Page 1 of In It to Win It

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JP

I should have knowna Wynn family wedding wasn’t going to go off without drama.

Didn’t think it would be me in the middle of it, though.

Then again, it totally makes sense, because apparently, I can never be trusted to do the right thing.

Let’s go back to last night . . .

My brother Théo is getting married, but this isn’t a typical wedding (it’s the Wynn family, need I say more?) because Théo and Lacey are already married, after a quickie Vegas wedding a few months ago. My mom was so disappointed about not being at their wedding, she wanted another one, and shockingly, Théo agreed.

So there haven’t been bridal showers or bachelor and bachelorette parties. Tonight is the first time the wedding party and family are getting together for the rehearsal at the Shore Hotel in Santa Monica, where the wedding will be held tomorrow.

I’m standing next to Théo where the ceremony will take place. Right now the arch next to us is bare, but tomorrow it’ll be decked with flowers and bows and shit. We’re outside on a raised terrace, the beach right behind us.

I’m the best man. Except I’m most definitelynotthe best man. A year ago I fucked up and screwed over Théo, my own brother. It’s taking some time for our relationship to recover, but he says he’s forgiven me.

I haven’t forgiven myself.

And the rest of our family hasn’t forgiven me either.

I’ve had dirty looks, subtle shade, and outright hostility from my cousins, my aunt and uncles, and especially from my grandfather.

Which sucks, because Grandpa is my idol.

Bob Wynn, the King of Hockey. The man I looked up to my whole life. Until the last couple of years. He’s made some . . . um, interesting decisions lately. To be honest, I’m not sure what’s really going on, except I know my dad and my uncle Mark are pissed as hell at him, so much that they’re actually suing him, claiming he stole money from them.

This makes family gatherings—like this wedding—a tad uncomfortable.

But never mind all that . . . my attention is on the hot bridesmaid.

Taylor Hart.

I keep looking at her over on the other side of Lacey, the bride. Taylor’s gorgeous—perfect oval face, long dark hair, toffee-colored eyes, and a full mouth that’s perpetually curved into a smile. For the rehearsal, she’s wearing a burgundy dress that wraps around her body and stops just above her knees, and suede heels that match the dress.

I catch her eye and grin, and she smiles back . . . a wide, glowing smile that lights up her face. She has a great smile. It’s like sunshine. Warm. Bright.

She also has a great rack.

She’s not here with a date. She’s not wearing a ring. Fuck yeah.

I can’t wait for this formal stuff to be done so we can party. Everyone knows what’s supposed to happen and when. I have to hand over the ring, Lacey’s best friend takes her bouquet, blah blah blah. Now let’s have some fun.

There are about twenty of us who move to the private room after the rehearsal, and I see there are three round tables set up. Place cards identify who sits where, and since I’m one of the first ones in the room, I quickly find my own name . . . and Taylor’s. She’s at a different table, but I make the switch speedy quick so she’s now sitting beside me instead of my aunt Everly. Then I head to the bar at the end of the room. Of course there’s champagne, so I grab two flutes and turn, searching for Taylor.

There she is, just entering the room. I make my way over to her and stop. “Champagne?” I hold out a glass to her.

Her lips quirk up at the corners as she reaches for the glass. “Why, thank you.”

“You’re most welcome.” I gesture toward the table. “Apparently we’re sitting beside each other for dinner.”

She bursts out laughing. “Oh my God. Did you change the place cards?”

“How did you know that?”

“I helped set up the tables.” She sips her wine, eyes dancing.

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