4

Cash

As soon as the photographer tells us to wrap a hand around our partner’s waist, my breathing quickens. Dumb, I know. It’s just a stupid pose for some pictures. But being next to Britta, even looking at her, brings a sense of déjà vu that I can’t seem to shake. And the way she eyes me like there’s history between us I’m not privy to unsettles me.

From the day we first met, she’s never liked me. Her snarky remarks and pointed eye rolls always seemed to be aimed my way. I might’ve thought she was just a mean-spirited person, but I’ve seen the way she is with everyone else—funny, witty, even kind.

Apparently, all her ill will is saved solely for me. I just have no idea what I did to offend her.

After replaying our first meeting enough times to lose count, I still came up with nothing. Not even a hint to understand where her disdain comes from.

I’ve gone so far as to ask both A.J. and Liss if they know why she hates me. Neither one of them could offer an explanation. Liss mentioned something about Britta thinking all attractive guys must be players and she hates players. But I’m not that. Never have been. And I’m offended that she lumps every guy she deems attractive into a box of losers.

We both try to avoid each other when we’re forced to be in one another’s presence. This wedding, though…there’s no avoiding her. I’ve walked on eggshells around her this entire week, but today, it feels like I’m losing an uphill battle.

Guess I didn’t help myself with that comment about her date.

Sometimes I feel bad for guys like him. Ones who hang on to a woman for one reason or another, only for her to declare they’re “just friends.” I’d think Britta was the real player between us, but it sounds like he’s aware she’s not into him. Still, the dude stares at her like he wants her to be way more than a friend. And who can blame him? She’s stunning.

All thoughts of Britta’s date flee my mind as soon as my hand meets the curve of her waist. Warmth spreads across my palm as my callouses catch on the satin fabric of her dress. Her back remains rigid and stiff against my arm.

“A little closer, please,” the photographer says, holding the lens up to her eye. “Best man, I need you to move in a bit.” She waves me in further, which will inevitably put my chest flush against Britta’s back. I obey because…what else can I do? “That’s better,” she says. “Maybe a tad bit more.”

I scoot even closer until I’m partially pressed up against Britta.

“That’s perfect right there.” The photographer gives me a thumbs up, then begins snapping away.

I take a steady breath, willing myself not to inhale too deeply. Britta smells incredible . Like a juicy, freshly baked berry pie. Sugary sweet with just a hint of vanilla. A sudden ache pulses through my head, but I brush the feeling aside and instinctively tighten my grip on her. Britta’s breath catches, and I find myself glancing down.

“You okay?”

“Mmhm,” she hums through her practiced smile. “Why do you ask?”

I lean closer, taking care not to break my smile as I whisper back, “It sounded like you were trying to catch your breath.”

Her entire body tenses as she readjusts her stance. “I’m fine. Just…um…cold.”

At that, I shift even closer, wrapping my hand more tightly around her midsection, hoping to block some of the wind at our backs. “Sorry. This better?”

She inhales deeply, then lets out a sigh. “Sure.”

Once again, I get the feeling that she’s annoyed with me, but I can’t for the life of me understand why. I’m just trying to be a gentleman here, to keep her as warm and comfortable as possible during this photo session. Part of me wants to ask her directly why she hates me so much while another, more stubborn part says it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t owe me anything, and I don’t need her to like me. Sure, we might be forced to hang out with each other sometimes since we’ve got mutual friends, but it is what it is.

“If me touching you is making you uncomfortable, I’ll back off,” I say in a low murmur. “Just trying to help keep you warm and give A.J. and Liss a good picture.”

A scoff has a white puff of air leaving her lips. “Your touch doesn’t affect me at all.”

The pure venom in her voice takes me aback. I’m not sure how to respond, but I do loosen my grip on her waist.

My sinister side says to give her a reason to hate me. It’s clear she’s already made her mind up about the kind of guy I am without even knowing me, going far enough to purposely be rude to me. But the logical side of my brain wins out, and I tap into the patience Aunt Betty raised me with.

“A simple thank you would’ve sufficed.”

She doesn’t scoff this time. I chance a look at her face. Lips pursed, she blinks repeatedly. Enough times that I wonder if she has something stuck in her eye.

“Fine,” she huffs. “Thank you.”

The photographer takes a second to readjust Liss and A.J. while the rest of us relax and wait. “Does that mean it’s working?” I ask in a whisper. “Am I blocking the wind?”

A long sigh drains out of her before she releases a breathy yes .

When the photographer gets back into position, I resume my previous stance and tighten my hold around Britta. My smile widens when I feel her body relax into mine. A small sense of victory sparks inside my chest.

Maybe Aunt Betty was right and killing them with kindness really is the best way to win judgmental people over. Usually, I ignore those who turn their nose up at me for the way I look, all covered in tattoos and piercings like I am. But Britta doesn’t strike me as someone who’d write me off immediately because of my appearance.

Either way, I’m not about to ask her. She can keep her judgy ideas to herself.

We take a few different shots at the photographer’s discretion, and thankfully not all of them require Britta and me to stay close. The sight of her flushed, rosy cheeks tugs at my sympathy. It shouldn’t with how annoyed she is by my existence, but I can’t kill off my sympathetic side just for someone like her. I’d offer her my suit coat if I didn’t think she’d toss it in the snow at her feet.

Liss and A.J. steal the show with their poses, and weirdly enough, I’m kind of excited to see how these pictures come out. That’s a first. There’s something undeniably enviable about a relationship like theirs, even for a guy like me who shuns romance like the plague.

These two, though…they just work. And when things get hard, because life always gets hard, they don’t collapse under the pressure. They cling to each other and are stronger for it in the end. It’s impossible not to crave having something like that with another person.

