Chris was looking a bit ragged around the edges when they all met up for a late lunch at a cute sushi bar with plates that circled around on tracks for them to grab. Ant had eaten sushi at plenty of places in KC, but this was at a whole other level.

He lost himself in eel ecstasy as they tucked in, but Chris’s eyes, wide and desperate, were impossible to ignore. He looked about to come unglued.

Wiping his mouth, Ant stood. “Gotta hit the toilet.”

“Need someone to hold your hand?” Brad teased.

“Maybe it’s not my hand I want holding,” Ant returned with a wink.

Brad gasped. “I’m practically a married man!”

“Eh, it doesn’t have to be you. I’m not picky.”

Ant edged out around the table, nudging Chris as he passed. Chris looked up, glowering. With their history, Ant probably shouldn’t joke about bathroom hookups. He didn’t need to remind Chris of his supposedly player ways. Joking about not being picky wasn’t much better, considering he’d dated Chris and was apparently married to him now.

Well, one thing was for sure. When he went to Vegas, he didn’t go halfway.

Ant pushed into the bathroom, then sent Chris a text in case he’d missed Ant’s cue. All that glaring was bound to cause a certain amount of interference in their nonverbal communication.

He smoothed his disheveled hair, realizing he hadn’t combed it that morning, unless finger-combing counted, washed and dried his hands, then flexed in front of the mirror. His biceps bulged in the snug T-shirt he wore. Nice.

His hoodie was tied around his hips, a burden he’d rather do without in the sweltering Vegas heat, but the hotels kept their AC cranked to blast, so he’d be grateful for it when Riley dragged him back to the casino.

The door opened just as he pulled a classic muscle man pose to amuse himself.

“Just how vain are you?” Chris asked.

Ant dropped his arms and spun, putting his back to the mirror. “So vain I think this song is about me?”

Chris tilted his head, thrown for a second, before he caught the reference. He huffed an annoyed laugh, but he was smiling, so mission accomplished.

“I’m freaking out,” he said.

“I noticed. If you don’t want everyone to ask questions, you need to chill.”

“Easier said than done! Brad has been grilling me all morning.” Chris moved closer, bringing the musky scent of his cologne with him. He lowered the volume of his voice like they were trading secrets. “I mean, fuck. We’re married.”

“Maybe,” Ant said.

“Maybe?”

“Probably,” Ant allowed.

“Wedding rings seem like pretty damning evidence.”

“You remember anything else?”

“A little. I remember being at a chapel.” Chris hesitated. “I remember kissing you.”

Ant leaned in a bit, his voice dropping into a lower register. “I remember that too.”

The memory brought a rush of want. Ant wanted to kiss Chris again, while sober. The memory was nice, but it had a dreamlike quality to it. He wanted something that felt real. He wanted it now.

Chris looked away, breaking Ant’s trance. “We were making big plans for our marriage bed.”

“Well, we know that didn’t happen.”

“Thank God,” Chris said emphatically, effectively killing Ant’s desire.

He’d like to start up something with Chris again, but not while Chris didn’t want him. He needed to keep himself in check, because it would kill him if Chris gave in to his attraction only to regret it later. Ant was in it for the long haul now. Delayed gratification was something he’d honed through years of weight training. You couldn’t expect the muscles to pop up overnight. You put in the time, the effort, and you kept the faith. He could do the same with Chris.

“Guess the puking put a damper on it,” Ant said, turning the conversation in a safer direction.

Nothing’s a boner killer like puking.

Chris made a face. “Dare I ask?”

“If you had a honeymoon period, it was with the toilet,” Ant said. “Though I was there, feeding you cups of water. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Ugh, I hate this situation,” Chris said. “I don’t know what’s worse, getting drunk married, or being unable to remember it. I feel like someone else took over my body and did crazy things, and I’m stuck with the consequences.”

“No such luck. You have to own your actions, even if they’re influenced by alcohol.”

Chris glared. “I know that. Don’t lecture me.”

Ant held up his hands. “Okay, sorry. I better get back out there before they start wondering if you’re giving me a hand in here.”

“Seeing as you’re not picky.”

Ant nudged Chris. “It was a joke.”

“And yet, all too true.”

“Well, if I’m a married man, then I guess my hookup days are over.”

Chris grabbed Ant’s arm as he reached for the door. “Wait, you never said. Did you look into annulment? What do we need to do?”

Ant grimaced. “Riley kept me busy all morning.” At Chris’s worried look, he added, “I’ll work on it. We’re here until Sunday. Plenty of time to straighten everything out, right?”

“I guess,” Chris said reluctantly. “I’d do it myself, but—”

“I know. Riley warned me against causing any drama to spoil Brad’s fun. I get it.”

Chris frowned. “Does he know something?”

“Nope.”

