The Worst Wedding Date

Uncle Owen’s dares aren’t usually quite so lit. They’re normally more low-key, like the time we left a bunch of mice all over the park.

Taxidermy mice. Just so we’re clear on that.

Once people were done freaking out, we went viral on Instagram as the Colorado mouse town. Even had those national news people in to interview everyone, who pretended they had no idea where so many taxidermy mice would’ve come from.

This one could end with similar attention. Decker Sullivan was recording it.

Not that setting a flamingo costume on fire and being shoved into the pool by my sister’s straight-laced best friend was my intention.

Funny shit happens when I’m around.

It’s pretty awesome being me.

Or so I’m thinking as I surface.

And then I shake the water out of my eyes, slick my hair back, and spot the look of utter grief on Emma’s face as she tries to nudge Chandler further away from the pool. And me.

Fuck.

Lucky Sullivan, another of the Sullivan triplets, is apparently oblivious to the bride and groom’s reactions. He’s grinning while he offers me a hand to help me out of the pool. “Can’t just set yourself on fire, can you? Have to get yourself rescued by the last person I’d ever guess would go into a pool fully clothed to help your ass. Classic, man. Classic.”

I grin back at him, actively choosing to ignore the horrified looks from everyone behind him. It’s not just Em now. It’s pretty much everyone in Chandler’s extended family who are down here with us. “What can I say? Trouble likes me.”

He snorts.

I grin bigger and almost fall back in the pool while I try to pull myself out.

This blow-up costume’s awkward when it’s wet. Who knew?

“Careful next time,” Jack Sullivan, triplet number three, is saying as he pulls Delaney Kingston out of the pool a few feet away. “That thing’s battery-operated. Not enough juice in a couple double-A’s to shock the pool, but you definitely don’t want to take a chance with electricity and water.”

“Well, when my options were electrocution with double-A batteries or watching Emma’s brother explode in flames, I went with the lower risk.”

“Stick in the mud,” Lucky mutters.

“Which one?” I reply.

He chokes on another laugh while I drag the rest of my flat, dead costume out of the pool.

I start to chuckle too, but then I catch sight of Emma again.

Tossing another frustrated frown my way like this is one more thing I’ve done on purpose to make her fiancé miserable.

Like I was supposed to know he’d get seasick when I offered to take everyone deep-sea fishing this morning. Or that his video screen was broken on the plane and he spent the entire flight watching the movies I picked since he was behind me, and that I apparently spoiled the ending of the latest Avengers movie for him.

Lucky glances their way and sighs too. “Don’t get it, dude,” he says. “Chandler’s not usually tighter than an inflamed sphincter, yet here we are, in paradise…”

“Not hearing this,” I reply. Last thing any of us need is Chandler’s groomsmen turning on him. Dude has issues. Needs some wingmen this week. But not me. Definitely not me. “Go be on his side.”

“Shouldn’t be sides.”

“There’s always sides. Don’t tell Emma.” Chandler’s not my favorite person in the world, but I’m not marrying him.

Emma is.

Her choice. Her right. He’s made her happy more years than not. I’ll play nice for her sake.

“Bar later?” Lucky asks.

I sneak another glance at my sister, who’s now comforting Chandler like he was the one who almost had his face melted off because of a bug zapper and drink umbrella malfunction.

I shake my head at Lucky. “Groomsman duties for you, my friend. We’ll hook up next week at home.”

“I’ll text you if he goes to bed early. There’s a karaoke bar down the way.”

“Fuck, yeah.” I love karaoke.

“If who goes to bed early?” Decker asks as he approaches too. Guess Chandler’s mom has recovered from the horror of seeing the flamingo die a flaming death and no longer needs to cling to him while he records everything.

“You,” Lucky says. “You’re too boring for bars.”

Both of them crack up.

I would too—messing around with these guys is generally my thing—but Emma’s giving me another look.

The please just give him space look.

And she doesn’t mean any of the triplets.

That look hits me in a spot that hasn’t been super vulnerable since high school. Been a long time since I felt this level of guilt creeping in. But here we are. In paradise, where everything was fine five minutes ago, before Chandler set me on fire with a present I gave him.