Jules and I sort of had a relationship like that growing up, though it’s different when it’s your sister. After we moved in with our aunt when Dad got deployed, all we had was each other. We found out early on how tough life is. But because we always had each other to lean on—and Aunt Betty, who had our backs—we didn’t crumble when Dad was killed in the line of duty. We struggled for a while, but we came through on the other side with a resiliency that I’m proud of.

I may not be as brave as Dad was, but I’d like to think I got a few of his good traits. His stubborn resolve to do the right thing in the face of evil, his desire to help those less fortunate. His love for music, the drums specifically. Even his affinity for motorcycles. But I also think I might’ve inherited a few of his shortcomings. The most glaring one being that he never stopped loving the wrong woman.

Old memories of Mom crop up, and I shove them back into the dusty old box in my mind. No use being bitter when she’s not around to defend herself. Meredith, though…she’s alive and well—thriving, I’m sure, now that I’m not in her life anymore. I never was emotionally intelligent enough for her, anyway…at least, that’s what she claimed when I found the inappropriate texts to her boss.

My head instantly begins to ache at the painful memory. I rub my temples and follow after the small wedding party when the photographer tells us we’re done and to head back inside. Jules says I should see someone—a therapist or counselor. That it’s not natural to get a headache every time thoughts of your ex pop up. But I’d rather not be dissected or told I need to get over it already. Besides, it’s probably just because of the accident. Anytime a painful memory crops up, physical pain seems to accompany it.

And I am over Meredith. I hardly think of her at all anymore. Doesn’t mean I’m ready to jump into anything with someone else, but still. I’m healed…ish.

“You good, man?” Mark asks, clapping me on the shoulder. “You look like you got a headache.”

“Nah, I’m all right.” I shoot him a confident smile. “Just ready to eat.”

He rubs his stomach and laughs. “Me too. Jen says they’re making short ribs, which, let me tell you right now, are delicious. Like melt in your mouth fantastic.”

My mouth waters. Maybe I was just hangry. Maybe that’s Britta’s problem today too. Wish I could blame that for all our previous interactions.

Our group is ushered toward the lavishly decorated dining hall where wedding reception guests are awaiting our arrival. I have no doubt A.J. and his parents spared no expense, as they rarely do when it comes to their family.

“Okay, everybody, line up,” the photographer stage whispers once we’re facing the entrance to the hall. “Get with your partner so the ma?tre de can announce you. Don’t mind me; I’ll be snapping some pictures as you make your way to the table reserved for the wedding party.” She whispers something to Liss, then disappears through the double doors that lead to the reception area.

Liss arranges Lyric and Eli at the front of our group before she and A.J. move toward the back. A.J. elbows me as he passes. “You and Britta go before us.”

I nod, then take my position in front of them. Britta’s engaged in conversation with Vivian, the other piece of their friend group pie, when her gaze finds mine. I look away, intent on ignoring the daggers she insists on shooting at me.

The doors to the hall swing open, and the ma?tre d’s voice echoes through the speakers. Lyric and Eli go first when their names are called, and the crowd cheers for the two kids. Music pumps through the dimly lit room as strobe lights reflect off the walls. Vivian and Mark go next. They hold their joined hands in the air and dance their way to the table, making a whole show of it.

“We should do something,” Britta says, with a resigned sigh. “I don’t want to be the odd one out.” She bites her lip, thinking. “Okay, when they call our names, let’s head inside like normal, then halfway to the table, spin me out.”

My attention locks on her face. “ Spin you out ? What—”

“Just do it,” she demands, sliding her hand to my bicep.

I genuinely don’t know what she’s talking about…unless she means like spinning her out in a dance? That has to be it, right?

Guess we’re going with that because our names are called through the microphone, and I’m left without time to wonder. As we step forward, Britta’s hand slides from my bicep, down my arm, and links with mine. Without waiting for any kind of prompt from me, she wraps my arm around her, then spins herself outward like a pro. Like some professional ballerina. My brain tries to catch up, and I raise my arm for her to twirl underneath, which she does with expert level confidence before twirling back into my side.

The crowd erupts in cheers as I gaze into her hazel eyes, wondering what the heck just happened. Her dark eyebrows raise slightly.

“Nice,” she says as takes my hand again and leads us to the table. I’m still caught in a stunned stupor when we part to take our seats. At least we’re seated on opposite sides of each other, her on Liss’s side, me on A.J.’s. She won’t have to pretend to like me, and I won’t be forced to be polite to her all night.

Win, win.

Liss and A.J. are next, dancing their way into the hall until A.J. dips Liss back and kisses her with one fist raised in the air like he’s purposely trying to work the crowd into a love-sick frenzy. The wedding guests eat it up, clinking their glasses with fury, chanting their well wishes for the newly married couple.

“They’re gonna do that even more now, aren’t they?” Lyric whines from my left. Britta wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her into her side.

“Yeah, honey, probably. But that’s what people who love each other very much do.” She looks down at the kid, softness lining her eyes. “But it’s worth it to have A.J. as your dad, right?”

Lyric’s smile blossoms into one of pure joy. “Definitely.”

Britta raises her gaze, and once again, we’re caught in a stare down. I dip my chin, impressed with the way she handled that. She doesn’t respond other than to face the couple trotting happily toward us.

A.J.’s smirk and Liss’s cherry-red blush mark their obvious infatuation with one another.

A surge of jealousy cuts through me, too harsh to be ignored. But being the best man means it’s my job to offer constant congratulations to these two tonight. To lead the way in celebrating their commitment to one another. Which is hard for someone like me who has sworn off romance. I know in my heart I’m not being genuine.

Except every time I lock eyes with Britta, my animosity gives way to curiosity. And I start to wonder if what Liss and A.J. have could be replicated in my own life.