Their gazes locked and held a beat. A simmering heat surfaced between them. That sweet anticipation told Ant all he needed to know.
Chris’s lips twisted in a frown, and he stepped inside his room, closing the door with a quiet click.
Yeah, Chris felt it too. He didn’t like it, but the tension between them spoke for itself. Ant and Chris had unfinished business, and it was time to set a few things straight.
When Ant met up with the guys that evening, he felt underwhelming. Still wearing basketball shorts, now paired with a T-shirt of solid blue, he was the most casual among them. He’d taken a stroll through the casino earlier, and there was hardly a dress code. The men playing the card tables wore a variety of styles, from khakis and Hawaiian shirts, to cargo shorts and polos, to western-style shirts with fringe and cowboy boots. Grannies with huge cups of coins for the slot machines made Vegas seem less like the wild vacation destination he’d always pictured in his mind, though there were certainly young women, many dressed for a party, making the rounds too.
Chris took his breath away. Like Riley and Bret, he wore jeans. Unlike them, his jeans seemed made for his body, showcasing his ass and clinging to his long legs. They were designer wear, with a swirling, embroidered design down he outside of his left leg and decorative stitching over each back pocket. His shirt, too, fit like a glove, perfectly tailored to his body. He wore a T-shirt for once, probably because Vegas was an oven outdoors, but the pattern splashed across his chest made it seem dressier than any T-shirt Ant had ever owned.
Bret was cute, rocking his hipster look with maroon jeans and a hat over his brown curls, while Harry was more dressed down in shorts and a T-shirt, though a preppier version than Ant’s own. Riley looked the same as always: jeans, motorcycle boots, sleeveless tee. Brad wore shorts, but otherwise looked sedate compared to some of the outfits he'd rocked back home.
“The gang’s all here,” Riley said. “About time.”
Ant shrugged. “I was checking out the casino. You could have called.”
By the time he woke, he’d missed the dinner call, and he’d been too groggy to run out for food. He’d languished in bed watching TV, then taken a quick shower before heading down to the casino.
“We were waiting on the other sleepyhead,” Harry said, nodding toward Chris. “You missed an amazing meal. The octopus was to die for.”
Chris wrinkled his nose. “Seafood isn’t my thing.”
“They had steak tartare, and Riley actually ate some! I was mostly there for the wine ...”
Brad chattered happily as they headed out the doors.
They all stopped on the sidewalk, gawking at the Strip. They’d seen it when they arrived, but there was no comparison between daylight hours and seeing it lit in all its glory. Ant felt a bit like he was in a pinball game come to life, with all the buildings outlined in neon color. He could easily imagine a metal ball ping-ponging its way from casino to restaurant to illuminated fountain. Of course, maybe that’s exactly what tourists did.
“It’s really something,” Bret said.
“Yeah. Garish and pretty.”
“Can something be garish and pretty?” Chris asked.
“Definitely!” Brad said, grinning as the lights reflected in his eyes. “The Strip looks like one big party, and I’m always up for a party.”
Riley threw his arm around Brad’s shoulders. “Don’t get too wild on me.”
Brad looked up at him, smiling impishly. “Just wild enough. You’re the perfect Brad-tamer.”
Ant made gagging sounds. “How about we get going?”
The group agreed, starting up the sidewalk. Their destination wasn’t far, the equivalent of two city blocks, but the heat was oppressive.
Ant felt better about his clothing choices as Chris pulled the front of his shirt out, whipping the fabric back and forth to move some air. His dark blond hair dampened a shade darker as they walked.
“So, is it Thunder or Penis Puppetry in store for us?” Bret asked as they walked.
“Neither. We found an amazing—”
“But naughty—”
“Vaudeville show,” Riley finished. “Part circus, part strip show, part comedy."
“How many parts are there?” Harry asked with a grin.
Brad cackled. “You’ll have to keep count and see.”
They arrived early, claimed the table Brad had reserved earlier that day, and ordered a round of shots. Most of the group was already buzzed, and Brad admitted they’d enjoyed a couple of bottles of wine at dinner.