So I sneezed.

Everyone sneezes.

Apparently I need to not sneeze the rest of this week though.

Time to regroup.

“Have fun tonight,” I tell Lucky and Decker while I pull myself to standing, bringing my sopping wet costume with me to cover my underwear.

The triplets all seem to realize we’re the only ones enjoying ourselves on the pool deck, and a collective sigh goes up among the three of them.

Identical sighs, much like they’re all brown-haired, white-skinned, blue-eyed identical triplets. Pretty easy to tell them apart once you get to know their personalities though.

Even Jack’s sighing as he finishes pulling Delaney to her feet too.

“Remind me to elope if I ever find the woman of my dreams,” Lucky says. “This wedding stuff is dumb stress.”

“Like anyone would have you,” Decker says.

“Fuck, yeah, they would. I’m the pretty one of the three of us.”

I’d normally laugh at that.

They would too. Instead, both of them sigh again.

“You going out anywhere for real?” Decker asks me.

“Nope.” I am definitely hitting a bar somewhere tonight. But I’m not taking them along.

Might make Chandler sad to get jilted by his groomsmen.

Can’t have that.

I give Em a tiny salute of I’ll get out of your hair, then nod to Delaney. “Thanks for the save. Owe you one next time you catch on fire.”

Her nostrils twitch. “Happy to help.”

Total teacher’s pet answer.

As expected.

She starts to say something else, but I head around the pool like I didn’t notice.

If Chandler’s sphincter’s too tight this week, Delaney Kingston’s has been too tight since before she was born.

Not her fault. Probably. But it will be my fault if I hang out here and annoy her more after taking her for a fully-clothed dunk in the pool. Nothing like getting on the groom’s and the bridesmaid’s bad sides.

So the best I can do is make myself scarce.

Claire, Em’s blonde sorority friend and another bridesmaid, lifts her brows and smiles at me as I pass her. “Nothing’s boring when you’re around, is it?”

I wink. “Boring’s for other people.”

She smiles wider and opens her mouth like she’s about to ask if we can be not boring together.

I remember Emma’s disappointed in me, and I continue on my way.

This week’s weird. Not that I don’t put Emma first on a regular basis, but this week is extra. And apparently I haven’t toned myself down enough yet to make the couple of the hour happy.

“Okay, son?” my dad asks as I hit the edge of the pool area.

“Barely singed,” I report with a grin.

Uncle Owen cracks up. Dad sighs and shakes his head while I keep going.

He wasn’t meant to be a single dad. Definitely not to two middle schoolers and then high schoolers. But he does his best, and that’s all we can ask.

And I know he adores Emma as much as I do.

She’s such a genuinely good person that you can’t help but be happy for her when she’s happy, even if you don’t understand things like how Chandler Sullivan makes her happy.

You still want to stand in her glow. You want to be the reason she’s glowing, because the brighter she glows, the more the world is a better place.

Not my time to be in her glow though. This is my time to give her space.

Sucks, honestly.

She’s one of my favorite people in the entire world.

And this week, I am not hers.

Feels way too much like being in high school again.

I’m trying to shake it off, reminding myself weddings are stupidly stressful and life will go back to normal next week as I head down the coconut-tree-lined path to my bungalow.

“So that was a nice, refreshing dip,” Delaney Kingston says when I’m nearly there.

Ah.

So that’s who’s huffing along behind me.

Her bungalow must be this way too.

And I probably owe her an apology for her unexpected pool dip, courtesy of me.

Don’t want to give it to her though.

“Hey, Princess Plainy-Laney.” I grin at her over my shoulder like she’s not the only other person from back home besides Chandler who can make me twitch today. “Like your shoes. They squeak real nice.”

“Bonus feature. They’re supportive and musical.”

Huh.

That’s an unexpected response.

Would’ve thought I’d get an eye roll and a lecture on not taking paper umbrellas near electrified bug zappers. You want a rule followed, a problem solved, or a lecture about how the world is supposed to work, you go to Laney.

You don’t go to Laney for jokes. She’s the type who wouldn’t know fun if it landed on her desk in a brown manila envelope clearly labeled fun. Once saw her refuse to go sledding because there weren’t nets at the bottom of the hill. Was voted in high school as the most likely to live to a hundred and six because she flosses every day.

