"Are you coming home before the party?" I ask Jeremy over the phone. There's a sink full of dishes and a pile of clothes visible through the cracked door of his bedroom. I don't necessarily want him home all the time. It is nice to have the place to myself, especially when trying to schedule some self-care, as we'll call it. But it's no fun when he only comes home to eat, sleep, and leave a mess for me to clean up after.

"No, all my stuff is in Chet's closet. We'll leave from here."

I sigh. As if I don't have enough on my plate already. My anchor is slipping away into the depths of relationship ocean and leaving me high and dry with less support and more chores. "Well, when you come home next, can you clean up after yourself? I'm tired of—"

"Oh my God, Teagan, don't start with me. You're so anal about everything, even when I do clean, you go behind me and re-clean everything any—"

"I'm not anal, you're just a mess!"

"You're fucking insane!"

I want to yell back, but the phone shuffles around. "Hey, Teagan," Chet's soft voice mollifies me.

"Hey, Chet."

"The dishes are my fault. I rushed us out to get to Barney's before they closed. I still don't know what black tie optional is."

"Same." I'm still annoyed, but Chet is too nice a person to take it out on him. "Please tell my roommate to clean up after himself."

"We will clean up next time we're there, I promise."

"I'll see you there, I guess."

"See you there!" 

He ends the call and the silence seeps in. Alone again, on my way to a party, I feel as empty as our apartment.

. . .

I don't want to be here.

Engagement party number two. It started less than an hour ago and I'm already ready for it to be over.

The ballroom is full of peonies, streamers, and balloons, all in shades of pale pink and white. It looks like Barbie's wet dream, but the bride gets what the bride wants.

For a beach wedding, nude and pink make sense, I suppose. The dress I have to wear for the ceremony could be much less flattering than it is. I shouldn't complain, but it's so goddamn hard not to.

The room is full of people I don't know. Mary's family consists of a million unidentifiable aunts, uncles, cousins, and who knows who else. Ryan's parents brought all of the business associates they pretend are friends. The guest list they gave me turned into an open invite and almost 300 RSVPs. But that's what they get for planning a wedding in Ibiza.

Destination weddings limit the number of people who can go. It's an expensive flight, and it's impossible to find affordable accommodations during peak season. Family members who can't swing the cost get their feelings hurt and beg for another way to celebrate with them. As such, this root canal of a party was born.

A couple walks in and looks lost in the sea of pink. I snap into hostess mode. "Hi, welcome! You can leave the gift here or I can take it for you." They smile and hand the box to me. Based on the shape of the box and its weight, I can tell it's another piece of the china place settings. A dinner plate. "Hors d'oeuvres are on the tables across the room and the bar is in the corner next to it. Please help yourself and enjoy."

They thank me and head toward the food that cost $120 per head. I let my forced smile drop when I walk over to deliver the box.

Lingering by the gifts table, I gaze out into the crowd as they mingle. Cocktail hour is actually two hours long, then dinner, dancing, and speeches will happen outside in the tent. Four hours total. Shoot me.

Through the window, the coordinators add the finishing touches to the centerpieces and floral chandelier. The silk drapes cover the inside of the tent while wood tile flooring covers the ground, making it look like a Summer Wedding Aesthetic Pinterest board rather than a family reunion at a park.

I suppose this is as thrilling as any wedding-less reception can be, but it is annoying to know it costs just as much as a wedding would. Forty-eight thousand dollars, and for what? A little mingling and some free plates?

"Having fun?" a voice asks beside me.

I know it's him without looking. "I did a lot of work for this thing, Heath. Let me have my pissy mood," I grumble. "Are you having fun?"

"Oh yeah, a fucking blast." He hates these things as much as I do. "A cash bar? Seriously? They're fucking trust fund babies and can't pay for drinks?"

"The venue wouldn't allow it," I answer his annoying rhetorical question. "I'd rather be drunk too, believe me."

"If you hate these things so much, why did you agree to plan all of them?"

