Best Man

by Katy Evans

  “Yeah, but the bombing of Pearl Harbor’s a pretty—”

  “Do. Not. Speak. Okay?”

  He shrugs. “All right.”

  That lasts until the end of the next song. After that, he scratches his almost-beard and says, “So…that maid of honor of yours…what’s her name?”

  “Eva.” I sigh. I’m sure he’s going to bring up how she assaulted him by touching his ski jacket. “What about her?”

  “Just asking. She’s hot. She got a guy?”

  I can’t help taking my eyes off the road and gawking at him. He thinks she’s hot? Well, yes, obviously, she is. Eva is a tall, statuesque blonde who looks like she stepped off a magazine cover. Aaron’s always saying how hot she is. But I’ve never actually heard Miles throw admiring comments at, well, anyone.

  As much as I love Eva, I’ve had my share of green-with-envy moments. First of all, she comes from a fabulously wealthy family, and while she doesn’t flaunt it, because we’re so close, it always ends up right in my face. She travels all over the world on her vacations, and makes heads turn wherever she goes. People didn’t notice me in high school, most of all, because they were blinded by her golden light.

  And yes, she usually dates the hottest guys, so I suppose Miles would qualify. They’d probably make one of those enviable Hollywood power couples. Meva. Or Eviles?

  When Eva came home from Yale that first winter break (did I mention she was absolutely brilliant, too?), and I introduced her to gorgeous Aaron, it was the first time I’d ever felt like I had something she didn’t. I had the popular, hot, totally into-me boyfriend, and she was still searching the field of frat boy losers who weren’t interested in steady relationships.

  “No. She’s single.” I give him a sideways glance. “She told me how you nearly killed her for complimenting your ski jacket. So if you were trying to get her interest, you’re making a good impression.”

  “Yeah?” He thinks I’m serious. “She touched me. You tell her not to touch me?”

  “I did. She didn’t listen. She likes to touch. Unlike you.”

  “I’d be okay with it, under the right circumstances.”

  I think about him flirting with her, especially since he never really flirted with me, and I get a sour feeling in my stomach. No. Flirting is beneath Miles. I know the way he gets women into bed. He plays the strong, silent type.

  The second he opens his mouth, they go running.

  “Do those right circumstances involve a massive vat of hand sanitizer?”

  He ignores me, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Huh.”

  I can’t help being a little shocked. Aaron once told me the reason Miles is single is because he has hopelessly high expectations for women. According to Aaron, no one lives up to whatever his idea of the perfect woman is. He probably wants double D’s, a model’s face, and lord knows what else. Eva is stunningly gorgeous and might fulfill many of those expectations, but…

  I’m floored. Has someone real actually penetrated Miles’ bubble of perfection?

  Well, besides me. But that was just one night. And a big, drunken mistake.

  I really want to know what’s going through his head, now. “So…wait. You like her?”

  He laughs. “You should know by now. I don’t like anyone. But exceptions can be made.”

  Right. Exceptions can be made. He’ll let her touch him, just long enough to make him come.

  Now I’m really feeling sick. “Seriously. Stay away from my friends. Trust me when I say this—none of them is right for you.”

  He cocks an eyebrow at me. “What do you mean, right for me? How do you know what’s right for me?”

  “I mean, not one of them is batshit crazy. Like you.” I realize I’m laying off the gas and going fifty in a sixty-five when a truck moves around the dotted yellow line and barrels past me. I press on the gas with my flip-flop. “They want certain things from their men. Namely, someone who doesn’t get grossed out every time she touches him.”

  “It depends on what kind of touching you’re talking about.”

  Yes, I know he’s not against all touching. Oh boy, do I know. My first night with him made that abundantly clear.

  I do not need to be thinking about that! If there’s ever a day that’ll live in infamy, it’s that one.

  “Stop. Just…she’s not interested. She’ll never be interested. Let’s leave it at that. Okay?”

  He shrugs. “But who knows…with the alcohol properly flowing…the lights dimmed just the right amount…”

  Oh, I definitely know how that can be.

