Brad insisted on a series of pre-wedding activities, including a spa day — “my skin needs to be glowing on my wedding day, duh!” — and shoe shopping — “It just feels wrong to get married by Elvis and not be wearing blue suede shoes.”

Chris sincerely hoped that Brad was just having fun, but he wouldn’t put it past him to wear something crazy to his tacky Elvis wedding. Knowing Brad, he’d get his hair styled in a pompadour and wear a white suit with sequins just to one-up the Elvis impersonator.

“Shouldn’t you be more hungover?” Chris complained as Brad hustled down the sidewalk, and every step increased the tempo of the drum banging inside Chris’s head. Didn’t help that the sun was beating down with the intensity of a tanning bed, and Chris was baking in his clingy designer jeans. God, he envied Ant’s basketball shorts right about now, not that he’d be caught dead in them. Then again, this heat just might kill him anyway.

Bret leaned in. “I’m convinced he doesn’t really drink. He just pretends to take shots and then laughs at the rest of us.”

Brad whipped around. “The secret is water and lots of it. Every good aerobics instructor swears by it. We’ll stop and buy you a bottle.” He seemed to assess Chris’s face. “Or a dozen.”

Chris flipped him off, and Bret snickered. Despite his comments about Brad, Bret didn’t seem all that worse for wear either. But then neither of them had mixed hard liquor with champagne — or with Ant. He’d obviously lost his mind the night before.

My wedding night.

He swallowed against the nausea churning in his stomach. The marriage was temporary. Ant had promised to look into annulment while Brad put Chris through his paces. But until it was resolved — marriage dissolved — he couldn’t relax. Questions kept circling his head, each one more ridiculous than the last as his anxiety fed on itself: What if there’s a reason we can’t annul it? What if there’s a problem with the paperwork, or it costs a fortune? God, what if Vegas has some sort of “no drunksie takesie-backsies” policy? It probably gets exhausting annulling drunk marriages in Vegas. That must happen all the time, right?

“Chris?” Bret waved a hand in front of his face. “You in there?”

He swallowed. “Uh, yeah. Sorry.”

Bret waved toward the car they’d called, where Brad’s behind was currently disappearing into the back seat. Calling up a weak smile, Chris slid in, squishing up against Brad so there was room for Bret.

“A day at the spa, huh?” the driver asked with an amused quirk of his eyebrow.

Chris sensed a hint of mockery, but at least the guy wasn’t a homophobe. Brad, as usual, engaged as if they were long-lost friends. If he noticed the guy’s quiet amusement, he didn’t let it faze him.

“I’m getting married tomorrow,” Brad trilled. “So, today, I have to spoil myself rotten, and I’m dragging my two best guys along.”

“And why isn’t Harry being subjected to this … uh, spoiling?” Chris asked, resisting the urge to refer to Brad’s fun spa day as torture. He was sure that if he wasn’t twisted in knots about his own wedding, he’d be able to enjoy it a lot more. As far as activities required of him while hungover, he’d probably gotten off easy.

Brad could be taking him to that insane Stratosphere thing and making him go on amusement rides on top of a skyscraper. The thought made him shudder. Chris didn’t do heights.

“Riley and I made a deal,” Brad said. “He gets Harry and Ant, and I get you two.”

Guess they’ll be ready when it comes time to divvy up the friends after the divorce, Chris thought cynically, then felt like an asshole.

Brad and Riley were great together, and Chris had been the one to first recognize their feelings and tell them to go for it. Either this thing with Ant had totally crossed his wires, or Chris had lost his faith in love.

He wished he could blame his attitude all on Ant, but it wasn’t that cut and dry.

“What do you think they’re doing?” Bret asked, thankfully unaware of Chris’s thoughts. Bret and Harry would probably be tying the knot before long, although their reaction to Brad’s suggestion they get married this weekend was strange. Chris wasn’t surprised they didn’t want to impulsively elope, but there’d been an odd tension between them.

“Eh, knowing Riley, it’ll be some ridiculously macho thing like watching a wrestling match or driving race cars. I told him he wasn’t allowed to gamble all day at the casino.”

