The Worst Wedding Date
: Chapter 13

The world is a beautiful place with a few people I’d like to punch.

Beautiful? Laney in a bikini. Even if it gave me a boner that I couldn’t hide behind a mountain and that’s still half-hard a couple hours later.

People I’d like to punch?

The Sullivan triplets.

All three of them.

Yes, they’re my friends. Some of my favorite friends, in fact.

But they fucking looked at Laney in a bikini.

Didn’t think Decker would be the one who thought she lost her sunglasses and not her top, but he’s only alive because he did.

And I’m only able to walk next to Laney on the way to dinner tonight because I’m making myself think about how dead Sabrina would make me if I asked Laney if she wants help with her cannonball later.

Sabrina wouldn’t believe I was only worried about Laney’s form.

She’d probably be right to believe that.

And so I’m battling a woody again as Laney and I meet Emma right off the lanai where we’re having dinner tonight. Chandler’s not here.

Don’t care why. I’m just grateful I don’t have to worry about looking at him wrong in front of Emma.

Em’s all smiles and light and joy, as always, while she squeals and hugs Laney and asks how her day was.

Laney says nothing about trips to the hospital or kittens or losing her bikini top. It’s only such a beautiful place and I’m so glad we’re here and I can’t believe you’re finally getting married.

Is this—is this the two of us being on the same side?

No. No way.

Not getting my hopes up there again.

“Aww, who’s the prettiest baby sister in the history of pretty?” I say when it’s my turn to hug Emma.

“Stop, you goof.”

“But you are.”

She beams at me. And it’s not a regular beam. It’s a this is all finally coming together the way I’ve dreamed it would since I was nine years old when I decided I wanted to one day get married at this Hawaiian resort that I saw in a magazine.

It’s a nut-punch kind of beam. I’ve stayed away from her all day, and she’s having the best damn day of her life.

Knock it off, I tell myself. This isn’t about you. Just be happy for her. Be happy for you having a good day too.

And it was a good day.

In retrospect, waking up holding my own dick and not knowing it because my hand was asleep is a story for the ages. Gonna have to use that next time I make a video. Watching Laney with the kittens was good. And I don’t regret telling her I liked her in high school.

Who can’t use the lift of knowing they’re attractive?

Even if we need to work on her not believing me. Never would’ve guessed Laney Kingston had self-esteem issues.

But clearing the air is clearing the air, and I had to tell her if we’re going to move on.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Emma says to me. “I heard you were quite the superstar with the younger crowd on the beach this morning.”

“Just found where my maturity level fit.”

She rolls her eyes and hugs me again. “Thank you for avoiding Chandler and not being mad at me,” she whispers.

“I ran over a kid at the beach, got sand in my eyes, and had to be taken to the doctor so I wouldn’t go blind,” I whisper back.

She laughs.

But only until she cuts her laugh off, jerks back, and stares at me in horror. “Oh my god, you’re serious. That’s why you missed lunch?”

She looks between me and Delaney, and when Laney winces and makes the he’s not lying but we handled it and all is fine face, Em squeaks like I’ve just deflated her joy balloon.

“Nobody died, and I can still see.” I smile at my sister and fling an arm around Delaney’s shoulders. “Brilliant of you to give me a keeper who can handle it all so effortlessly.”

Em flushes. “Theo, I—”

“Theo, you’re right,” I interject in a falsetto. “I’m brilliant, which goes without saying, and Delaney’s much prettier than Chandler’s ancient Aunt Brenda, and I’m glad you recognize what a giant favor I’ve done for you with your date this week.”

“If all he has is that I’m prettier than Chandler’s ancient aunt with the permanent scowl on her face, then I’m doing my job right,” Delaney quips.

“What’s that, you little whore?” Aunt Brenda says behind us.

Emma jumps. Delaney jumps and gasps and her face morphs into a tomato.

I slowly turn to frown at Aunt Brenda.

She’s technically Chandler’s great-aunt, but she’s really the entire town’s cranky old aunt.

And she has about ten seconds to take back the name before Ugly Theo enters the conversation. “Hey, Auntie No-No. Insulting my date? Tsk, tsk, Auntie No-No. So rude. What would your mother think?”

Laney makes a strangled noise.

The old bag of crankiness peers at me. “What would your mother think?”

“Of you tossing out insults to my sister and her wedding guests?”

“Of you.”