Both Harry and Bret passed on their shots, and Chris pounded three in quick succession. Ant did his own, and another round soon followed as they all settled in to watch the show.
Chris seemed to be enjoying it. Ant watched his face, reveling in the freedom to stare as a smile touched his lips. But halfway through the show, Chris took deep breaths and waved a hand in front of his face.
Glancing at the table, Chris grabbed an unfinished drink and poured it down his throat, then leaned in to whisper to Harry.
A moment later he stood and weaved through the crowd, looking unsteady. Ant assumed he’d hit the toilet, but he got concerned when Chris didn’t return.
He leaned over to Harry. “Where did Chris go?”
“To get some air.”
Ant slipped out of the small, tight-packed venue. He worried Chris might be long gone, but he saw him sitting on a fountain a few feet from the doors. He seemed oblivious to the lights playing over the water behind him, slipping over his face and hair on each pass.
Ant nudged Chris’s knee. “You okay?”
Chris gazed up at him with unfocused eyes. “Yep.”
“How about we get you something to eat?”
“How about you leave me alone?”
Ant sighed, shaking his head. “Can't do it. It wouldn’t be responsible to leave you on your own.”
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“I disagree. You’ve had a lot to drink. So, it’s either me, or I go in and interrupt Brad and Riley’s fun. What’s it going to be?”
Chris scrunched up his face, looking put out. Standing, he jabbed Ant in the chest.
“Fine. You'll probably ditch me for the first piece of ass you spot anyway.”
“The way I remember it, you’re the one who ditched me.”
Chris turned, heading down the sidewalk. “Details ...”
“Mm-hmm,” Ant murmured, falling into step. “Where would you like to grab dinner?”
"I had a liquid dinner,” Chris said with a laugh, “and now I have better things to do.”
“Like what?”
“I promised to check out wedding venues.”
“You want to do that now?”
Chris looked at him seriously. “I promised. That’s like a vow. I don’t break my vows.”
Ant shook his head. “You’re a nut, but okay.”
“Oh, but first! Let’s go into Excalibur. It looks so ridiculously cheesy and sorta … fairy tale-like, huh?” Chris dashed ahead. “I want to check out the inside.”
“Chris, wait up!”
As drunken laughter drifted on the air, Ant realized he was going to have his hands full.
Chapter Three
FRIDAY
When Chris and Ant reached the buffet, the rest of their group was already seated in a massive mob booth, plates of French toast, scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and muffins in front of them. A variety of drinks cluttered the table: Bloody Mary’s, mimosas, and coffee. A huge buffet of food stood on the opposite side of the room, and not at all eager to face his friends after the morning he had, Chris detoured there first.
Because it was brunch, the buffet was a mix of breakfast and lunch dishes, but Chris couldn’t think of eating anything but a greasy breakfast that might soak up some alcohol. Maybe then he’d start thinking clearly again.
Ant followed, and Chris could feel his eyes on him as he grabbed a plate and loaded it with bacon and sausage. He bypassed the
eggs — they were always rubbery and tasteless at these sorts of buffets — and added a pile of fruit. Something healthy to balance out all the fat and grease. Okay, so it wasn’t going to even the scales, but his life was completely off-balance anyway.
He glanced back over his shoulder to his friends. They looked relaxed and happy, the bastards. He’d give anything to be a fifth wheel with his coupled-up friends right about now.
“Stop acting so weird,” Ant said as he spooned a pile of shrimp onto his plate.
Chris jerked back around to face the buffet. “I’m not.”
“You are,” Ant argued. He’d added lobster to his plate too. The cockroach of the sea. Chris shuddered.
“You’re eating seafood for breakfast and you’re calling me weird?”
Ant smiled, flashing perfectly straight teeth. “Maybe my tastes are just too high class for you.”
Chris snorted skeptically. “Your taste is questionable.”
“Well, I do like you,” he murmured.
“Hilarious,” Chris said dryly.
Ant grinned and popped a shrimp into his mouth. “I thought so.”
