Lying on the hotel bed, I stare at my phone screen. Fuck, what a lame text. My mom has received wittier messages in her OKCupid inbox.

The black letters on the white background blur together until they look like tiny ants moving through the screen.

What else am I going to say?

Nice to see you?

I had no idea you were Earl’s fiancée’s sister?

Nobody has ever come close to taking your place?

To that last one, maybe I should add, especially not any of the random girls I pick up when I’m drunk. But I’m not entirely insane. I don’t want her to get even angrier at me, although she is cute when she’s jealous.

The truth is, every time I kissed a girl, I always imagined I was kissing Aubrey. But it was never her; hasn't been her for ten years.

But now, I’ve found her again. Or, she's found me. Or, maybe Earl’s kid’s brought us together.

The point is, whatever happened in the past, she’s here now. Within my reach again. Finally.

And even if I can't think of a witty opener, I need to send her something.

I’m so restless I haven't stopped fidgeting since the rehearsal dinner ended. It's like I can't stand not being around her, like seeing her got me hooked on an old addiction and now I’m already craving another fix.

I can't stop my fingers from tapping against the side of my phone, yet the screen remains the same. I still can’t think of something better to say.

Ah, what the hell. Just send it, you fucking idiot, I scold myself. She's probably going to bed soon.

I press Send.

I stare at the screen, willing it to display a new message from her, but it remains unchanged. My vision blurs, and the screen goes dark after a while.

This is pathetic. I’ve seen this kind of behavior in some of my friends, and it always seems pointless to me, all that anxiety. But that's them, and this is me. I don't get all hung up over some chick.

I let out a big, nervous sigh. I’m acting like a teenager.

Something about Aubrey makes my heart jump and my temperature rise.

She reminds me of how I used to be when life was simpler, when just holding hands meant something. And a message, even a text-based one, was worth staying up for.

My phone beeps. I sit bolt upright and light up the screen.

Oh good, she's just as lame as me. My heart thumps in my chest as I watch the blinking text that says “typing . . . ” like I can make her next message appear by staring at it.

Ah, she's blowing me off. At least she doesn't say she needs to wash her hair or something. Her excuse is believable. Even if it's a lie, at least she's put some thought into it.

I hope I scored some brownie points with my good memory. I remember how she was always hard at work, even when she was just a teenager. So ambitious. Such big dreams. She was the kind of girl who was clearly going to go places.

She took her studies so seriously. After we had our nightly phone call, which invariably ended at 9 p.m., she always went back to pounding the books, often staying up past midnight.

I used to tell her to finish her homework or whatever and then call me only if she had the time when she was done, but she always told me not to worry because she didn't have that much to work on. I could always tell when she was tired and sleepy the next day, even if she tried to hide it.

And now . . . It's not that I don't want her to get her beauty sleep, but I remember what it was like to get the VIP treatment, so this stings because clearly I’ve been demoted.

It's weird to get hung up on this, of course. I realize that. It's been ten years.

Still, this is not a pleasant feeling.

But now that she's back in my life, there's a chance for us to fix things, especially since we’ll probably be spending a lot of time together at work, too. This is the most fortunate twist of fate ever.

Maybe Mom won't even mind me seeing her because technically, Aubrey will be a resident of the Bay Area (presumably, considering where she’ll be working) and not Las Vegas.

Maybe I can regain my priority pass with Aubrey. An all-access, no-holds-barred priority pass.

I saw the way her clothes hug her sexy curves . . . Holy fuck, there's nothing little about her now. She used to have a waif-like little body, which was irresistible in its own way. But now, that body is made for sin.

Really, she can't blame me for not recognizing her after ten years. And while I was drunk.

She's not the girl I used to know. She's a woman now—soft, sensuous, tempting. We never had a chance to go all the way, and this is the perfect time to make up for lost time.

I remember the sweet smile that played on her lips when I took her out for dessert or plucked some wild flowers for her.

Let's be honest here; the shit that I gave her was junk. She had everything. She also had me wrapped around her finger, and she could've made me run around doing her bidding.

But without fail, whenever I showed just the tiniest bit of effort to please her, she beamed in a way that made my heart flip. I was totally hooked on that little smile.

Whatever Aubrey and I had, it felt pure and innocent, untainted by the eternal power tug-of-war that colored adult relationships, like my parents’.

Now that we're grown-ups, I wonder how well we’ll mesh as a couple. Things are definitely different. I can think of many adult things I want to do with Aubrey, stuff beyond just groping underneath her shirt like I used to do in the movie theater or in an old, beat-up car at some parking lot.

Sleep comes slowly to me. Bits of memory keep playing in my head, reminding me of how Aubrey and I used to be.

* * *

In the morning, I swear I’m more nervous than Earl. He’s cool as a cucumber, although his feet must be decidedly warm.

But then again, really, this wedding is just a party. Earl, Hannah, and Marcus have been a happy family before, and they will remain one after. This is just a celebration of the happy state that they’ve achieved.