I grin and wink at her, even though she’s on my shit list. “She’d probably be glad I went for someone my own age instead of succumbing to all the flirting you’ve done with me over the years.”

Laney makes another noise, but this one’s definitely more amused.

Emma slides between us. “You’re sitting with my parents and my cousin and some of your nieces and nephews, Aunt Brenda. You remember my cousin Sandor? He loves hearing how many bra-burners you arrested back in the day.”

Sandor, the poor dude with horrible timing, flashes Emma a horrified look as he stops behind Aunt Brenda.

“Immodest hippies,” Aunt Brenda grumbles.

Laney flinches.

And I get a flashback to her cannonball and the results of it at the pool.

It was a minus five on a ten-point scale as far as cannonballs go.

And I’m trying very, very hard to remember that instead of letting my mind speculate on the show I missed under the water when her top came off and how much I’d love to sneak her down to the pool late tonight to help her with her form.

“Ah, and here’s Sandor now.” Emma smiles at him. “He’s in banking. You should ask him if he’s ever seen any fraud.”

Aunt Brenda is still eyeing me. “She’s too good for you, and you know it.”

“Who?” I ask.

“This woman you claim is your date.”

“Didn’t you just call her a very unflattering name?”

“Whores are too good for you.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t have fun until she figures that out for herself.” I wink at her again. “Name-callers go to hell, Auntie No-No.”

She points at me and looks at Emma. “I want to sit with him. He needs someone to keep him on his best behavior.”

Emma gives me The Look.

It’s basically the only look that isn’t Emma being a perpetually optimistic, believe-the-best-of-everyone ray of sunshine.

Too bad, really. There’s little I love more than pushing Auntie No-No until she cracks.

In irritation or laughter, I generally don’t care. If Aunt Brenda wants to be miserable her whole life, that’s her business. Can’t fix that kind of determination.

But if Emma doesn’t want me making a scene, I won’t make a scene.

At least, not much more of a scene.

“I have really bad gas,” I tell Aunt Brenda. “It’s loud. And it smells. I wouldn’t want to sit with me if I were you.”

I belatedly remember that when she wasn’t arresting hippie bra-burners, she was a middle school gym teacher. Probably had all her sniffer sensors burned off already.

Which might account for why she’s always cranky. I would be too if I couldn’t smell coffee or cookies or flowers or Laney’s shampoo.

Stop it, dumbass. Not Laney’s shampoo.

But it was probably the wrong tactic.

Aunt Brenda’s scowl gets deeper.

It was definitely the wrong tactic.

She grabs Sandor by the arm. “Flatulence jokes are for people without two brain cells to rub together. Back in my day, we never would’ve discussed it with our elders either. Come, young man. You don’t have flatulence, do you?”

“N-no,” Sandor stammers while Aunt Brenda drags him onto the lanai where we’re having luau food and dance lessons tonight.

“Theo.” Emma’s full-on glaring and hissing at me as Auntie No-No marches away. “She’s had serious digestive issues that have caused a few horrifically embarrassing moments in public the past few years.”

I open my mouth.

Close it again.

Whoops. “Sorry, Em. I’ll stick to sports and babies and the unstoppable forces of physics as my only conversation topics at dinner. Cross my heart.”

“We’ll go replace seats,” Delaney interjects in a strangled voice. She hugs Emma again. “Don’t worry, sweetie. They all know who you’re related to and no one holds you accountable for that.”

“Yeah. You’re related to awesome people,” I say. “The best of the best. And you’re even bester than the rest of us.”

Delaney grabs my arm and tugs.

I follow like a freaking dog.

But four more steps down the small, tropical-flowery-bush-lined corridor toward the lanai for tonight’s private family dinner, she makes a noise that almost sounds like a stifled laugh.

I shoot a glance at her.

Is she—holy fuck.

She is.

She’s laughing.

“You like fart jokes?” I ask her in my most seductive voice. “Because if you love fart jokes, there are way more where that came from.”

Can’t help myself.

My hormones have decided it’s time to win Delaney over. There’s no try your normal tactics on her either.

This is go big or go home.

Be so ridiculous that when she doesn’t take my interest in her seriously, I know it’s my own fault.

Is this self-preservation? Or is this me really wanting to see that Delaney who whispered that she wanted to make a sandcastle this morning?

Fuck.

It’s definitely me wanting to see the Laney who’d make a sandcastle.