“I think racing sounds fun,” Bret said wistfully.

“Yeah, well, talk to me when you’re perfectly relaxed after a day of massage and Harry’s got a ball of nerves tightening his upper right shoulder.”

“How did you—”

“He used to beg me for massages,” Brad said. “Guess he’s got you now.”

Their conversation faded into the background. Chris’s anxiety cranked up a notch when he thought of Ant gleefully driving a car 100 mph around a track instead of taking care of business.

He slipped out his phone and sent a text.

Before Chris could flip his lid, another text came in.

Chris huffed as he read the last text. He didn’t want to trust Ant. It didn’t come naturally; not with their history. But he didn’t have much choice if he didn’t want to tell Brad the truth.

He shoved his phone back into his pocket and looked up to see Brad and Bret watching him. “Just, uh, got a text from my mom.”

Brad brightened. “Oh, how is she?”

They made small talk about Chris’s family on the way. His mom sold real estate and normally was on the go nonstop, but she’d had a hysterectomy that sidelined her for a few days. He’d spent the day before their trip at her place, letting her vent about how stir-crazy she was. His older sister Lacy promised to check on her after he left, but Chris bet she was back at work by now. Can’t keep a good woman down.

“Ant, come on, man. This is Vegas.”

Ant flipped over the phone he’d been subtly reading under the table — although not subtly enough — and picked up his cards.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as he quickly studied the cards in his hand. Riley had wanted to spend the day at the poker tables, so that’s what they were doing.

“You really just wanna hang in the casino?” Ant had asked, skeptical. “I mean, you can do that anytime.”

“Not with Brad around, I can’t. Trust me. He’ll be dragging us all somewhere or another every night. This is relaxing, and it wouldn’t feel like a real Vegas trip unless I got to play some cards.”

So, here they were playing cards. Or trying, in Ant’s case.

He didn’t know shit about Texas Hold ’Em. But it was kind of like Yahtzee, right? Pairs and Three of a Kind, Full House. His collection of cards: 2 of hearts, 7 of clubs, jack of diamonds, queen of hearts, and 4 of diamonds seemed pretty weak. If there was something there, he wouldn’t know it.

“Fold,” he said, dropping the hand.

As play moved around the poker table, away from them, Riley leaned in. “Not trying to be a jerk, but people get touchy about game etiquette.”

“Nah, it’s fine. Sorry I got distracted. Chris texted me.”

“Something going on with him?”

“Nah.”

“’Cause I told Brad he was nuts for throwing a wild card in the mix on our wedding weekend. I don’t want drama derailing us. Brad’s got his heart set on a tacky little Elvis wedding, but that doesn’t mean this isn’t important to him.”

“I feel ya,” Ant said, nodding. “Brad’s my boy. I wouldn’t want to interfere.”

“Brad’s my boy,” Riley said.

Ant chuckled. “You know what I mean. I got my eyes on another member of your friend circle.”

Riley raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. How’s that goin’?”

“Slow. It’s goin’ slow.”

Unless you counted their accidental wedding. Then things were moving ridiculously fast.

He really needed to sort out their situation, but that wasn’t going to happen while Riley held him hostage at the poker table.

“Chris is adamant that you’re a cheater …”

Riley left the statement hanging. There was no judgment in his tone, but it was clear that he was waiting for an explanation.

Harry leaned forward, looking around Riley’s arm to meet Ant’s eyes. “Chris has been burned before.”

“More than once,” Riley added.

“More like a dozen times,” Harry agreed. “That messes with a person’s head.”

Ant licked his lips. “I’m not a cheater. I’m not a player. Chris and I went on five dates,” he said, holding up his hand and spreading his fingers. “Five. With no sex.”

Harry and Riley exchanged a look. When Riley turned back, he seemed a little less stern.

“That’s over the average,” he allowed.

“If I was cheating, wouldn’t I be having sex?” Ant asked. “Or at least pushing to have sex? If Chris brings this up again, ask him. Ask if I pressured him. Ask why I’d take him out five times, get to know him, if I was just a cheater.”

“Why does he think it, though?” Harry asked. “He seemed pretty sure.”