  We’ve been on the road for fifteen minutes and how are we supposed to make it for the other nine hours and forty-five?

  Simple.

  I have to tune him out. Get in the zone. Remember I’m marrying Aaron tomorrow, and everything’s going to be rainbows and sunshine. I’m going to have the best day of my life.

  I must ignore Miles Foster.

  So I mutter, “I know. It has a way of making people make the biggest mistakes of their lives.”

  And look at that. I’ve effectively shut him up.

  2:26 PM, December 6

  Miles and I are actually very good at pretending the other doesn’t exist.

  That’s because, despite our passionate hate for one another, we were often thrust together, due to having Aaron in common.

  It was never comfortable, but we dealt with it.

  And the weird thing is, when the three of us are together, Aaron’ll always mention it to us like it’s some big joke, because to him, it’s funny as hell. Aaron’s big on bringing up the past, especially the stupid drunken escapades of his college glory days, because he’s King where stupid drunken escapades are concerned. “Hey. Remember that time, before Lia and I got together? How you two…”

  Yeah. Funny. Hilarious.

  Usually, when that happens, Miles and I will do everything possible to pretend the other doesn’t exist.

  Then I will politely remind Aaron how drunk we all were. After all, the reason it happened in the first place was because Aaron had gone off to get me that beer, and then never returned. He got caught up doing naked keg stands and passed out, as he tells it, “On the bar with my dick hanging out!”

  According to local Delta Phi legend, Aaron was big on passing out naked with his dick hanging out. It seems that every brother can relate a different story about it. Just like no brother can relate a story about Miles having a good time at one of their keggers.

  After the moment passes, one of us will make a comment like, “Whew! Good thing we’ve all moved past that train wreck of a night!”

  And we have. Totally.

  So, with an imaginary brick wall between us, we make excellent time going over the mountain range that lies between Boulder and the Midnight Lodge.

  After our initial conversation, we don’t talk. Not once.

  I listen to my favorite country station until I lose a signal, and then I pipe in my playlist, which alternates between country and pop. Miles puts his earbuds in and listens to whatever he likes to listen to…probably a bunch of old men disagreeing with one another. When we come down the mountain, I’m happy.

  The sky is still clear, the sun is shining, I’m getting married in the morning, and Miles has effectively been beaten into silence.

  Life is good.

  I have to get gas in my Mini before we head back, so I pull into the Shell and stop at the gas pump. I reach down at his feet and grab my purse. The second I do, he pops out his earbuds.

  “Allow me.”

  He climbs out of the car. At first I think he’s being chivalrous, but then I see him reaching his arms over his head and rolling his shoulder joints. He’s just wanting to stretch, since he’s been folded up inside my car for too long.

  I watch him in the driver’s side mirror as he lifts his arms to the sky, lifting his shirt just enough to bare about three inches of his rock-hard abs. I find my mind wandering down a dangerous path as I realize he’s walking toward m
e.

  Like a moron, I squeeze my eyes closed.

  Suddenly, there’s a slight tapping on the glass.

  I look up and see him peering at me. “Eighty-nine okay?”

  For the briefest moment, I flash to his museum-like room, lying on top of him in sixty-nine.

  Yeah, believe it or not, Mr. Clean and I went at it like fucking rabbits that night, in a bunch of positions I’d never even known existed. By morning we were both sweaty and dirty and—

  What the fuck am I doing?

  My temperature skyrockets until I blink the image away. You moron. He’s asking about the gas.

  “Ninety-one, please.” I reach into my purse and filter my Mastercard through the two-inch opening in the window.

  He shakes his head. “Forget it. Early wedding gift, from me to you.”

  Nice, but if you wanted to give me something I really could use, how about a lobotomy?

  Trying not to watch as he fills up my tank, I grab my phone and look at my texts. The first one I see is from Eva: I heard you went with the asshole. Poor you.

  I type in: Yep. Just got here. Be back in 5 hours.