"Because that's what friends do. Or so I've been told." I finally turn my head to look at him. His black blazer, white shirt, and thin tie look delicious on him. Not that I would ever say that aloud. The perfect fit of his jacket definitely helps, but something about black and white makes his skin look tanner and his mother's oceanic features more noticeable in his face. "If Mary snapped her fingers loud enough, Ryan would have picked one of you."

He shrugs. "I don't think so. We pretend it's all equal in the Squad, but you know how it really is," he says. We continue to stare ahead at the crowd as if we're not having a conversation. "Ryan is still your law bestie, but with the rest of us out of school, things are already changing. Jeremy is basically just your roomie since we never see his ass. I barely hang with Brett outside of the gym now that he's flown off to 'I'm married' land, and it's about to be the same with Ritchie."

"The same how?"

He glances over at me, his gray eyes full of exasperation. "He's gonna propose to his girlfriend. Bought the ring and everything."

"What?" Another Douche Squad wedding is horrifying enough, but him? This is just a dick slap in the face. "Is it . . . what's her name? Julia?"

"Giuliana. Gigi."

"I thought they broke up."

"Oh, they did. Two weeks ago."

I rub my temple with confusion. "What the actual fuck?"

"I know."

"They break up every five seconds and that makes him think he should marry her?"

"I know."

I want to throw up. With the way my parents guilt me about Lenny, it makes me wonder if they'd rather I act like Ritchie and just marry him next week.

I groan with disgust. "And here I was thinking I couldn't hate being here more."

Heath chuckles beside me.

My eyes dance through the crowd. Jeremy and Chet are hovering by the food, and Ritchie and his future bride bicker in the back of the room. Brett and his wife stand just a few steps away from Ryan and Mary, talking to their common acquaintances.

Heath is right. Everyone is in their own world. I'm lucky I have other things to keep me sane while I run in circles doing everything for a group more aloof to me than my family.

Still beside me, Heath licks the remnants of a mini quiche from his fingertips and catches my eyes. I look away, but I'm not sure why. It's easy to pretend we aren't sneaking around when everyone is too wrapped up in their own shit to notice.

"Hey . . ." Heath grabs my attention again. He crumples his little plate and places it in the bin at the side of the table. "I know we're not scheduled until later, but . . ."

I roll my eyes. "But what?"

"Why not give this party the middle finger and go find a closet?"

My brow scrunches. "What? No."

"Why not?"

"Well, one, I left the closet a long time ago, and two, I don't want to get caught."

He laughs. "Caught by who? Someone's grandma?"

"Yes, because it would be Ryan or Mary's grandmother. We have a 12-hour notice clause for a reason."

He hums in question. "We are going to be here forever. If I recall correctly, clause 1a of the contract says our times are between 7 and 11." He stretches his arm to expose his watch. "It's 7:18. Think of it as me being early."

Quoting the contract and tempting me with punctuality? He's really trying it. "Shut up."

"This thing won't be over until 11, guaranteed, and I'm assuming you'll have to stay until the end. Would you rather stand here waiting to talk to a ton of strangers, or go somewhere with me and let me give you an orgasm?"

Let him? Jesus. My body wakes up at the mere memory of the last time I let him.

It is infuriating how annoying Heath is. Moreso, how annoyingly difficult it is to turn him down. Does he know I was trying not to count the minutes until this would be over and I could convince him to fuck me in his car downstairs in the garage? Of course I'd rather have sex. I'd rather have sex than do 99 percent of this wedding shit.

My thoughts battle in my head until the warmth in my panties is too difficult to ignore. "Fine."

"Fine?" he perks up as if he thought I'd turn him down. He's so oblivious.

"Here's the thing. I'm running this shit by myself tonight. Jeremy and I got in a fight so now he's avoiding me, Brett and Ritchie are worthless, and the happy couple needs to stay happy. If you help me keep all of them off my plate of shit to worry about tonight," I turn my head to look him in the eyes, "you can have me. Wherever you want."

His stare tells me everything I need to know.

"Deal?" I ask to snap him out of it.

"Yeah," he says, sounding absolutely parched. "Deal."

_____

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