I used to think only women went in for all these outdated traditions. Everyone all dressed up and predictably terrified—even the people who weren’t getting hitched.

I’d never admit this to anyone… ever, but I was actually into it. Historically I was the guy who made it to the bachelor party but always had a reason to skip the actual wedding.

My favorite excuse? “I’m really sorry I can’t be there, but… I don’t want to go.”

It was as if once the sun came out, I remembered what a shitty idea marriage was and why I couldn’t respect anyone who fell for the scam. So the only wedding I’d ever actually gone to—sober—was Hayden’s first cliff dive into it. Ironically, at that one, we’d both known it was wrong. I’d just been the only one with enough sense to say something about it. It ended up not to be my wisest decision, though, considering how my brother was determined to go through with it and was really good at hiding how badly he didn’t want to.

Since I wasn’t as smart as he was, I’d ended up alone and hated by anyone who’d been within hearing distance of my big mouth. Thankfully, most of the guests had thought the honest-yet-completely-inappropriate toast I gave was a joke. Unthankfully, Hayden had known better and, after almost punching me, he’d stopped himself, deciding instead to wait until after everyone had gone to punish my face. He also gave me the silent treatment for a few months. I think that was worse than the broken nose.

But today was different. I had nothing but warm and gooey thoughts about the whole thing. Disturbingly gooey thoughts. I’d fallen for Andi just like everyone else who met her did, and I knew how happy she made Hayden. The true kind of happiness, none of that fake shit most couples slathered on and pretended was real.

I didn’t even mind having to pretty myself up according to my older brother’s orders. Long pants, though? On an island? What was he thinking? At least they were linen, like the shirt. Hopefully the evening breeze off the water would keep us from sweating to death.

Hayden and I were hanging out, doing nothing in his room with Emilia’s husband Rob.

“Are you even allowed to have a bachelor party after the wedding?” I asked them. “I knew I should’ve just made it a surprise. That’s the last time I’ll ever pay attention to what you want. Did Andi have one?”

“You’d have to ask her.” Hayden had been holding his index cards for at least an hour, sweating nervously all over them. They were probably blank anyway. Anyone who knew anything about Hayden knew he’d memorized his vows weeks ago.

“Maybe I will,” I grumbled.

The women had been camped out in Andi’s room since dawn, doing women things and talking about women stuff.

What did woman talk about for that long? Me and the other two dicks had run through every possible topic in an hour. Now Rob and I were sitting around staring at the walls, pretending not to notice how anxious my older brother was. And forcing myself not to give him shit about it—after all, someday I might be the guy wringing my hands together and checking to make sure the ring was still there every forty-five seconds.

Shit. I’d already been that guy. If all went as I wanted it to, I was going to be that guy again. And again. And, if Lane ever let me knock her up, I’d be that guy at least one more time—probably more.

I needed to get out of there before I lost it.

“Well, men,” I said, “I’m going to go grab us something to drink. Stretch out my legs a little.” I.e., flee the awkwardness and not be there if Hayden or I had a breakdown. After promising my brother—again—that I wouldn’t get either of us drunk, I headed for the bar.

---

Since I wasn’t in a hurry to get back to the room, I leaned up against the bar and enjoyed the first swig of icy beer.

“Buy me a drink?” a woman said behind me. American accent. Shit. I would’ve bought everyone in the place a drink, but the last thing I needed now was to deal with a recently divorced or unhappily married woman trying to find her groove again.

Before I had a chance to come up with a nice way to tell her I didn’t know where her groove was, she said, “Have you ever wondered why designers never put pockets in women’s clothing?” She kept talking, not caring I’d turned around and recognized her. “My theory? It’s a plot to keep us dependent on men. Or at least make us think we are. Same with heels. And spanks. And strapless anything.”

“Sara, right?” My shoulders relaxed when she nodded. She wasn’t divorced or unhappily married, and she looked like she knew exactly where her groove was. Although…

Never underestimate a woman. I’d spent my formative years living down the hall from one who had an otherworldly power to locate the least available man in a room and take him down, without a single thought for the other woman involved.

“How’d you escape?” I asked.

“We ran out of Champagne. So obviously, somebody had to go in search of more. I volunteered.” She was a tiny little thing, no more than five feet tall, and was wearing a very tight dress, so she had a tough time getting up onto the barstool next to me.

“Order what you need and put it on my room.”

She swatted my hand down when I tried to signal to the bartender. “I’m not in a hurry. And thanks for the offer, but it’s my fault we need more, so I want to pay for it myself.” She paused. “Can you keep a secret?”

I nodded. “Unless it involves a felony.”

“It’s barely an infraction.” After a quick glance around, she motioned for me to come closer. “I’ve been slowly emptying the bottles into the ice bucket when no one’s looking. They think I’m drinking it all.”

“Why would you do that?” I asked, confused.

“Because the Champagne makes the ice melt faster.” She shrugged. “Empty bottle or melted ice means someone has to go in search of more.”

“And being incredibly thoughtful,” I said, laughing when I got it, “you always volunteer to go.”

“Ta-da. I don’t understand why they said you weren’t smart.” Before my ego had time to bruise, she giggled. “Kidding. It was something about you not being patient, I think.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s true.”

So they were talking about me. I knew I was right—women did talk about the men who weren’t around when they weren’t around. Although in this case, I wasn’t sure if I should be celebrating. Shit, if Lane was telling them the truth about my patience, what else was she telling them? Were they sitting around bitching about men in general? Or me in general? And why was I turning into someone who reacted to things they couldn’t possibly know?

“I guess I’m not that smart either,” I grumbled.