No heart disease taking her out early due to inflamed gums.

I have not missed seeing Delaney Kingston since she quit showing up to parties on my side of town and I quit dropping into bars and restaurants on her side of town.

She’s one of Emma’s best friends though, so I’ll be nice if it kills me. I grin back at her again. Add a wink. “You need help carrying your bag to your room?”

“That’s so kind, but I can see you already have your hands full, and it’s just a purse.”

“Just a purse? That’s a purse the size of a suitcase. Wouldn’t take anything at all to drop this costume and carry that for you.”

“While I’m sure that wouldn’t be a hardship for you, Emma really doesn’t need you to get thrown out of the resort for public indecency, so I’ll carry my own bag. Thank you though. That’s a kind offer.”

Emma would be so disappointed if you fuck up again.

Fucking guilt.

I hate the guilt. Worked really hard the last decade or so to get over it and live my life in the sunshine, but here she is, tossing it around like confetti for Emma’s wedding week.

I keep smiling as I approach my bungalow, ignoring the twitch under my skin that I tell myself is an allergic reaction to being near a wet blanket.

I stop and face her at my doorway. “Good to see you, Princess Plainy. Maybe next time you shove me in a pool, you can be in a bikini.” I wink again.

She winks right back.

Delaney Kingston.

Winking right back.

This is High School Theo wet dream material, and yeah, I’ve worked really hard to forget that too.

What the fuck is going on?

“Wouldn’t that be fun?” she says. “Oh, good. We’re here. Thank you so much for showing me to my bungalow.”

I look around.

Then look around again.

Nearest other bungalow is a whole building’s length away, and Laney’s trying to step around me to my porch. “If you’ll just excuse me—”

“You lost?”

“No, this is my bungalow.”

“Don’t think so.”

“The Plumeria Bungalow. Says so right here on my key card envelope.”

She flashes the little paper envelope holding her key card, and no.

That’s what it says.

But no.

I cross my arms, letting my dripping, half-melted flamingo costume fall off my hips and leaving me standing there in nothing but my black briefs, which is a dangerous place to be.

My brain is slowly catching up to the fact that Laney’s hot as fuck right now in ways that she shouldn’t be. And not just because the strength she put into shoving me into the pool would’ve been a turn-on had any other woman done it.

But now she’s strong-hot and wet-hot at the same time.

Brown mousy hair all messed up. Expensive shirt sticking to her skin. Nipples puckered under the performance fabric, the clean outline of her plain-Jane bra visible too. Linen pants clinging to her hips and showing off her panty line. Dark lashes clumped together over bright blue eyes. And her sneakers still squeaking.

“While I don’t mind sharing my room with a pretty lady,” I drawl, ordering my dick to not have a reaction to this wet woman standing in front of me, “I also don’t think I’m the kind of roommate you’d be into.”

“Guess you’re wrong,” she chirps in response as she sidesteps me and bounces up the three stairs to the porch. “Because this is my bungalow too.”

I blink.

Then blink again.

Then I get pissed, and getting pissed makes me more pissed since I hate being pissed.

Hate being pissed.

Make it a life rule to avoid it, in fact.

But Delaney Kingston is an annoying, insufferable, rule-following, Prudy McSnooterson who would never lower herself to sharing a room with a guy whose favorite Saturday night activity is pulling harmless pranks with friends that sometimes end with all of us a little too happy to make good decisions.

Trust me.

I’d know.

Spent too many years wishing she would lower herself. Wanting to see what she looked like with her hair down and her inhibitions gone.

And she just said my bungalow too.

Like she knows this is my bungalow.

And if she knows this is my bungalow—fuck.

Happy Theo has left the whole damn Pacific Ocean. Everything is suddenly clicking into place.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” I grit out, tripping up the steps myself to block her and sounding more like the fuckup I was in high school than the man I am today.

“I’m not a babysitter. Think of me more like a buffer. You don’t really want Chandler accidentally setting more of your clothes on fire, do you? Wait. No. Don’t answer that.”