It had been a close call when Riley noticed the ring on his finger, but Ant had bluffed his way through an explanation well enough to impress any poker player. Riley and Harry both seemed to buy the story that he’d bought a display ring at a wedding venue — some of which came fully stocked for the “spontaneous” bridal party — after it got stuck on his finger. He’d joked that he’d been drunk enough to buy the Hoover Dam if someone offered it, and sadly, it probably wasn’t far from the truth.

It wasn’t the first time Ant had drunk enough to black out parts of the night, but usually all his memory was missing was rambling conversations at the bar. He’d never woken up in someone’s bed with no clue how he got there, and it was damn unsettling.

But he was glad that if it had to happen, it had happened with Chris. Glad, too, that he’d been the one with Chris the night before. He shuddered to think of Chris waking in bed with some asshole who’d take advantage.

Hit by a surge of affection, he ruffled Chris’s hair, earning an annoyed look. Still, it was the next-best thing to pulling him into his arms.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “If I can’t get away, we can always work on it tonight. Everything’s open late on Vegas, or we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“I guess that’s true.”

Ant slipped out the door, glancing back to see Chris smoothing his hair. And he called Ant vain.

“You’re going to bankrupt me,” Ant said.

Riley grinned as he made a beeline for the blackjack tables. “I’ll spot you some cash.”

After lunch, they’d headed back to the hotel. Ant had hoped to slip away, but Riley wanted to gamble again, and he wanted his two “designated” friends at his side. He and Brad had made some sort of pre-wedding agreement about which friends went where. Ant didn’t really mind being dragged along — he could hardly complain when he’d invited himself on this trip — but it did make it difficult to find any time for himself. Or his marriage snafu.

That morning, they’d made a tour of casinos on the Strip, just to check out different settings.

Ant recognized several from his night of carousing with Chris. It was infuriating to forget something as monumental as marriage while remembering meaningless details, like the layout of New York New York with its casino in the center with replica brick buildings evoking the feel of Greenwich Village along the perimeter.

Now, Riley seemed content to stay at the casino attached to their own hotel until Brad and entourage returned for dinner, which suited Ant fine. It’d be easier to slip away at some point, he hoped.

“Are you going to spot me too, high roller?” Harry asked.

“Why the hell not?” Riley said with the air of a man throwing caution to the wind. “This is pretty much the last time I can be irresponsible with my money without grief. Brad will own my balls in a couple of days.”

Ant snorted. “You mean he doesn’t already?”

Harry chuckled, and Riley shot him a look. “Laugh it up. You might not be married, but Bret has your balls in the palm of his hand too.”

“It’s an even ball swap in our household.”

“All this talk of balls is kinda gay,” Ant said.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Hilarious. I can’t see why Chris isn’t all over that genius wit of yours.”

Riley lifted his hand for a high-five. “Aw, yeah! That’s retro Harry right there, the cynic from the pre-Bret era.”

Harry flipped him off, but he was grinning. They continued to trash-talk each other all the way to the blackjack table.

They each took seats, and Ant tried to focus on Riley’s brief instructions of how to play, along with the dealer’s rapid-fire delivery. He used his right hand to put down chips and tap the table for a hit. Even though Riley seemed to buy his story earlier, Ant didn’t want to push his luck by flashing the wedding ring around.

As soon as he could excuse himself to the bathroom, he was going to sneak up to his room and get the damn thing off — even if he had to take a layer of skin with it.

THURSDAY NIGHT

“Next step, the wedding!” Chris said happily.

His face was bright, overwhelming the surroundings around him. Ant had eyes for nothing else but the gorgeous man before him.

“We don’t have rings.”

Chris pursed his lips in thought.

“We could go look for some quarter machines with kiddie rings inside,” Ant said with a laugh. “That would be suitably tacky.”

“Ooh, I know! I have some rings we can use.” Chris grinned. “Call the Lyft. We need to run by the hotel.”

FRIDAY EVENING

Ant stood in the bathroom, a soapy gold ring clutched in his hand when he remembered with dawning horror just where Chris had found rings the night before. They’d been in his hotel room. And why would Chris have wedding rings in his room? Because he was the fucking best man to Brad and Riley.

With a sick feeling, Ant dried off the ring and turned it in the light. It wasn’t some cheap ring, as he’d first assumed. Inside, there was an inscription.

Wingmen, lovers, husbands.

“Fuck,” Ant cursed.

He carefully placed the ring in the soap dish. The engraving didn’t include names or dates, but there was no doubt in his mind now.

They’d given Brad and Riley’s wedding rings a test run.

He was surprised Chris hadn’t recognized the rings that morning. He was the best man, and he’d had them in his possession. Ant could only assume he hadn’t taken them from their case to study them, or that he was too weirded out by the whole situation to give them a close look.

Either way, this was not good. This had the making of disaster. Worse even than accidentally getting married. Nothing would horrify Chris more than letting down his best friends.

Ant had to find Chris and make sure he still had the other ring, or they were going to have two angry grooms on their hands.