A Beautiful Wedding

I followed his line of sight to the next block over. “A hotel? Shep, I love ya, man, but it’s not a real bachelor party. I’m married. And even if I weren’t, I still wouldn’t have sex with you.”

Shepley shook his head. “There’s a bar in there. It’s not a club. Is that permitted on your long list of marriage rules?”

I frowned. “I just respect my wife. And yes, douche bag, we can go in there.”

“Awesome,” he said, rubbing his hands together.

We walked across the street, and Shepley opened the door. It was pitch-black.

“Uh . . .” I began.

Suddenly the lights turned on. The twins, Taylor and Tyler, threw confetti in my face, music began to blare, and then I saw the worst thing I’d ever seen in my life: Trenton in a man thong, covered in about ten pounds of body glitter. He had on a cheap, yellow wig, and Cami was laughing her head off, cheering him on.

Shepley pushed me in the rest of the way. My dad was on one side of the room, standing next to Thomas. They were both shaking their heads. My uncle Jack was on the other side of Thomas, and then the rest of the room was filled with Sigma Tau brothers and football players.

“I said no strippers,” I said, watching dumbfounded as Trenton danced around the room to Britney Spears.

Shepley burst into laughter. “I know, brother, but looks like the stripping happened before we got here.”

It was a train wreck. My face screwed into disgust as I watched Trenton bump and grind his way across the room—even though I didn’t want to. Everyone in the room was cheering him on. Cardboard cutouts of tits were hanging from the ceiling, and there was even a booby cake on a table next to my dad. I’d been to several bachelor parties before, and this one had to win some sort of a freak prize.

“Hey,” Trenton said, breathless and sweaty. He pulled a few yellow strands of fake hair from his face.

“Did you lose a bet?” I asked.

“As a matter of fact, I did.”

Taylor and Tyler were across the room, slapping their knees and laughing so hard they could barely breathe.

I slapped Trenton’s ass. “You look hot, bro.”

“Thanks,” he said. The music started and he shook his hips at me. I pushed him away, and, undeterred, he danced across the room to entertain the crowd.

I looked at Shepley. “I can’t wait to watch you explain this to Abby.”

He smiled. “She’s your wife. You do it.”

For the next four hours, we drank, and talked, and watched Trenton make a complete ass out of himself. My dad, as expected, cut out early. He, along with my other brothers, had a plane to catch. We were all flying to St. Thomas in the morning for the renewal of my vows.

For the last year, Abby tutored, and I did some personal training at the local gym. We’d managed to save a little after school costs, rent, and the car payment to fly to St. Thomas and stay a few days in a nice hotel. We had plenty of things the money could have gone to, but America kept talking about it and wouldn’t let us drop the idea. Then when America’s parents presented us with the wedding gift/America’s birthday present/anniversary gift, we tried to say no, but America was insistent.

“All right, boys. I’m going to be hurtin’ in the morning if I don’t call it a night.”

Everyone groaned and taunted me with words like whipped and pu**y, but the truth was they were all used to the new, tamer Travis Maddox. I hadn’t put my fist to someone’s face in almost a year.

I yawned, and Shepley punched me in the shoulder. “Let’s go.”

We drove in silence. I wasn’t sure what Shepley was thinking about, but I couldn’t f**king wait to see my wife. She’d left the day before, and that was the first time we’d been apart since we’d been married.

Shepley pulled up to the apartment and shut off the car. “Front door service, loser.”

“Admit it. You miss it.”

“The apartment? Yeah, a little. But I miss you fighting and us making shit tons of money more.”

“Yeah. I do sometimes, too. See you in the morning.”

“Pick you up right back here at six thirty.”

“Later.”

Shepley drove away while I slowly climbed the steps, searching for the apartment key. I hated coming home when Abby wasn’t here. There was nothing worse after we met, and it was the same now. Maybe even more miserable because Shepley and America weren’t even there to annoy me.

I pushed in the key and opened the door, locking it behind me and tossing my wallet onto the breakfast bar. I had already taken Toto to the pet hotel to be boarded while we were gone. It was too f**king quiet. I sighed. The apartment had changed a lot in the last year. The posters and bar signs had come down, and pictures of us and paintings went up. It was no longer a bachelor pad, but it was a good trade.

I went into my bedroom, stripped down to my Calvin Klein boxer briefs, and climbed into the bed, burying myself under the blue and green floral comforter—something else that would have never seen the inside of this apartment had Abby not had a hand in it. I pulled her pillow over and rested my head on it. It smelled like her.

The clock read 2:00 AM. I would be with her in twelve hours.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN FOURTEEN

Bachelorette

Abby

Those seated on the far edge of the restaurant began to scream, nearly pushing over tables and children to get away. Wineglasses broke and silverware clanged on the floor. A pineapple-shaped hurricane was knocked over, rolled off a table, and broke. America rolled her eyes at the twenty or so people gathered a few tables over. “Christ on the cross, people! It’s just a little rain!”

The waitstaff and hostesses scrambled to release the rolled-up walls of the outdoor restaurant.

“And you were grumbling because we didn’t have an ocean view,” Harmony teased.

“Yeah, those snobby bitches aren’t smirking now, are they?” America said, nodded and smiling to the six-pack of blondes now huddling and wet.

“Knock it off, Mare. You’ve had one too many glasses of wine,” I said.

“I’m on vacation, and it’s a bachelorette party. I’m supposed to be drunk.”

I patted her hand. “That would be fine if you weren’t a mean drunk.”

“Fuck you, whore, I am not a mean drunk.” I glared at her, and she winked at me and smiled. “Just kiddin’.”

Harmony let her fork fall to her plate. “I’m stuffed. Now what?”

America pulled a small three-ring binder from her purse with a devious grin. It had small, foam letters glued to the front that read TRAVIS & ABBY and our wedding date. “Now we play a game.”

“What kind of game?” I asked, wary.

She opened the binder. “Since Cami couldn’t be here until tomorrow, she made you this,” she said, turning the front over to read the words painted on the front. “The What Would Your Husband Say? Game. I’ve heard about it. Super fun, although typically it’s about your future husband,” she said, shifting excitedly in her seat. “So . . . Cami asked Travis these questions last week, and sent the book with me.”

“What?” I shrieked. “What kind of questions?”

“You’re getting ready to find out,” she said, waving the waiter over. He brought a full tray of brightly colored Jell-O shots.

“Oh my,” I said.

“If you get them wrong, you drink. If you get them right, we drink. Ready?”