I reach the doorframe and slide in front of her to block her. This is the worst possible thing Emma could’ve done.

I love my sister. I adore my sister. The two of us have been through some shit and come out on the other side, and I would do anything for her.

Doing way more for her this week than she even knows, and I legit don’t care if she never finds out. Just want her to be happy, even if I don’t understand what makes her happy all the time.

But sending Laney to babysit me?

This is cruel.

And it’s not happening. It’s a step too far. “You ever have fun, Princess Plainy-Laney?”

“Yes, sometimes I stay up late at night doing puzzles while adding a little dollop of brandy to my chamomile. But just a dollop. Much more than that, and it might give me dirty dreams.”

I’m momentarily speechless.

Mostly because I can’t decide if she’s serious or if she’s fucking with me.

She smiles brighter, blue eyes almost dancing. And while I’m unscrambling my brains after having Delaney Kingston mock herself to my face, she ducks around me and presses her keycard to the lock mechanism on my hotel door.

There’s a click, and she strolls into my bungalow.

And then she lets the door slam in my face.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Do I care where I sleep? No.

But am I letting this woman loose all on her own inside my hotel room when I know what’s in the spare bedroom and she doesn’t?

Fuck fuck fuck.

Rule-following Delaney Kingston cannot be in my bungalow unsupervised.

She absolutely cannot.

I reach for my pocket, remember I’m in nothing but my briefs, and then dive for the sopping, mutilated costume on the bungalow porch. It takes too long to find my keycard in the interior pocket, and when I do, I half hope it doesn’t work.

Let me be lost. Let me be lost. Let me be lost.

But it clicks open just like it did for her a moment ago.

And when I walk inside—yes, after tripping over my costume and kicking it off—Delaney’s there.

I rub my eyes.

Blink a few times.

Hope a whole lot.

Doesn’t work.

She’s still here, halfway across the tropical-patterned rug in the living room on her way to the first bedroom, pulling along a god-awful floral-print suitcase.

“That’s my room,” I say.

She redirects as only Ms. Know-it-all can, heading instead to the closed bedroom door on the other side of the spacious sitting area with a kitchenette along the wall nearest me.

“That’s mine too,” I say.

“You’re using both bedrooms.” Not a question. A statement like she’s pointing out that I’m ridiculous.

I’m an easygoing guy. Love having fun. Love helping the people around me have fun. I can handle a lot.

I cause a lot.

Almost always a harmless lot these days, but a lot.

But sharing a room with Princess Plainy-Laney so that she can babysit me?

No.

One of us has to go.

Any other day, any other place, with anything else hiding in that second bedroom, I’d volunteer to be the one to go.

But that’s not an option.

“Yes,” I say like she’s the one being dumb, even though I know she isn’t, “I’m using both rooms.”

Her face twitches just like you’d expect. “Emma’s working with management to find me my own bungalow or an open room in the overflow hotel, but really, this won’t be so bad until she does. I know you’re not using both bedrooms.”

She’s annoying as hell when she knows things.

And why didn’t Emma tell me herself? “You can have the pullout bed. The bedrooms are mine.”

“Theo. You cannot sleep in two beds at once.”

“Maybe I just don’t want you here.”

It’s been a long while since we spent any significant time together. Most of our adult lives, in fact, and I have zero doubt she’s expecting high school turd-waffle Theo instead of grown-up has-his-shit-together Theo.

Her expectations are making me fall back into old habits that I got over a long time ago and don’t like.

“I’m an easy roommate,” she says flatly with a giant fake smile plastered on her face. She’s probably unhappy with this arrangement too. “Promise. Very quiet. You won’t even know I’m here.”

In all of my school years, she was the only classmate I was never able to win over. Finally swore to myself I’d quit trying, no matter how much it killed me on the inside to know how very, very much I wanted to win her over. So Emma asking her to babysit me?

This is insult to fucking injury. “You haven’t stopped talking since you walked in the door.”

“Just getting out all of the words so that I can be quiet later. Unless you want me to talk more?”

“No.” Shit. I don’t know if I’m supposed to reverse psychology her or be honest.

“Works for me. I don’t know that I want to talk to you a whole lot more either.”

“Not mincing words, are you, Princess Plainy?”