Me, on the other hand . . . I’m getting a second chance at the one that got away; I don’t want to screw it up.

When Aubrey shows up at the church, along with the rest of her family and a few bridesmaids, I’m standing by the doorway.

I hope I look like I’m just enjoying some fresh air but really, I’ve been waiting for her.

I watch as Aubrey ascends the stone stairs, seemingly in slow motion. Her blonde hair is put up in some kind of a complicated updo, with soft wavy tendrils framing her lovely face. Her skin appears luminous under the warm afternoon sunlight.

Her blue, knee-length dress blows in the wind. She quickly puts her hands over the fabric, but not before I catch an eyeful of her soft, creamy thighs. Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to lay her spread-eagled under me and finally find out what’s at the top of those toned legs.

She raises her gaze and her big doe eyes find me. Her facial expression is hard to read. She seems surprised, embarrassed, and irritated—all at once.

But there's something else in those beautiful eyes, a part of her that sees the way I’m staring at her and craves more of my attention. It’s a kind of hunger, which only whets my appetite for her.

I almost want to punch myself in the face for missing out on her transformation into this elegant woman, who moves with poise and confidence. But it was never my intention to be apart from her.

“You look beautiful,” I say as she passes through the doorway. The light breeze carries the scent of wild flowers on her skin, which reminds me of the stupid little presents I used to give her.

“Thanks,” she says in a small voice. “You need to stay away, though. And stop looking at me like that. My dad will notice.” Without even glancing at me, she maintains her pace and catches up with the other girls.

Ah, her dad. He’s a piece of work, that man.

But Aubrey’s not sixteen anymore. She’s about to start working, and she even lives in a different city.

I won’t have to subject myself to her dad’s intense interrogations, or hear his gruff voice every time I call her, or end all communication with her just because it’s 9 p.m.

If I can just get through this weekend, we can meet up in San Francisco and start all over again.

I can wait. Hell, I’ve waited ten years for this moment. What’s a couple more days.

The hours go by in a blur of activity.

We take a ton of group pictures, then the ceremony happens. We take more pictures, then we make the short drive to the reception venue. More pictures, then we eat. I can’t do anything without hearing the annoying clicks of multiple cameras.

But when the time comes for Aubrey to make her maid of honor speech, I’m glad to hear those same clicks. Those clicks mean I can safely take some pictures of her too, without drawing too much attention.

As Aubrey takes the mic, audio feedback stabs my eardrums. She winces like everyone else in the room, but somehow she manages to look hot while doing it. She smiles apologetically. “I guess now we know this thing is on.”

That’s fucking adorable. The audience seems to agree, judging by the smiles on everyone’s faces. I want to tell them to back off because she’s mine . . . but she’s not. Not yet, at least. But I’ll make her mine.

“Hannah told me to make a speech, so that’s what I’m doing,” Aubrey says, her voice amplified by the speakers. “That, in a nutshell, is how it is between me and my sister—how it always has been, and how it always will be.

“Hannah has everything figured out. She knows exactly what to do in any situation. When Hannah first left for college, I have to admit, it was nice,” she says with a big grin directed at her sister.

“At first, I was happy I wouldn’t have to listen to her loud stereo every night—by the way, Hannah, it’s not too late to apologize for playing that one Timbaland song over and over again.

“I also really enjoyed being able to just waltz into Hannah’s room and pick anything I wanted to wear from her wardrobe. There was this red dress that I particularly loved to wear.”

I’m pretty sure I know which dress Aubrey’s talking about. It was this flimsy little number with a thin, silky fabric that always felt cool under my touch.  

“But after that, I realized I had to figure out how to do things for myself. At the same time, I realized it sucked not having Hannah around.

“She’s always been the life of the party, the friendly girl that everybody loves. She’s warm, fun, smart, and generous. And she’s a great mom to Marcus.

“Earl, you are one lucky guy. You have a wonderful, loving partner to share your life with—that’s more than many of us can say—and that person happens to be my sister. You will never be late or get lost on your way anywhere with my sister in charge of your life.

“But you don’t need me to tell you this. You’ve been together for eight years. You’ve made Hannah really happy, and I’m sure you’ll continue to keep her happy.” Aubrey’s eyes grow red and glassy, and the bridesmaid sitting beside her passes her some tissue.

I want to run up there, wrap her in my arms, and let her cry on my suit jacket. But I get the feeling that would be the kind of thing her dad would notice.

“Anyway, Earl, I’ve got some advice for you. Your life will be easier if you admit that, one, Hannah is always right and two, she’s never going to have enough shoes.

“Hannah, Earl, having seen you together for eight years, I have no doubt that you will have a long and happy marriage.”

As Aubrey casts her gaze across the room, my heart skips a beat. I’m sure her eyes linger on me for a few seconds.

“Please join me in wishing Hannah and Earl the kind of love that will stand the test of time. A toast,” she says as she raises her glass of champagne, “to the happy couple.”