Page 11 of The Wedding Situation Romance

Especially a man’s coffee.

“I’m listening,” I say, taking a sip of my dark roast. AKArealcoffee. No stirring, swirling, or sucking required. “You don’t want to wear purple to your wedding.”

“Lavender,” he corrects me, still fighting the caramel streaks in his cup. It’s no use. That shit’s like tar.

“Right,” I say.

“But the men aren’t wearing purple, lavender or otherwise,” he states.

“So what the hell are you so worked up about?” I ask.

“She wants salmon,” he says like he just dropped a mic on the stage.

“For the dinner?” I ask.

“No. For the tuxes. Well, the ties and vests. But still. Salmon, Reid,” he shakes his head and slurps his diabetes in a cup.

Full disclosure. Drew might be the only person in my entire life that I have actually cared about for an ongoing amount of time.

And Drew is getting married in a couple of weeks.

Yes, another wedding I am obligated to go to.

And to make matters even worse, I am the best man at this one.

But I will tell you one thing.

I won’t be wearing salmon.

“Tell her no,” I state, taking a sip of my coffee.

“I can’t tell Cassidy no,” he spits out as if I just told him to drive his car into a brick wall.

Although honestly, if he is really about to walk down the aisle with a woman who wants him to show up at his own wedding looking like a dead fish, he’s already kind of doing that.

“Why not?” I ask bluntly.

“She’s the bride,” he says, and I scoff.

“And you’re the groom. And the last I checked, that makes you the man in the relationship, which means if you don’t want to wear salmon or tuna or mackerel, you don’t have to.”

“I don’t think that’s how weddings work,” he says with a casual chuckle as he continues to slurp.

“Another reason why I don’t condone them,” I say, and Drew lets out a sigh.

“Listen, I know you’re a hotshot divorce lawyer, one of the best in all of New York City, and you don’t give a shit about weddings–”

“Make that two shits,” I interrupt. “Make thatanyshit…”

“But you’re my best friend. God only knows why. And that means you’re going to be the best man at my wedding. Andthatmeans, professional and personal views aside, I kind of need you to care about this wedding.”

I meet his eyes without blinking. Drew is not a lawyer. He’s a cardiologist. Which is actually kind of humorous if you think about it. My job breaks hearts, and his job saves them. All of that said, he is used to handling me and doesn’t blink either. Staring contests have kind of become our thing over the years.

“Negotiate on the salmon and we’ll talk,” I say, and he blinks.

“Jesus, you’re a pain in the ass,” he mutters, sitting back in his seat.

I smirk. I’m just giving him shit. I know how women are when it comes to weddings. What they say goes. And men go along withit because they don’t know any better. And despite having an actual physical revulsion to the idea of wearing a tux that color, I’ll go along with it if I have to.