  I look at the clock. It’s just after two-thirty, so if we zip over to Aaron’s apartment, get the rings and don’t stop, we’ll be back at the Midnight Lodge by seven-thirty, which will give me enough time to slip into my dress for the rehearsal dinner. Perfect.

  By then, Aaron should be sober. And ready. I try not to be a total nudge when it comes to him having fun, because I know how much he likes it, but if he insists on going out with his buddies tonight, after the rehearsal dinner, I’ll have to put my foot down. Last night was the last hurrah. He doesn’t need another one. And the Guppy can avoid drinking like a fish for one night.

  Although, I know how he gets when all of his friends and frat brothers are around. Most of them are scattered around the country, now. He rarely has time to be with all of them together, so on an occasion like this…

  I realize I’m gnawing on my lip again, thinking about what happened the last time he and his brothers all got together, nineteen months ago, for a D-Phi Almost-Graduation shebang.

  It was bad.

  Really, really bad.

  So bad, I don’t want to think about it.

  So I type in: Have you seen Aaron yet?

  A moment later: Yep. He and the rest of the groomsmen have taken ownership of the restaurant. They’re eating everything in sight.

  Hmm. Nice that Aaron doesn’t have to worry about fitting into his tux the way I have to worry about fitting into my dress.

  I exit out of the message to her and look for a text from Aaron, but there isn’t one.

  Of course not. When he’s with his friends, he reverts back to his frat boy self. Meaning that he forgets about me.

  Which really worries me.

  West wouldn’t put up with this shit. He’s never said as much, but I can tell he thinks his soon-to-be brother-in-law is a bit of a jerk. Which is why he didn’t go to the bachelor party. West wasn’t one for wild parties and drunken antics, even when he was in college. And though he goes through women like Kleenex, he’s a good big brother. One of my favorite people. He’s all about defending my honor.

  Plus, his was the shoulder I cried on, right before college graduation, when I thought that Aaron and I were over.

  I sigh as I hear the click at the pump, signaling my tank is full. Miles lifts the nozzle and puts it back in place, then takes the receipt and opens the door as I’m typing in a text to West.

  West, could you please keep an eye on Aaron? Make sure he doesn’t

  When I look up, I realize Miles is watching me. I can’t see his eyes through the sunglasses, but I get the feeling he knows exactly what I’m up to. Fucking Dumbledore.

  My eyes trail back to the text. Make sure he doesn’t what, exactly? How possessive and stupid do I look? I’m marrying Aaron. He’s the man I trust with my heart.

  At least, I should.

  No, I do. That’s why we’re getting married.

  He proved to me he was a changed man. Sure, we’d had a bumpy road before graduation, but it’s been smooth sailing ever since he proposed.

  Delete, delete, delete.

  I shove my phone into my bag. “Let’s be off!” I say brightly.

  He grunts.

  It’s funny. Whenever Miles is in a bad mood, it somehow puts me in a good mood. It’s like we’re absolute opposites in that respect. If that isn’t pure hate, I don’t know what is.

  “Thanks for the gas, buddy!” I say, backing out of my spot at the pump. I resist the urge to give his big, flannel-clad biceps a friendly punch. “Now let’s get moving and get those rings, Samwise!”

  He cocks an eye at me. “Samwise?”

  “Yeah. Of course, I’m Frodo.”

  “So…what? Is Aaron Gollum?”

  I roll my eyes. “Oh, whatever. Of course it’s not a perfect analogy, but I’m permitted to take liberties. I’m getting married tomorrow!”

  “Uh-huh,” he says, burying his nose in his phone. “On to Mordor.”

  2:45 PM, December 6

  The apartment Aaron has in Boulder is right across from the fire station, and about a block from the CU Boulder campus. It’s also within walking distance of the D-Phi frat house. Though we graduated nineteen months ago, he’s still guest of honor at their parties. He was on the seven-year plan and wound up graduating the same time I did, even though he’s three years older than I am.

  What can I say? Even though he’s not in college anymore, he couldn’t fully detach himself from that world. He still considers it the best time of his life, which is probably why he’s constantly bringing up those old stories.