She makes a muffled, high-pitched noise despite pinching her lips together, and then she does the most un-Delaney-like thing ever, and after a quick glance behind us, she yanks me off the boardwalk and into the bushes.

She looks toward the ocean, then tightens her grip and pulls me even farther into a dimly lit tropical alcove between the resort buildings, the beach, and the lanai.

Yessss, my dick says.

I tell it to shut up.

She probably wants to make sure we’re too far away to be overheard.

When she finally stops, we’re beneath a coconut tree. I peer up. Way up.

Is it likely one of those coconuts will fall on us?

The breeze makes the palms sway above us, and I push Laney over to a shorter, non-coconut-bearing tree.

She looks up like she’s just noticing the coconut tree.

Her eyes flare wide.

She squeaks. Takes a long step farther from the coconut tree.

And then she doubles over as something thunks behind me.

Are you kidding me?

There’s a new coconut on the ground where we were just standing.

And she’s laughing.

Laney.

Laney Kingston.

Princess Plainy-Laney. Prim and proper rule-follower who left me with an aching boner in the pool by showing up in a bikini and almost made me come in the pool in the aftermath of a terrible cannonball.

She’s doubled over laughing at fart jokes and nearly dying by falling coconut.

Laney laughing?

This is ten levels beyond Laney playing with kittens.

I am not the guy who had a crush on this woman in high school.

I’m the idiot who still does.

Emma’s sunshine. Sabrina’s fun.

But Laney?

Laney’s like this secret castle. She’s a mystery. An enigma. I always wanted to believe she’s hiding something magical and special and out of this world behind that mansion-on-the-hill exterior.

And now I want to believe I can be the guy who helps her replace what she probably doesn’t even know she has inside of her.

Because of moments like this.

Moments when she’s completely unguarded. Letting go and letting herself enjoy the lighter side of life.

I want inside her castle.

I want to replace where that fun part of her is, where the adventurous part of her is, and I want to help her let it out.

And right now, I get to watch her just be. And enjoy herself just being. And laugh like nothing else in the world matters.

And know that she trusts me to be the guy she shares this moment with.

“We can’t go to dinner,” she gasps between peals of laughter.

That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day. But when she says it, I can’t help the way I brace myself like this is a trap.

Liking Laney has never ended well for me. And no amount of telling myself that I’m so much better for her today than I was in high school can alleviate the instinctive fear that letting myself like her again will end just as badly. “Why?”

“God, Theo, things just happen when you’re around. They’ll probably serve peach flambé for dessert, and just because you’re in the room, the flames will go too high and set the banana trees on fire.”

I swallow.

Once in high school, late enough that I had access to a car and could drive, Emma had a fancy dinner for some honors thing that everyone’s families went to. It was all of the good kids, the smart kids, the right kids, and then there was me.

And then there was Delaney.

She had looked like she’d just been informed every college in the nation had rejected her because grades weren’t real, and her entire life was upside down.

I knew why.

Her preppy boyfriend had just dumped her because they wanted different things out of life.

And what I wanted was to throw her over my shoulder, blow off the dinner, and take her up to Marmot Cliff to look at the stars and show her how much all of the fancy shit and the stuffy shit and the assholes didn’t matter when you could see the Milky Way, but I knew she’d tell me that wasn’t proper.

So I blew off the dinner and took myself up there.

And I didn’t enjoy it at all.

My head was back there where Laney was upset, and I was pissed at myself for caring enough to let it ruin a great night up on the cliff, and pissed at myself for not having the courage to offer it to her anyway.

So having her suggest we blow off a family dinner where I’d have to avoid Chandler and avoid Aunt Brenda and avoid making subtle threats to the Sullivan triplets about looking at Laney wrong?

Chandler’s obnoxious laugh drifts through the air, and every muscle in my back tightens.

But then I look at Laney, who’s wiping tears from her eyes, she’s laughing so hard.

And then I glance at the sun sinking low on the horizon between the lanai where family dinner is supposed to be and the black-rock-covered beach closer to where I want to be.

Banana leaves are full of water. Doubt they burn easily.

But she’s not wrong.

If I go in there and something goes wrong, it’ll be my fault, and if there’s one thing I want more than anything for my sister, it’s for her to be happy.

With or without me around.

I nod once and take her by the elbow, ignoring the shiver that races up my arm at the feel of her soft skin beneath my fingertips. “I’ll drive.”