I tugged at my tie, already sweating and wishing I hadn’t promised to wear one. The tuxedos Mom had insisted that my brother and I wear were wool—and it was August. I’d doubled up on deodorant because no one likes a stinky best man and I didn’t want to offend the wedding party. Especially since the bride could field strip a Beretta in less than four seconds.
Mike, in full dress uniform, paced back and forth in the tiny Sunday school room assigned as “guy parking.” Every time he finished his route, he checked his watch, wiped his forehead, then started the whole process again. Little puffs of dust rose with each step, settling on his shined shoes. If he noticed that, he’d come unglued; I had to calm him down before he gave himself heat stroke. I was also starting to envy my brother for drawing usher duty instead of having to babysit our stressed-out uncle.
“Uncle Mike,” I said, “if you don’t stop pacing, you’re gonna wear a hole in the carpet.”
He nodded so quickly he resembled my Brett Favre bobble head. “Yeah, okay.”
I smothered a laugh. “Dude, I’ve never seen you this worked up. Chill.”
“I guess I am wound pretty tight.” Mike sat on the edge of a plastic chair sized for a preschooler. His knees nearly bumped his chin. “I’m so nervous, I can’t even remember my vows.”
A knock sounded against the door and Uncle Mike jumped to his feet. “Yes?”
My older sister, Mamie, opened the door a crack. She was serving as “wedding coordinator” and, being Mamie, she had everyone on a very precise schedule.
“It’s time,” she said, opening the door wider and beckoning for us to get moving.
We stepped into the hall, and Mamie looked us up and down. She immediately went to work straightening my tie, then tsked and bent to wipe the dust off Uncle Mike’s shoes. After we passed muster, she nodded briskly. “Perfect. Head to the vestibule and find the minister.”
Before she could turn to go, Uncle Mike reached out and tugged on one of her pigtails. “Thanks, Daisy May.”
“You’re very welcome.” Mamie’s pleased smile morphed into her best steely glare. “Now go. Clock’s ticking and we’re on a timetable, people!”
She scurried away, and I led my uncle to the little room behind the church’s chancel. Right before we went in, I grinned at Mike. “You survived a monster brawl. What’s a little wedding after that?”
His shoulders relaxed. “Right. Let’s do this.”
I followed him inside, still smiling and happy it was finally time to make the title “Badass Aunt Julie” official.
—end—
Want to know how Matt became a knife-wielder? Read on for an excerpt from Matt Archer: Monster Hunter, book one in the Matt Archer series.
Matt Archer: Monster Hunter
Chapter One
When I was fourteen years old, I was forced to make my first kill. Now I’m fifteen and I bagged two more just last week.
My name is Matt Archer. And I hunt monsters.
Matt Archer: Monster Summer Page 6
