Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 103530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
I flexed my left hand, where I could still feel the phantom weight of my recently discarded ring, pulled my chauffer’s cap lower on my brow, and held up the sign I’d scrawled with a black permanent marker on the ride over. There was a surge of people into the baggage claim area, and I spotted Scott’s familiar blond head bobbing among the rest. As my bewildered friend staggered in my vague direction, I called out, “Chucklenuts? I’m waiting on a Mr. Chucklenuts?”
That directed his attention immediately, and I saw the mixture of exhaustion-heightened annoyance and grudging appreciation for my juvenile humor.
“Yes, I’m Mr. Chucklenuts,” he said, dropping his bag at my feet. “And you’re Mr. Minidick’s driver, I presume?”
I let the sign fall and pulled Scott into a bear hug. “Dumbfuck. How was the flight?”
“Bumpy.” He kicked the bag on the ground. “Carry that. It’s my day.”
“It’s the bride’s day,” I corrected him. “Who the fuck brings a duffel bag to his destination wedding?”
I hefted the bag over my shoulder—a little manual labor wouldn’t kill me—and headed toward the doors. My driver waited outside, leaning against the Maybach. I gave him his hat back and passed off the bag but took the job of opening Scott’s door.
“Okay, this is sick,” Scott said, settling into one of the leather seats. “This is like a living room. It might be the size of my living room.”
“Come work for me, man,” I offered, yet again. “Anywhere you want on the globe.”
“Not space?” he quipped. “Bezos offered me space.”
I snorted. “I can think of better things to do with my money than wasting it on a dick rocket.”
“Like wasting it on your best friend’s wedding?” he asked as I settled into my seat.
“It’s not a waste.” In fact, it wasn’t even the first time I’d helped a friend out with their wedding. Scott happened to be the last one to tie the knot.
Well, with one exception.
“It’s not like I’m ever getting married,” I went on, lifting my left hand to display my lack of ring.
Scott’s eyes widened. “Jesus, Matt. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to ruin your wedding weekend.” Being a huge bummer during one of the most important events of my best friend’s life wasn’t going to bring Brett back. “Before you ask, it was me. I called it off. And not because I’m afraid of commitment, this time.”
“Right.”
“It wasn’t.” God, did I have to admit it? “He cheated on me.”
Scott sucked in a breath between his teeth. “Ouch.”
“Yeah. So, that’s engagement number four down the drain.” In a rare moment of indulgent self-pity, I ticked them off on my fingers, in reverse order. “Brett, Sadie, Ashleigh, Ana. I’m thinking I need to have two more unsuccessful engagements with dudes and then I’ll have a complete set.”
“Or you could stop getting engaged,” Scott suggested. “You can date people for as long as you want without the specter of marriage looming over you.”
“I know that. I don’t ever seem to date people who know that.” Or who wanted to remain faithful. Or would sign a prenup. Or didn’t lie about birth control. Or wouldn’t care about my bisexuality. “I’m starting to think I’m a unique case here. There might not be anyone out there for me. The least I can do is make you and Laura happy.”
“Lauren. You know her name is Lauren,” he replied with a beleaguered exhale.
I raised my hands in surrender. “I’m sorry. It was a joke. Honestly, it was. You know how much I like Laurel.”
“You want to start this weekend off with a physical fight in the back of your fancy fucking car?” Scott warned. “Speaking of Lauren, I haven’t heard from her all morning. I expected at least a text or something—”
“They got in late last night,” I interrupted. “Her and her parents.”
“What about mine?” Scott’s knee bounced anxiously.
“They’re getting in tonight.” I grinned at him. “It’s eating you up inside to sit back and let someone else handle things.”
“Yeah, it’s so foolish of me to double-check on arrangements made by a guy who once got so high he forgot what day it was and thought Fourth of July fireworks were a terrorist attack.” Scott was never going to let that one go.
“Pardon me for being jumpy in the aughts.” Though I did owe him a debt of gratitude for not letting me call the cops and incriminate myself. “I would think that building a hospitality empire would have absolved me of my youthful indiscretions.”
“It’s my wedding,” Scott said apologetically.
“I know. And I know you want it to be perfect. But trust me, Lauren had more of a hand in planning any of this than I did. I just gave her the phone numbers and my credit card.” I hadn’t had time to do much more. I’d been working practically nonstop for the past fifteen years.