“That is a long story, and no offense, but I want Chris to hear it before I tell it to you guys. But I swear on my baby brother’s life, I’m not a cheater.”

Riley studied his expression, then nodded. “I believe you.”

“Thanks.”

“Still. No drama.”

Ant held out a fist to bump as Harry slid a stack of chips into the pot to place his bet. “No drama.”

“Hey, is that a wedding ring?”

Ant glanced at his left hand, still locked into the too tight ring, then Riley’s incredulous gaze.

“Uh, funny story …”

They were on massage tables, layered with towels, when Brad brought up Chris’s disappearing act. He’d hoped they’d finished with that topic at brunch, but apparently Brad had more invasive questions to ask.

“Did you hook up with Ant last night?”

Chris’s face tingled, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the facial — a strange but refreshing experience that left his skin buzzing — or a blush. He pressed his face down into the cradle in the massage table. If he was blushing like a teenager with a crush, he didn’t want Brad to see it and get the wrong idea.

He was embarrassed, not shy.

“I wouldn’t hook up with Ant,” he said.

“That’s what I thought,” Brad mused. Chris could feel him staring at him, but he refused to look. “Something happened, though.”

Chris’s heart skipped a beat, and his body tensed. Brad couldn’t know that. Not for sure. And Chris had no intention of telling him.

“Nope,” he lied. “Nothing.”

That was almost true, considering he couldn’t remember much. But of course, of all the fragments of the night he did remember, kissing Ant was the most vivid.

Ant would kiss too well for the memory to be washed away by alcohol. The one thing he’d rather forget played through his mind again, brought forth by Brad’s questions. But truthfully, it was never far from the surface.

Ant lifted his palm to Chris’s cheek and drew him into a long kiss. Chris smiled into the kiss at first, caught out while laughing. But Ant’s lush lips soon had him melting. Drunk or not, Ant had skills. His lips played Chris into a lusty stupor, warming his insides and turning his legs to jelly.

Ant pulled back, tightening an arm around Chris’s back to keep him upright when he swayed.

“Is it time to christen the marriage bed?” Chris asked hopefully.

Ant grinned. “Way past time. Let’s go.”

Even the memory of that kiss raised goose bumps on Chris’s skin. He and Ant had kissed before, back when they were first dating, and those kisses had haunted him since their breakup. He hated that he missed anything about Ant, but they’d always had good chemistry. If they ever made it to bed, it would be fantastic.

Chris shut down his thoughts. They weren’t going to make it to bed. He and Ant were finished three months ago, when he’d seen what a part of him had always expected: Bryant Fletcher was playing him for a fool.

“It’s okay if you did hook up,” Brad said. “No one’s judging.”

Chris sighed.

Brad added, “I saw him follow you out, and you guys never came back.”

“I needed some air. Ant offered to get dinner with me since I hadn’t eaten much. Plus, we checked out some wedding venues for you.” He felt like the truth was emblazoned on his forehead as he spoke. We got married too!!!

“And then you fell into bed and had crazy, wild sex that blew your mind so much you can barely function today?”

“No,” Chris said with a laugh. “No crazy Vegas hookups or tales of wild orgies.”

“Damn. What good is a Vegas trip if you don’t do anything embarrassing?” Brad grumbled.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Chris said as the masseuse entered the room and set about getting his supplies in order. Before starting, he gave them an introductory spiel.

“With group massages, we do it in phases. I’ll do one round on each of you, then move on to a deeper massage, going one at a time, then move to a more relaxing light massage to ease you to the finish line.”

“Ooh, do we get a happy ending?” Brad asked.

“Brad!” Bret hissed, his ears turning red. “He’s kidding,” he told the masseuse. “At least, I hope he’s kidding.”

The masseuse just laughed. “I get that joke every week. While I hope you’re happy with the massage, you won’t be that happy or I’d lose my license.”

“So much for my sense of originality,” Brad said with a sigh. “Nearly married, and I’m already predictable.”

“Aw, Brad, don’t worry,” Chris said, relieved to get the focus off him. “You’ve always been predictable.”