Chris carried his plate to the table, his stomach tight with nerves. The hangover wasn’t helping his appetite any, and the thought of that seafood on Ant’s plate nauseated him. Damping down on the urge to flee to the bathroom, he fixed a smile on his face and slid into the booth next to Bret.
“Morning,” he said.
“Finally,” Brad said. “You must have partied hard after you ditched me at my bachelor’s party.”
Brad narrowed his eyes, making it clear he wasn’t happy. Chris winced. “Yeah, sorry. I got claustrophobic in there. I needed some air.”
“It was a tight squeeze,” Riley said, leaning in to kiss Brad’s cheek. “And damn, some of those acts were more like erotic horror. The one with the mostly naked contortionist?” Riley shuddered.
The show that mixed nudity, circus acts, and comedy had been impressive (and sometimes disturbing), but it was in a smaller venue that crowded the audience in close.
Brad pouted. “I thought it was fun! You’re not going to see that in the Bible Belt.”
Harry snorted. “No doubt about that.”
“Is Kansas City technically the Bible Belt?” Bret asked. “I mean, it’s a big metro area. Mostly votes Democrat, right?”
“Maybe right in the city,” Harry said. “But you add in the ’burbs, and you’re right back to conservative Bible Belt values.”
“Some people argue Kansas isn’t even in the Bible Belt. It mostly applies to the South,” Riley said.
Everyone looked at him.
“What? A construction worker can’t be part of an intellectual conversation?”
“Nope,” Harry said with a grin. “It’s against the laws of nature.”
Riley flipped him off.
Chris ate a slice of bacon, happy to fly under the radar, and eyed one of the coffee cups. He glanced back toward the buffet, where Ant stood at the coffee station Chris had missed. His body cried out for caffeine.
“Don’t think you’re off the hook, Chris,” Brad said. “I’m bummed you left early last night. You’re gonna have to make it up to me today.” He grinned and rubbed his hands together. “I have big plans!”
Chris knew better than to argue. As much as he wanted to resolve his marriage mistake ASAP, he didn’t want to fess up to his friends. That meant playing his part as best man as if nothing were wrong.
“You got it, Bradzilla,” he said with a smile.
Riley snorted. “Oh, that’s too good.”
“Shut it,” Brad ordered, wagging a scolding finger. Riley bit his finger, growling, and Brad laughed. They were so cute it was disgusting.
Must be nice to get married, he thought. Then he spotted Ant crossing the room and corrected himself. Must be nice to get married to someone you love. While sober.
In a wedding you can actually remember.
Ant finished loading his plate, avoiding the worst of the heart-attack-inducing cholesterol on offer. He stuck with the seafood and fruit, bypassing the eggs and bacon — though it smelled heavenly — and even the biscuits, which raised a sense of nostalgia that made his mouth water. His mom had made the best biscuits from scratch, and he’d eaten them every Sunday for years. But he didn’t eat carbs anymore if he could help it.
He carried his plate to the coffee station and prepared two mugs of hot brew, then carefully balanced it all as he made his way to the tables. When he sat down, he slid a cup of coffee in front of Chris.
“Here you go, sweetness,” he said. “Coffee for the man who owns my heart.”
Ant fluttered his eyelashes a few times, earning a few laughs. Chris scowled halfheartedly before gulping the coffee.
“Don’t burn your tongue,” Ant murmured. “It’d be a shame for it to be out of commission.”
Chris choked on a swallow, and Ant slapped his back until the coughing fit passed.
He normally wasn’t one to flirt with a man who rejected him, but the situation with Chris was complicated. For one thing, they were technically exes. They’d gone on five dates — five evenings of great conversation and tantalizing kissing without sex because Chris was convinced he had some sort of bad hookup mojo. Ant had planned to wait him out, prove he was a good guy who would be worth a risk, so he endured the sexual frustration with a big smile.
But everything went wrong when his ex-boyfriend, Raul, walked up during one of their dinner dates, and in one sentence, destroyed everything Ant was trying to build.
Chris stuck his lip out in a mock pout. “Are you trying to kill me?”
Ant grinned, but a memory distracted him from responding.