She shrugs like she’s deflecting the nickname out the balcony doors and off into the darkness over the Pacific as she heads once more for the closed door. “Not much of a point when we both know we’ll never be close friends. At least we know where we stand with each other, right? This is for Emma. I would do anything for Emma.”

I wiggle my brows at her. Can’t help myself. Easiest path to annoying her. “What if Emma wanted you to strip down with me too?”

She crosses her arms and stares me dead in the eye. “Anything she asks me to.”

Alarm bells go off in my head.

To be fair, that’s only like, two of them, because that’s all the alarm bells I have, but both at once is cause for concern.

“Are you fucking with me?” I ask her.

She doesn’t answer.

But a very loud yowl does from behind that closed bedroom door.

I imitate it while I yawn. “Tired. Go away. I need my beauty nap before I go party all night.”

She stares at me.

Then at the door, where four tiny mews carry through the wood.

“Out,” I repeat, pointing to the exit while I stalk across the decorative rug to keep her from opening that door.

She’s no longer smiling. “Tell me you’re not collecting animals for your dad.”

My temper, which generally exists about as much as alarm bells, roars to life like someone stuck it with a hot poker. “Get. The fuck. Out. Of my room.”

She ignores me and marches to the door of my spare bedroom.

I ignore her ignoring me and cut her off, standing between her and the doorknob.

Every last kitten inside that room decides to find their vocal cords at once, which is impressive considering how small they are.

“Theo,” she says.

Just my name.

Like she’s a goddamn teacher and I’m in trouble for bringing a wounded baby chipmunk into the classroom.

Not so I could wait for it to perish and present it to my dad for stuffing like my teacher assumed that day too.

“The only reason I’m not tossing you off my balcony right now is that it would ruin Emma’s day,” I force out through gritted teeth.

“Plus we’re basically at sea level in here, so I’d have a pretty soft landing,” she says. “That would ruin your day to go to all that effort for a small impact, I’m sure. And I’m no cowering weakling, as you might’ve noticed when I saved you from a fire a few minutes ago. Wouldn’t want me to turn my muscles on you twice in one day, would you?”

Who is this woman?

It’s certainly not the Laney from middle school who would’ve informed me that if I didn’t stop bouncing a tennis ball against the wall when we were supposed to be having quiet indoor recess, she would tell the teacher. “You can have the pullout bed. Because it’ll make Emma happy. But don’t open that door. If you open that door, I will fucking ruin the rest of your life, no matter what kind of crazy muscles skills you think you have. Stay out of my bedroom too.”

Her blue eyes waver and she takes a half-step back. “I realize this isn’t convenient for either of us,” she says softly, “but I’m confident we can both manage this for Emma’s sake. And you can surely see that it’s unexpected at the least to hear what sounds like a herd of cats in your spare bedroom.”

“I can only sleep if there’s a separate room with a closed door and the nature channel playing on the TV inside.”

She opens her mouth.

Closes it like she’s deciding she doesn’t want to know if that’s the truth.

Sweeps her gaze down my body like she’s just now realizing I’m standing here in nothing but my underwear.

Good news—her personality has once again destroyed any desire my dick might have to pop a boner.

I lean back against the bedroom door. “Sabrina’s two bungalows down. Go stay with her.”

Her gaze snaps up to mine. “No.”

“You don’t have a lot of negotiation room here, Princess Plainy.”

“Emma wants me to stay here.”

The kittens mew softly behind me. I need to check on them. See how they’re doing. Determine if I need to have that vet come out tomorrow and examine them again. But I don’t want to do it while she’s standing here.

Or while I’m mostly naked, which doesn’t bother me, but would bother Emma if it caused an incident here.

I could argue that Laney’s lying about Emma wanting her to keep an eye on me, but I know she’s not lying.

One, there’s no reason for her to lie. Her mother once cornered me at a high school dance and informed me that Delaney’s no-no box is off-limits to the likes of you. Completely unnecessary, considering I’ve never been under any delusions that Delaney Kingston might ever look at me as anything other than a waste of oxygen, no matter how I might’ve felt about her once upon a time, but she still did it.

