I look out at the stunning view of Upper West Side, Manhattan from my brother, Dylan’s penthouse condo. If I crane my neck enough from the balcony, I can see the bright pink signage of Petit Bijoux, my new favorite designer shoe store.

Fuck. Some retail therapy’s in order, but other plans keep me here.

I can’t bail. It’s my childhood friend, Jackson, and his fiancée, Dahlia’s night. As usual, I’m one of four people here without a date, even though we were all invited to bring a plus one. Dylan has Emily, his fiancée of a couple of years. Jackson’s brother, Jace, is married to Cherry, another childhood friend of ours. Realistically, none of us single folk are so inhumane as to bring a date into such a close-knit, complex dynamic. Caleb and Foster are the single guys, close friends and business partners with Dylan, Jace, and Jackson. And Rosa’s free like me. She’s a school friend and former roommate of both Dahlia and Emily. Rosa also has some sort of strained history with Caleb, and she happens to be employed at Knights Capital with all the guys around the table.

Tonight’s ten-guest dinner party has been in our calendars for weeks. Jackson and Dahlia are finally taking steps to plan the final details of their wedding, which takes place in a few weeks.

Which is why I’m cringing.

I hate weddings, in general.

Long term relationships too.

Matter of fact, I’d add love and romance to the list.

My attitude toward all things couple-ish has nothing to do with this particular pair. I like Dahlia, and have known Jackson since we were in kindergarten. They’re great for each other. My issue is with the unrealistic goal western society has, of finding ‘the one’ and building an entire life with that person. For life. Like the jail sentence for violent murderers. To me, the institution of marriage is outdated and impractical. Human beings weren’t built for monogamy or life-long romantic connections. Statistics support my viewpoint too. Over half of all marriages end in divorce. I’d bet that for at least half of the remaining marriages, someone’s thinking about divorce.

“More wine?” asks the server helping out Emily, the host for tonight’s gathering. Emily prepared the entire six-course meal from scratch, and we’re all lucky to have her tonight, on a weeknight, when she could have been serving her patrons at the restaurant she opened about a month ago.

“Please,” I answer, holding out my glass.

By the time dinner is served, plans are more or less in order.

Emily’s the maid of honor. Jace is the best man. Cherry, Rosa, and I are bridesmaids, along with Dahlia’s sister from Utah. Dylan, Caleb, and Foster are groomsmen, and Dahlia will add a first cousin from her hometown as well. They’re hiring an event planner next week. It’s perfect because Chef Emily also wants to have input on the wedding reception menu above everything else.

Somehow, the conversation turns to relationships. It’s not a stretch, with all the sickeningly loving couples around the table, contrasted with us, four die-hard single people. I do my best to act excited for the sake of the entire purpose of tonight—firming up the wedding party details. It’s all great until my brother, Dylan, asks me what I have against commitment or something long term.

I tap on my coffee cup as a server passes with a coffee decanter, hoping someone will change the subject. My intention tonight is to keep the conversation light, so I won’t have to say a word to mess with anyone’s happiness. To each his own. That’s my mantra.

But no one speaks.

In fact, they all look pretty curious to know my answer.

“Sorry, what was the question?” I ask, although I know what it was.

Dylan shakes his head. “Don’t even try. You heard me, unless you developed selective hearing overnight.”

“All I’ll say about it is this. Love and relationships aren’t for everyone.”

“And why not you?” he presses, taking a drink from his whiskey glass but keeping his eyes fixed on me.

I squirm a little in my seat because I’d rather have my eyeballs removed from their sockets with a spoon than talk about this with brother dearest.

“Maybe I’m not ready,” I say.

It’s a lie. I’m never getting into a serious relationship, let alone walking down the aisle. Keep it light. Keep it moving. That’s what works for me.

“What about a little romance from time to time?” Dahlia asks.

“I romance myself. Chocolates, flowers, wine, lingerie. I spare no expense.”

That reply elicits a smile from Rosa sitting beside me. She gives me a wink, and we clink glasses in solidarity.

“And the idea of soulmates?”

I shake my head. “Um, that would be a ‘no’ for me.”

“Haven’t you ever met someone and knew instantly that the two of you had something special?”

“Chemistry, sure. Connection? Never.”

This statement is also a lie. Well, a part-lie. I feel something for one person. Liam O’Sullivan. He’s my regular hookup, and has been for years. His number is the first one in my contact list under the following folders:

But we’re from different worlds. Liam wants more—which he’s hinted at a few times but not often enough to make me bolt. Even if something’s lurking behind the fantastic time we have in the bedroom, it doesn’t mean I’ll ever want to act on it.