Chris twirled in an aisle. There were gold curtains behind him, framing a raised dais, and a gaudy poster of Elvis among some palm trees. Bunches of flowers stood in vases on either side of the dais.
“You’re such a graceful bride,” Ant teased.
Chris faced him and pushed out his lower lip in a pout. “I’m a groom! Don’t you find me manly?”
Ant strained to remember what happened next, but Chris shoved an elbow in his ribs, and the memory evaporated.
“Ant?” Riley prompted.
Ant tore his gaze from Chris’s face. “Huh?”
“You go somewhere good?” Brad asked with a smirk. “You looked like you were having a nice little daydream there.”
Ant glanced at Chris, who focused intently on his food. Yeah, they weren’t behaving suspiciously at all. Calling up a grin, Ant shrugged.
“Was just trying to remember what the hell I drank last night. It did a number on me.”
“Where’d you guys go?” Harry asked. “Bret and I left not long after you did. Thought we might see you in the casino.”
“Oh, we walked the Strip, checked out a few places, you know. Did the tourist thing,” Ant said casually.
Beside him, Chris went rigid with tension. Ant nudged Chris’s leg with his, and when Chris shot him a look, he grinned. “We’re practically BFFs now, right, Chris?”
Chris snorted skeptically, then tried to cough to cover it.
Riley shook his head. “Looks like wishful thinking, Ant.”
“So, what happened after we left?” Ant asked, hoping to get the attention off himself.
Everyone knew he was a hopeless case when it came to Chris. Everyone but Chris, anyway. He was too busy believing Ant was a player who didn’t care about him. That was down to Chris’s past, his lack of trust, and Raul’s crappy timing.
Chris leaned over while Brad and Riley rehashed what they’d missed night before.
“Brad’s going to be dragging me around today. But we need to figure out a plan for dealing with our little mistake.”
“M’kay,” Ant mumbled with his mouth full. He swallowed, adding, “I can look into it while you’re on best man duty.”
Chris exhaled, finally relaxing a fraction. “Good. The sooner it’s undone, the sooner we can get back to normal and s
tart avoiding each other.”
Ant raised an eyebrow. “That’s your normal, not mine.”
“Whatever,” Chris muttered before smiling and turning to Harry, who’d asked him a question about whether he’d ever gotten around to checking out wedding venues.
“Yep,” Chris said. “I definitely went to a chapel last night. Not that I remember much about it.”
“Don’t worry, I remember,” Ant said, earning a searching look from Chris. “We got you guys all booked up for the perfect, tacky place.”
“Excellent!” Brad exclaimed. “Everything is working out as planned.”
Hardly as planned. Not yet anyway. But maybe with a little luck, Ant could make this mess work to his advantage.
Chapter Four
Brad insisted on a series of pre-wedding activities, including a spa day — “my skin needs to be glowing on my wedding day, duh!” — and shoe shopping — “It just feels wrong to get married by Elvis and not be wearing blue suede shoes.”
Chris sincerely hoped that Brad was just having fun, but he wouldn’t put it past him to wear something crazy to his tacky Elvis wedding. Knowing Brad, he’d get his hair styled in a pompadour and wear a white suit with sequins just to one-up the Elvis impersonator.
“Shouldn’t you be more hungover?” Chris complained as Brad hustled down the sidewalk, and every step increased the tempo of the drum banging inside Chris’s head. Didn’t help that the sun was beating down with the intensity of a tanning bed, and Chris was baking in his clingy designer jeans. God, he envied Ant’s basketball shorts right about now, not that he’d be caught dead in them. Then again, this heat just might kill him anyway.
Bret leaned in. “I’m convinced he doesn’t really drink. He just pretends to take shots and then laughs at the rest of us.”
Brad whipped around. “The secret is water and lots of it. Every good aerobics instructor swears by it. We’ll stop and buy you a bottle.” He seemed to assess Chris’s face. “Or a dozen.”
Chris flipped him off, and Bret snickered. Despite his comments about Brad, Bret didn’t seem all that worse for wear either. But then neither of them had mixed hard liquor with champagne — or with Ant. He’d obviously lost his mind the night before.
My Anti-Marriage Page 3