The Best Men (The Best Men 1)

“Woman, a photo shoot can go sideways in a million ways. Ask me sometime about the dozen plastic tiki torches I bought to get just the right flickering light for a Halloween shoot.”

Mark’s amused eyes lift to mine for a split second before darting away again.

He’s avoiding me too. We’re in the same room together, but he’s on the opposite side of the space, in an armchair that I swear he chose for its distance from mine.

But now I can’t help staring. My eyes dart over to where his muscular legs are propped onto a leather footstool. And the open collar of his shirt gives me a view of his neck—and the smooth column I traced with my tongue not so long ago.

I rein in a whimper.

“So how are you taking this change?” Flip asks me.

“Hmm?” I drag my gaze off Mark. “It’s uh . . .” Wait. I have no idea what Flip is talking about. “This change,” I repeat.

My friend tilts his head, studying me. “You seem distracted.”

“No! Just tired . . .” I protest. From twenty-four hours of sexual tension and sexual release. “. . . from a long day of running wedding errands.”

“He won’t ask you to be the photographer, will he?” Flip asks. “Garrett?”

I blink. Now I’m sure I’ve missed something. “The photographer?”

“At his wedding,” Flip says gently. “I just asked you if you saw the Instagram announcement and you nodded.”

“Right,” I say quickly. But inside, I’m reeling. Garrett is getting married? Already? “Of course I’m not taking wedding photos for him. He wouldn’t want me to anyway. That’s not my thing. And that would be super awkward.”

“That’s your ex?” Hannah asks, tying a satin ribbon around the last little bag of almonds.

“My ex,” I repeat dully. “We broke up a while back. Actually, it was only eleven months ago. But who’s counting.”

“Oh, ouch,” Hannah says.

I am very busy not looking at Mark, because I don’t want to know what he thinks about that. And I’m also very busy not looking at Instagram, just for confirmation. It’s probably a cheesy photo. Two guys in preppy clothes on a golf course somewhere, looking snazzy and well-organized as they plan their future together.

Ick, right? Who needs that? I wouldn’t be any good at it either. I’m much better as a sex concierge?my role for the next few nights.

Still . . . something isn’t sitting right.

When I look up from my glass, three people are still studying me. Maybe because I’m tapping an anxious foot against the sleek marble floor at the tempo of machine-gun fire in a mobster flick.

So I stop doing that. There’s nothing to be anxious about. I’m just staring down a long tunnel of lonely nights in New York while my ex gets married and my best friend starts his life as a husband and a father.

Yeah, I’d really like to steer this conversation away from me and my ex. “Speaking of photographers, I talked to Simone, and she’s all set for Saturday. She’ll get shots of you getting ready, Hannah. The candids you want,” I say. “Let me just reply to her text from earlier.”

Since I already texted Simone and she’s all good, I yank my phone out of my pocket and text Lucy. Any word from FLI?

Nothing, she replies immediately. Sorry.

Yeah, me too. They must have gone with another photographer.

I didn’t need that job, but I wanted it. Not only would it have been fun, but it would have been very distracting.

After I close the text app, I raise my face. Mark’s peering at me again, but his expression is unreadable. So much so that I wish Hannah were yawning and ready to hit the hay so I could just ask Mark if he’s still onboard for tonight’s festivities.

“Guys, it’s Wednesday,” Hannah says, setting aside her crafts. “You know what that means?”

“Hump day!” Flip announces with a chuckle. “I’m surprised Asher isn’t out hitting the nightclubs right now.” He gives me a knowing smile, and I try my best to return it but I’m pretty sure I fail.

“No, it’s our new game night,” Hannah says firmly. “Let’s start with a few rounds of Wits and Wagers. And after Mark crushes us, we’ll switch to a bloodthirsty game of Scrabble. Who’s in?”

“Me!” Flip raises his hand.

“I’m in. I just need to call Rosie to say goodnight,” Mark says, shoulders hunched, like he doesn’t want to play either.

Hannah reaches into a shopping bag and pulls out the travel edition of both games. She’s going to be the greatest mother in the world, I bet. She’s always prepared. And Flip will probably be a great dad, because he’s good at everything he tries. Mark will probably rule the world with his spreadsheets. And I’ll still be a fuck-up, hot mess, living gig to gig and hitting the clubs until I’m eighty-seven years old.