Page 115 of The Best Men
“That’s perfect for you,” he says. He tips his chin to my bow tie. “We’re ready for the pics.”
This is not the Mark from a few minutes ago, and I can’t even sweep my gaze over his throat for a clue. It’s covered.
“What were you going to say?I think we have. . .” A dangerous spark ignites in my chest but what’s the point?
I’m leaving.
Yet I’m dying to know if he was going to say?I think we have to give this a chance.
He shrugs casually, shoots me a tight smile. “I was going to say . . .I think we haveto get out there for the photog. Can’t take pics without the two best men.”
Then, he turns on his heel and leaves.
Taking a little piece of me with him.
* * *
Not that I want to be soaked, but a little courtesy, weather? Some rain clouds would be fitting. Maybe a thunderstorm. A crash of lightning.
Fine, fine. I don’t wish that on my bestie and his bride, but it would fitmymood.
Instead, as I stand beside the groom at the edge of the lawn, the bay behind us, the emerald grass in front of us, the sun shines, a breeze blows, and it’s barely over seventy-five in June.
It’s a picture-perfect day for a Miami wedding—more lovely than June in Florida has any right to be.
Good luck, perhaps, and a sign of things to come for a couple who are meant to be.
Hannah practically floats along a white runner, her father’s arm hooked through hers, a radiant smile on her face as the bridal march begins.
One glance at Flip is all anyone needs to know that he’s besotted with his bride and their baby.
He only has eyes for her.
As for me? I’m fighting like hell to keep my gaze off Mark.
The man merely feet away from me, dressed like me, but who hasn’t so much as looked my way since the guest house, when I dropped myoh, I’m jetting across an oceanbombshell.
As the cellist playsPachelbel’s Canon in Dfor seventy-five guests, the bride gazes happily at my friend. Everything ought to feel right in the world.
Flip is getting hitched.
I got laid the last few days, many times over.
I have a great gig waiting for me in a city I love.
Friendship, sex, and a fun as fuck career?that’s all I’ve ever wanted.
Yet I can’t shake this unsettled feeling. Thiswhat-if-nessclawing at me.
That’s entirely the wrong feeling for today. Wistful might be an okay emotion, but mostly I should be disgustingly happy for the end of the era, since it’s the start of a new one for Flip. My bud and I will be friends no matter what. We’ll talk and text while I’m on the other side of the world.
We always have.
But that’s not the issue, is it? As Hannah arrives under the wedding arch, hands her bouquet to her mother in the front row, then turns to her groom, I steal another glance at the other best man.
A terrible longing gnaws at me. The wish that he’d look my way, toss me a knowing wink.
But that’s ridiculous.