  Aaron’s had it pretty good, though, since graduating with his degree in electrical engineering. His father is CEO of an engineering firm in downtown Boulder, so he got him a great job there. We think he can make manager in another couple years, if he keeps at it. He’s been trying to put away money so that we can buy a house.

  Me? Well, I’m another story. I graduated with a degree in English and couldn’t find a job anywhere. I blanketed the world with resumes, and nothing came of it. So I decided to go back for my Masters in Library Science and add to my already impressive student loan debt. I’m still living in the same apartment that I had for my undergrad, but the lease runs out at the first of the year. When we’re married, I’ll move in with Aaron.

  That’s the plan.

  I can’t wait. My apartment on campus is just a dorm. But sharing his place with him, starting our lives together as man and wife? Maybe it’ll feel like a home.

  Next to me, Miles is drumming his hands on his thighs, something I’ve noticed he only does when he’s nervous.

  Hmm. I wonder what that’s about?

  Miles may be Aaron’s best friend, but he didn’t get into D-Phi the way Aaron did. He easily transitioned off campus. He graduated summa cum laude from CU in the usual four years with a dual degree in business and math and cut all ties with D-Phi and everything college. Then, he got a job as an investments manager at some big-deal firm in Denver, where he quickly climbed the ranks and is now vice president. He’s rolling, though you wouldn’t know to look at him most days, since he seems to favor the Paul Bunyan look over suits and ties. Aaron’s always saying what a “lucky son of a bitch” Miles is, but I think it’s a lot more than luck.

  First of all, he’s a genius.

  I’m not just saying that.

  Oh, you know that beer pong he was watching the first night I saw him? He wasn’t staring dumbly into space, stoned. I learned later, when I saw all the napkins he had scattered around him, that he was working out a formula to find the exact trajectory and velocity or something—I wasn’t paying attention when he explained it—so that one of his brothers could hit a cup, every single time. And he’d been testing it with Aaron, which was why he was cleaning up against all the poor, unsuspecting girls who happened to challenge him.

  Somewhere, in the drunken
haze, I remember asking him why he didn’t play beer pong, testing out his own theories himself, and he’d actually said, “Because it doesn’t sufficiently interest me.”

  I’d asked him what did, and he’d said, “You,” right before he kissed me.

  My heart flutters a little at the thought, but I clamp a hand over it to remind it to chill out.

  Wrong guy. Wrong, wrong, really fucking wrong guy.

  As I pull into the parking lot of the Grammercy Acres, Aaron’s apartment building, I swallow a few times, trying to rid myself of the memory of Miles’ taste. Drunk as I was, I’ve somehow managed to keep so many memories of that night not only intact, but absolutely crystalline-clear. It’s a curse, I’m sure. Meanwhile, Miles probably doesn’t remember a damn thing.

  I coast into Aaron’s spot outside the building, cut the engine, and hold my hand out to Miles.

  But he’s already reaching for the door. As he slips out, he says, “I’ll get them. You stay here.”

  “What? No.” I open my door and jump out, following him up the narrow pathway.

  Halfway up the sidewalk, he wheels on me. He wags a finger in my direction. “What are you doing? Just go back to the car.”

  I cross my arms, standing toe to toe with him, doing my best to stare him down even though he’s a foot taller than I am. “No. I want to make sure he didn’t forget anything else. Besides, I have to use the bathroom. I haven’t peed in five hours.”

  He lets out a long breath. “Fine. Whatever.”

  He heads to the apartment, walking fast, and I nearly trip over myself trying to keep up. Damn his long legs. When I get to the door, he’s already opened it and gone through, leaving it just barely cracked for me.

  I push the door open and look around. Yep, it’s just the same as it was the day before he left, when I stopped by before we all caravanned it over the mountain. There’s clothing strewn everywhere from his whirlwind packing expedition. His giant red sectional is barely visible, it’s so covered in shit.

  As I’m crossing to the bedroom, Miles appears in the door, holding a velvet bag. “Your rings.”