Page 72 of The Wedding Situation Romance

Chapter 30

Reid

“You’re a lucky man,”Reid tells me while actively panting.

We are jogging through Central Park, and while it’s only been thirty minutes, he’s starting to get winded. I inwardly smile at that simply because I am competitive and I feel like we are just getting warmed up.

“And why’s that?” I ask.

“Because Cass finally believes there aren’t going to be any strippers at the bachelor party,” he says.

“So…should I call the company and tell them not to bother coming then?” I joke, and he shoots me a look to kill. I chuckle. “I’m kidding, obviously. We’re almost fifty, man. Why would we have strippers?”

“Listen. She was worried,” he says.

“Because you have a porn app on your phone?” I jab.

“No. Because you’re my best man…” I say, and my cocky grin disappears. “Me? What’s wrong with me? I’ve been single for years.”

“Exactly,” he says, slowing the pace a little. I consider giving him shit for it but then decide to cut him some slack. From the sound of it, Cassidy already has his balls in a vice grip. And I can’t imagine why a man our age would willingly put themselves through that on purpose.

“She has nothing to worry about. Like I said, we’re gonna drink old whiskey and play golf,” I tell him.

“I know.”

“It won’t be exciting at all,” I go on.

“I know,” he agrees. “But you do have to admit, having a best man who thinks marriage is a sham is kind of a red flag. Not for me because I know you and I know it’s all a cover, but Cass needed some convincing.”

“Thanks for the support,” I mutter. “But just because I don’t love the concept doesn’t mean I’m incapable of best man duties.”

Drew chuckles at that and slows to a walk as he takes a sip from his water bottle. “So, speaking of weddings. How was Myrtle?”

“It was…good,” I say, and I know Drew catches the lilt in my voice.

“Yeah?” he asks with surprise.

“Yeah,” I nod. “We had a lot of fun.”

He nods slowly. “What kind of fun?” he presses, and I know where he’s going with it.

“The kind of fun Quinn initiated…” I state, just to make it clear that it was not manipulated.

“Alright,” he says after a long moment, and I’m not really sure what to do with that. But I am smiling. And he catches it, which is in itself annoying. “So it was her idea…”

“It was her idea,” I reiterate.

“And you had nothing to do with it?”

“I mean, I was there. We were having a good time,” I say.

“A good time doing what?” he asks as we walk.

“Dancing. Eating. Drinking. Not much though, drinking I mean. It didn’t stem from that,” I explain, opening my own water bottle.

“No, it just stemmed from an out-of-town wedding, the beach, a full moon and one bed,” he muses, and I toss him a look.

“You sound like a fortune teller,” I mutter. “Next you’re going to ask to read my palm.”