Caleb turns slightly from the seat opposite me, and a lock of his tousled blond hair falls over his forehead. “What about you two?” he asks Dylan and Emily, pushing his hair out of his face. The conversation goes quiet, and instead of letting the table topic move along, he adds insult to injury with, “Do you both like the sanctity of perpetual engagement, or is Vanessa rubbing off on you, Dylan?”

Bad idea. Everyone around the table knows that Dylan and Emily have been engaged for a couple of years. I’ve lost track of exactly how long. We also know it has more to do with the fact that Emily was fresh out of the culinary program at Columbia when Dylan proposed after just six months of them dating, and she’s spent the last couple of years working on her career. After that, she launched her own restaurant a few months ago.

“Do yourself a favor, Caleb,” I say. “Stop talking.”

He probably believes that I’m defending my brother, but I’m not. It’s called standing up for my right to defy any and all societal views around relationships. “See, this is yet another reason I stay single. You start dating someone, then everyone and their brother believe they have a right to look in on your cozy little bubble and judge you based on their own standards. Expectations and societal pressures amplify around couples. If they’re dating, everyone wants to know when they’ll get more serious. When they’re close, people want to find out when the loving couple’s getting engaged. Then married. Then they must have kids, or someone’s gonna start asking what’s wrong with them.”

My nostrils are flaring by the end of my tirade. It’s justifiable, but it’s not usually this easy to get my feathers ruffled.

“More drinks anyone?” Jace asks in a casual tone that still gets his point across while ignoring the elephant in the room. “In keeping with the reason we’re here, I propose one more toast to my big bro and his lovely Dahlia. May you and your top-notch wedding planner have zero hurdles on the road to nuptial bliss. And if you stumble, feel free to follow my lead. I’ve left breadcrumbs.”

“To wedding breadcrumbs,” Jackson agrees.

Raising a glass, we all echo the toast. I’m mostly relieved that the attention has moved away from my private life, but I’m not pleased that it’s at anyone else’s expense. Case in point, Emily stands and excuses herself from the table to check on dessert, but we all know why she’s stepping away. At least I do. If Dylan had his way, they’d be married with a couple of kids by now. He wants it all. He wants what he believes our parents had for about a minute.

I don’t talk much about the fact that Mom looked at her parenting role as a burden, a barrier to the career that meant everything to her. Dylan has some idea about it, but he’s a guy. And a geek. He spent half of our childhood locked in his room, staring at ant farms, playing video games, and entrenched in his overall nerdiness. It explains his idealistic view of relationships, and my apathy for anything remotely close to the topic.

The thought of my mother immediately brings my deep-seated bitterness toward her to the surface. I lift my hand to the yellow gold locket from my grandmother for some solace. She gave it to me before she passed, and it’s everything to me. They were so different. It continues to rattle me that I had so much more in common with Grams than I do with the woman who brought me into this world. Mom may have given me life, but she sucked it all away. I wish Grams were here. She could have told me what to do to fix it, and I wouldn’t have been stuck trying not to turn into my mother.

As Dylan follows Emily to the kitchen to make nice, my phone’s text notification buzzes inside my purse sitting at my feet. I’m suddenly grateful that I didn’t leave it hanging in the foyer closet.

“It’s probably the office,” I say quickly, but no one really notices. Each remaining couple is now engaged in hushed, intimate one-on-one conversations. Foster’s doing his usual detached thing, with his eyes glued to his phone screen. Caleb’s flirting with Rosa, who seems to be in the mood to tolerate him a bit. Picking up my purse, I get to my feet. “I’d better take this.”

It’s my opportunity to skip dessert and make a quiet exit. A quick glance at the unlocked screen tells me I make the right call by deciding to duck out.

It’s Liam.

Master of the bedroom.

An even better reason to leave.

He’s number one on all my naughty lists for a reason.

And I’m confident he knows the effect he has on me. He must, because every time he hints at wanting to get closer, I put some distance between us, but I’m also the one who reaches out to mend fences.

Every. Single. Time.

Because he’s that good. The man has an uncanny ability to ignite every inch of my body with his mouth, teeth, hands, and the twelve thick inches of pleasure he’s packing between his legs.

I’m aroused just thinking about it, so I open the text app to check his messages.

Heat rises to my cheeks and my core clenches. The man is right. I also sleep like a baby after he’s finished with me. Which gets me thinking.

Let the good times roll.

Minus the complications.