Page 12 of The Wedding Situation Romance

“You know I have to give you a hard time,” I say.

“That’s all you’ve done is give me shit,” he shoots back. “Ever since I told you I was proposing to Cass.”

“Well, as your best friend, it was my duty.”

“To prevent me from ever being happy?”.

“To prevent you from making the biggest mistake of your life,” I answer.

His head cocks to the side as he narrows his eyes. “You’re not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be,” I chuckle. “Drew, do you know what the leading cause of divorce is?”

But he doesn’t let me finish my favorite statement.

“Listen, asshole, just because you don’t believe in love doesn’t mean you have to ruin forever for everyone else.”

But this only encourages my smirk to a full grin. “Drew. You’re forty-five. This is your second marriage. What happened to forever the first time around?”

“What happened was Jenny and I wanted different things,” he defends himself. “Cass and I are different. Much more aligned.”

“Except when it comes to colors named after fish,” I chortle.

“Yeah, well, we’ll figure that one out,” he says and I actually laugh. After a second, Drew begrudgingly joins in.

I find all of it morbidly amusing, my friends’ ability to put all their eggs in one basket, have that basket get smashed when marriage doesn’t go as planned, only to put all their leftover eggs in another basket and expect a different outcome. It’s ludicrous to me, and yet I have several friends all getting remarried for the second time in the next couple of months.

Three, in fact, and that’s not including Justin’s wedding.

Nick is the next one. Then AJ. And finally Drew after that.

How I am going to survive any of them is a mystery.

They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I’ve always found it amazing what doesn’t actually kill you. Pretty sure sitting through weddings would be my kryptonite if that were the case.

“Look, I’ll be there,” I say in an attempt to keep my friend from having an aneurysm.

God knows the bride to be is probably inflicting enough stress on the poor guy. The way women transform into gremlins when they’re planning a wedding should be a huge red indication of why marriage is a bad idea.

But what do I know? I just make a living off of divorces. And a luxuriously comfortable living it is…

“You have to be,” he snorts. “You’re the best man, remember?”

“Of course I remember,” I shoot back.

“And you do know that the best man has a lot of responsibilities. It’s not just a show up in the right suit sitch. You have to plan the bachelor party, figure out the open bar which, by the way,Cassidy only wants champagne and wine, and make sure none of the other groomsmen fuck anything up.”

“Right. So strippers, tequila and personalized flasks for the guys. Got it. Anything else?” I ask with a grin.

“You’re an ass.”

“I’m a lawyer,” I say. “I have a reputation to keep.”

“Speaking of that,” Drew says after downing the rest of his drink (thank God…), “you’re not coming to the wedding alone, are you?”

“Why does it matter?” I ask, still sipping on my coffee. I didn’t refer to his concoction as coffee. Because it’s not.

“Because showing up stag to your best friend’s wedding is kind of tacky,” he says as though the answer was obvious.