And Laney reinforced that she agreed with her mother’s opinion more times than I care to remember.

But worse—Emma’s stressed to the max and Chandler’s being a dick at every opportunity.

Usually, we both make an effort to get along for Emma’s sake.

But this trip—this trip isn’t normal. And he’s the groom, which means he’s special.

He doesn’t get a babysitter.

I do.

Em won’t ask her sorority sister. Not when she’s told me not to flirt with Claire, who doesn’t need more drama from men right now. She’ll probably think I was flirting just by offering Claire a drink, but I wasn’t. I was merely being a nice guy. Promise.

Won’t ask Sabrina either, and not just because Sabrina’s Chandler’s cousin and therefore obligated to be on his side. Sabrina’s pissed at me for her own reasons, and while she’s fucking Fort Knox when she has a secret she doesn’t want you to know, she also doesn’t get pissed at you without the whole world becoming aware that you have crossed her.

And for the record—I didn’t cross her.

I just didn’t tell her what she wanted to hear.

Emma also won’t ask the triplets. They’d toss me off a balcony—one higher than sea level—at the first opportunity to teach me a lesson.

For fun.

And with something soft to land on underneath.

And then we’d all have beers together and crack up at how funny it was, because we hang out and do stupid stuff like that all the time.

Basically, they’d be useless as babysitters and that would piss off Chandler more.

Laney’s the best choice.

Can’t really blame Emma here for making a smart decision. It’s what she’s done her whole life.

“He fucking started it,” I mutter like a toddler.

Laney’s whole body seems to deflate. “I’m sorry. It must be difficult to not get along with your sister’s fiancé.”

Wary doesn’t even touch how I’m feeling as I study her.

I’m used to the Delaney that looks at me with as much disdain as her mother does. So her giving me any credit and considering my feelings?

This is cause for suspicion.

She hitches a shoulder. “He wasn’t exactly innocent in you getting set on fire. And I’m sure it’s unpleasant to know you’re stuck with me now.”

“Is this a trick?”

“This is me wanting to take a shower and climb into pajamas and bed. It’s been a long day. But I need to trust that you’ll stay here while I do, because while I know you love your sister and won’t intentionally do anything else to stress her out, she believes things happen when you’re around no matter your intentions, so she asked me to be a buffer, and that’s what I intend to do. For all of your sakes.”

Mama cat meows loudly in my second bedroom.

Delaney doesn’t flinch.

It’s like she’s trying to telegraph you can trust me—I’m not asking why you have cats in your second bedroom anymore.

That means one thing.

The minute I turn my back, she’ll be getting into this room and letting the cats out.

End of the world?

Fucking might be. Those kittens aren’t old enough to be wandering around the island unsupervised. And I’m not one to worry about anyone being unsupervised.

And don’t tell me feral cats have been surviving on this island for decades.

I don’t. Want. To fucking. Hear it.

For one, I’m certain their mama is domesticated. And for two, these are my kittens now—along with their mama—and I will protect them to the end.

And also not let Emma know that I’m keeping them here for fear she’ll freak out about me getting tossed from the resort.

Laney’s right.

Things happen when I’m involved. I’m not having anything happen to my kittens.

I point to the bathroom just outside of the room I’m sleeping in. “Shower’s there.”

Delaney doesn’t turn to look.

Instead, she keeps staring up at me. “How do I know you won’t leave while I’m showering?”

“You don’t.”

I stare at her.

She stares back.

And then she does the last thing I expect her to do. Again.

She turns and heads toward the bathroom, pulling her luggage behind her, like she trusts me.

The Delaney Kingston I remember from school would’ve stood there and stared at me all night to make sure I behaved myself.

But this Delaney?

She’s on babysitting duty, and she’s leaving me unsupervised.

Like she trusts me.

I trust me. But I don’t trust that she trusts me.

“I’m going to hang with the triplets,” I call to her through the closed door.

“Awesome. Emma will love that,” she calls back.

Fuck.

She got me.

I’m grounded.

And not because I sneezed wrong and got myself set on fire at the pool.

After Thanksgiving, and the plane, and then fishing this afternoon, not to mention that favor Chandler asked, and hated that he had to ask, this was inevitable.