4. Steve

Friday nights are the best nights. I get to relax, eat food that's bad for me, and listen to my friends argue about ridiculous things like how many experience points they should get for slaying a purple wildebeest who can breathe fire.

In other words, it's the night I play Dungeons and Dragons.

I park in front of Henry's ridiculous mansion. He was tacky enough to build a custom house with medieval turrets and a water feature that's basically a suburban version of a moat. He isn't married, so there wasn't anyone to talk him out of it.

I park behind two sports cars and a minivan. The sports cars belong to James and Griff. They're not married either, and they built Henry's software empire alongside him, so they have plenty of money to burn. The minivan belongs to Cooper. He's the only one of us who can have a full conversation with an omega without making a complete fool of himself, so naturally, he has a husband and three kids. Hence, the minivan. He also helped build Henry's software empire, which is why it's a nice minivan. He manages the HR department. I do the accounting, but as a contractor. When they all started a company together, I wanted to continue working for my alpha dad's accounting firm. We were able to find a happy medium that allowed me to support them, while still taking over my dad's business the way I've wanted to since I was a kid.

Most days, I think working with my dad is worth the money I gave up by not going into business with my best friends. Other days, I look at Griff's car, and I wonder what it would be like to not carry around jumper cables.

I walk up the cobblestone pathway to Henry's front door. It has an ornate metal door knocker that we're expected to use every Friday night. I grasp the cold metal and slam it down three times.

"Who goes there!?" Henry calls out in a fake British accent.

I clear my throat. "It is I, Sir Lance Shiningsword."

It's not the most original name, but in my defense, I'm an accountant, not a writer.

The door swings open dramatically. Henry stands in the entryway wearing full suit of armor, including a helmet and a long red cape that James frequently reminds him is historically inaccurate. James, Griff, and Cooper stand behind him in their T-shirts and jeans. James rolls his eyes, but he's smiling.

Henry is always too much. That's why we like him.

"If thou wishes to cross the threshold, thou must answer three questions," Henry says in his deep, resonating voice that's perfect for all his theatrics.

"You should feel special," Cooper says. "He didn't make us answer any questions."

"Silence!" Henry booms.

Cooper mimes zipping his mouth shut and throwing away the key.

"I will answer the questions," I offer.

Henry puffs out his chest. "What is your name?"

"Sir Lancelot Shiningsword, as I just mentioned."

"What is your quest?" he asks.

"Um, to find the holy grail?"

Henry hunches forward and a hissing sound comes from his armor. I think he's laughing in there. "Sorry," he whispers in his regular voice, and he stands straight again. "What is your favorite color?"

Cooper and Griff roar with laughter. Henry tries to laugh with them too, but laughing is usually a full-body thing for him with lots of rocking back and forth, and his movement is severely hindered by the armor.

James sighs dramatically. "The Monty Python references are getting out of control, Henry. Last week was all about shrubberies, and the week before we got turned into newts."

"Well, we got better," Griff says, before he and Cooper dissolve into peals of laughter all over again.

This is why only one of us is married. This. Right here.

I step inside Henry's house. The main foyer is more like a museum than a home with displays of the very first Rubik's Cube, a first edition copy of the players manual for Dungeons and Dragons, plus a few original paintings that ended up on cards in the game Magic, the Gathering.

He pulls off his helmet to reveal his ruddy, round face. "Welcome, Sir Lance Shiningsword. We have mead and sustenance in the dining hall."

"Which means there's beer and wings in the kitchen," James says.

Henry places a hand covered in a metal glove on James's shoulder. "Doest thou have to destroy the vibe?"

"I don't think that's possible. You have vibes oozing out of your ears. I got mac and cheese for you. If you eat too many wings you'll get heartburn."

"But it will be worth it," Henry insists.

James eyes him warily. I think the reason Henry's been so successful is because he's had James to hold him back or turn him in a different direction when necessary. Henry gives his whole heart and soul into whatever he does. James makes sure that effort is funneled into the right places and properly compensated. He also prevents Henry's gastric reflux from getting out of control.

"If you eat the wings, your stomach will be too upset to enjoy the campaign," James says.

Henry lowers his hand and sighs. "Alas, methinks thou art correct."

My phone chimes. Even though I've been trying to not jump at every email like it's a message from my soul mate, I still pull it out of my pocket with my heart in my throat.

It's the agency. After a full week of waiting, they finally contacted me.

A match with a 92% compatibility has been found for you. Please visit our office in person to sign a nondisclosure agreement for more information.

They found someone for me. This is really happening.

"What is it?" James asks. "You look like you just won the lottery or something."

"Do you remember how I signed up for that matchmaking agency? The one that does all those tests for biological compatibility?"

He nods.

"They found a match for me. We have a 92% compatibility." I show them the screen of my phone.

Henry claps me on the back, the metal encasing his hand connecting with my body a little too forcefully. "Congratulations!"

"That's great," Cooper says. "What's his name? Did they give you any information about him?"

James points at the screen of my phone. "They're making him sign a nondisclosure agreement before he gets to learn anything about the guy. Do they always do that?"

"I don't know," I admit. "They didn't mention anything about a nondisclosure agreement when I signed up."

"Maybe your guy is high profile," Henry says. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to keep things private."

Henry is high profile too. His success forced his company, and by extension, himself, into the public eye. He's been mocked in the media for his idiosyncratic interests and dramatic personality. If my mate has had a similar experience, I don't blame him for being cautious during the matchmaking process.

"I guess I'll find out soon enough. And with a compatibility like 92%, he'll probably give me a real chance, right?" I ask.

If I was anywhere else, I'd worry about how pathetic I sounded, but I've never had to worry about that with Henry and the guys. Because he refuses to be anyone but his weird self, it makes me feel comfortable doing the same.

"An omega who signs up for a matchmaking agency is probably ready for a serious relationship, and you're the kind of guy who'd make a great husband," Cooper reassures me. This is why he's so great at HR. He always knows exactly what to say.

"You mean I'm boring," I joke.

"Boring is just another word for reliable," James says. "There isn't anything wrong with being reliable. Speaking of reliable, we should get started. Henry will probably keep us here for hours, and Cooper needs to get home before midnight."

James ushers us all back to the kitchen. I guess he's right. There isn't anything wrong with being reliable. That's what I like about my friends, isn't it? That's why it's so hard to meet new people. No one else in the world will be as wonderfully theatric as Henry or as tactfully honest as James. No one else will know exactly what to say to make me feel better like Cooper or laugh at all my jokes like Griff.

I just need a guy who can appreciate me the way I appreciate my friends.

A 92% compatibility is a good start.