The Wingman

“What?”


“I love you anyway.” Oh good, she got a slight, patronizing smile in response to her proclamation this time. The man really was irritating. And stubborn. “So are you willing to stand aside and allow me to gain the experience required before I’m properly able to decide whether I love you or not?”

There was a flicker of panic in his eyes at her question, and Daisy left the dogs and crawled into his lap.

“Whom should I start with, do you think? Kevin, the guy I met at Ralphie’s the other night, was really nice.”

“You know his name?” He seemed really shocked by that fact.

“Of course, I danced with him, after all. You know what a big deal that is for me.”

“I hated seeing you dance with him,” he confessed reluctantly. “I felt like the chicken dance was our thing.”

She shuddered delicately at that and nuzzled his neck.

“The chicken dance should never be anyone’s thing.”

“You make that ass-jiggle bit look sexy.”

“Mason, you’re really going to have to start believing me when I tell you I love you,” she said seriously.

“Tell me why you love me.”

“I’ve always been shy. For years I’ve remained happily curled up in my shell in public, in private, with family or friends. I don’t think anybody ever really saw me. I don’t think even I saw the real me. But something weird happened around you. Even on that very first night when you were being a good little wingman . . . I opened my mouth and I spoke and I laughed and I engaged. You looked at me and saw Daisy. You helped me find myself, and I liked the person I found hiding in that shell. Even after I learned you were just talking to me as a favor to Spencer, there was just no going back to meek little wallflower Daisy. How can I not love you for that?”

“That’s gratitude, Daisy.” She gritted her teeth at his so-called logic.

“You’re incredibly irritating,” she seethed. “And I still love you. And when you’re obnoxious, I love you too. When you’re so arrogant, I feel like there’s no way a room could possibly contain your ego . . . I inexplicably still love you. If being in love with someone isn’t about loving them even when they’re being complete assholes, then I don’t know what it is.”

That made him smile. A big, generous, gorgeous smile that filled every inch of her soul with joy.

“That’s more like it.”

“What?”

“I love you when you’re crazy and irrational and contrary as hell.”

“I love you when your language is foul enough to strip paint from the walls, when you brag about the size of your penis, and when you wake me up at ungodly hours of the morning!”

“Yeah, well, I love you when you bitch about getting up, speak to your dog in that annoying voice, and cheat at car games!”

They stared at each other for a beat and started laughing.

“So I guess you love me,” he said.

“And you love me.”

“Looks that way.”

“So now what?”

“I have a few ideas,” he whispered, lowering his head to kiss her. “Firstly, I have to ask, Daisy McGregor . . . will you be my girl?”

“Oh yes, please.”

“And you won’t go running around and putting yourself in danger at every turn?”

“That happened one time,” she retorted, exasperated.

“Once was more than enough.” He shuddered, his hand reaching up to stroke the bruise on her jaw. “You have to understand, you’re my life’s blood, Daisy. It’s terrifying. Everything that happens to you happens to me. Every offence, every insult, every hurt, I carry it with me too. So promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”

“I promise. No more putting myself into dangerous situations. But I’m not stopping the clinic.”

“I wouldn’t dream of asking you to. I just want you to be careful.”

“I can do that.”

“And you’ll go fishing with me?”

“Possibly,” she hedged.

“Camping?”

“Maybe.”

“Hiking.”

“Probably.” He gave her a look, and she rolled her eyes. “Fine, I’ll do some of that with you. But you’ll owe me. We’re talking ballets and symphonies and chick flicks.” He winced.

“We’ll compromise,” he said quickly. She kissed him, and he opened his mouth to her, allowing her to take what she wanted from him, before lifting his head to continue the negotiations. “And you’ll bake more of that delicious bread for me?”

“You liked it? I wasn’t sure you’d eat it.”

“I was pissed off, not an idiot. Of course I ate it. It was fan-fucking-tastic! I expect more of the same. Also cakes and pies.”

“Done! I wish we could seal our deal with some sex,” she said wistfully, and he choked on a laugh.

“Absolutely not. You’ve just been stabbed.”

“Sliced.”

“That doesn’t sound the slightest bit better. My point is, you’re hurt and bruised and stiff.” She wriggled in his lap.

“You’re stiff too,” she pointed out, and he groaned.

“You’re going to have to work on your raunchy jokes, angel. You can’t keep falling back on that one.”

“We can do other stuff,” she pouted, and he hugged her closer.

“We have plenty of time for the other stuff. Because you’re mine now, Daisy McGregor, and I plan to love you and have my wicked way with you for many, many years to come.”

“Promise?”

“Easiest promise I’ve ever had to make.”





EPILOGUE




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