that an indoor boink?
Hmm. I’ll have to ask the brainiac if tent-fucking qualifies for the indoor or outdoor cells on his fucksheet.
Either way, I might have an item to add to his to-do list.
Which is getting longer rather than shorter.
Ramon tells me his crew will start setting up this afternoon and it’ll take a day. I thank him for his time, stride around the pool, then stop in my tracks at the trio emerging from the mansion.
Like father, like son.
The man in horn-rimmed glasses with a thick head of dark hair must be the one and only elder Banks.
And I know where Mark gets his sense of fashion.
His father wears polos too. I glance down at my burgundy shorts that fit so well they could be tailored.
Note to self: Take Mark shopping someday.
Wait, there is no someday. So there’s nothing to take him shopping for. I strike that idea from my agenda.
Besides, the here and now is too much fun.
His mom wears a straw hat and khakis, too. Maybe they have a family crest in khaki. She even wears a polo shirt. It’s white. Because of course it is.
I stop at the deep end of the pool, shamelessly listening.
His mother peers at the sky. “Are you wearing sunscreen? Melanoma is an epidemic in Florida.”
“Mom, I’m always wearing sunscreen,” Mark says as I near them.
“But you have to make sure it’s a particular kind of sunscreen,” his father puts in. “Especially in Florida. Everything’s much more dangerous here. Did you hear about the lightning strike last week? June is the deadliest month for lightning in Florida, so we have to be vigilant.”
“I will keep an eye out for lightning,” Mark says, and somehow, in some way, I bet Mark will find a way to be a lightning ranger.
“It might even hit that red car in the driveway. Please tell me you got insurance on it. Those things are dangerous. I heard about them blowing up.”
“Mom, it’s a different make of car that blows up. One with a faulty electrical system,” Mark says as they near me, and he meets my gaze, his eyes saying I told you so about my family.
She waves a hand airily. “My point exactly. You have to be very careful with everything.”
“Mark opted into the insurance. And he’s quite an excellent driver,” I say to Mark’s parents, who snap their gazes to me at the same time.
“You must be the lovely Mrs. Banks,” I say to his mother, extending a hand. “Your daughter is wonderful and my best friend is madly in love with her.”
She beams at me. “That makes me so happy to hear.”