And when his eyes go wide and he realizes he’s falling backward, he reaches for the nearest thing.

  Me.

  And that’s how I, too, end up tumbling into the pool.

  2

  Theo Monroe, aka a guy who does his best to not get himself into these situations when it’s important, but who generally has zero regrets

  Uncle Owen’s dares aren’t usually quite so lit. They’re normally more low-key, like the time we left a bunch of mice all over the park.

  Taxidermy mice. Just so we’re clear on that.

  Once people were done freaking out, we went viral on Instagram as the Colorado mouse town. Even had those national news people in to interview everyone, who pretended they had no idea where so many taxidermy mice would’ve come from.

  This one could end with similar attention. Decker Sullivan was recording it.

  Not that setting a flamingo costume on fire and being shoved into the pool by my sister’s straight-laced best friend was my intention.

  Funny shit happens when I’m around.

  It’s pretty awesome being me.

  Or so I’m thinking as I surface.

  And then I shake the water out of my eyes, slick my hair back, and spot the look of utter grief on Emma’s face as she tries to nudge Chandler further away from the pool. And me.

  Fuck.

  Lucky Sullivan, another of the Sullivan triplets, is apparently oblivious to the bride and groom’s reactions. He’s grinning while he offers me a hand to help me out of the pool. “Can’t just set yourself on fire, can you? Have to get yourself rescued by the last person I’d ever guess would go into a pool fully clothed to help your ass. Classic, man. Classic.”

  I grin back at him, actively choosing to ignore the horrified looks from everyone behind him. It’s not just Em now. It’s pretty much everyone in Chandler’s extended family who are down here with us. “What can I say? Trouble likes me.”

  He snorts.

  I grin bigger and almost fall back in the pool while I try to pull myself out.

  This blow-up costume’s awkward when it’s wet. Who knew?

  “Careful next time,” Jack Sullivan, triplet number three, is saying as he pulls Delaney Kingston out of the pool a few feet away. “That thing’s battery-operated. Not enough juice in a couple double-A’s to shock the pool, but you definitely don’t want to take a chance with electricity and water.”

  “Well, when my options were electrocution with double-A batteries or watching Emma’s brother explode in flames, I went with the lower risk.”

  “Stick in the mud,” Lucky mutters.

  “Which one?” I reply.

  He chokes on another laugh while I drag the rest of my flat, dead costume out of the pool.

  I start to chuckle too, but then I catch sight of Emma again.

  Tossing another frustrated frown my way like this is one more thing I’ve done on purpose to make her fiancé miserable.

  Like I was supposed to know he’d get seasick when I offered to take everyone deep-sea fishing this morning. Or that his video screen was broken on the plane and he spent the entire flight watching the movies I picked since he was behind me, and that I apparently spoiled the ending of the latest Avengers movie for him.

  Lucky glances their way and sighs too. “Don’t get it, dude,” he says. “Chandler’s not usually tighter than an inflamed sphincter, yet here we are, in paradise…”

  “Not hearing this,” I reply. Last thing any of us need is Chandler’s groomsmen turning on him. Dude has issues. Needs some wingmen this week. But not me. Definitely not me. “Go be on his side.”

  “Shouldn’t be sides.”

  “There’s always sides. Don’t tell Emma.” Chandler’s not my favorite person in the world, but I’m not marrying him.

  Emma is.

  Her choice. Her right. He’s made her happy more years than not. I’ll play nice for her sake.

  “Bar later?” Lucky asks.

  I sneak another glance at my sister, who’s now comforting Chandler like he was the one who almost had his face melted off because of a bug zapper and drink umbrella malfunction.

  I shake my head at Lucky. “Groomsman duties for you, my friend. We’ll hook up next week at home.”

  “I’ll text you if he goes to bed early. There’s a karaoke bar down the way.”

  “Fuck, yeah.” I love karaoke.

  “If who goes to bed early?” Decker asks as he approaches too. Guess Chandler’s mom has recovered from the horror of seeing the flamingo die a flaming death and no longer needs to cling to him while he records everything.

  “You,” Lucky says. “You’re too boring for bars.”

  Both of them crack up.

  I would too—messing around with these guys is generally my thing—but Emma’s giving me another look.

  The please just give him space look.

  And she doesn’t mean any of the triplets.

  That look hits me in a spot that hasn’t been super vulnerable since high school. Been a long time since I felt this level of guilt creeping in. But here we are. In paradise, where everything was fine five minutes ago, before Chandler set me on fire with a present I gave him.

  So I sneezed.

  Everyone sneezes.

  Apparently I need to not sneeze the rest of this week though.

  Time to regroup.

  “Have fun tonight,” I tell Lucky and Decker while I pull myself to standing, bringing my sopping wet costume with me to cover my underwear.

  The triplets all seem to realize we’re the only ones enjoying ourselves on the pool deck, and a collective sigh goes up among the three of them.

  Identical sighs, much like they’re all brown-haired, white-skinned, blue-eyed identical triplets. Pretty easy to tell them apart once you get to know their personalities though.

  Even Jack’s sighing as he finishes pulling Delaney to her feet too.

  “Remind me to elope if I ever find the woman of my dreams,” Lucky says. “This wedding stuff is dumb stress.”

  “Like anyone would have you,” Decker says.

  “Fuck, yeah, they would. I’m the pretty one of the three of us.”

  I’d normally laugh at that.

  They would too. Instead, both of them sigh again.

  “You going out anywhere for real?” Decker asks me.

  “Nope.” I am definitely hitting a bar somewhere tonight. But I’m not taking them along.

  Might make Chandler sad to get jilted by his groomsmen.

  Can’t have that.

  I give Em a tiny salute of I’ll get out of your hair, then nod to Delaney. “Thanks for the save. Owe you one next time you catch on fire.”

  Her nostrils twitch. “Happy to help.”

  Total teacher’s pet answer.

  As expected.

  She starts to say something else, but I head around the pool like I didn’t notice.

  If Chandler’s sphincter’s too tight this week, Delaney Kingston’s has been too tight since before she was born.

  Not her fault. Probably. But it will be my fault if I hang out here and annoy her more after taking her for a fully-clothed dunk in the pool. Nothing like getting on the groom’s and the bridesmaid’s bad sides.

  So the best I can do is make myself scarce.

  Claire, Em’s blonde sorority friend and another bridesmaid, lifts her brows and smiles at me as I pass her. “Nothing’s boring when you’re around, is it?”

  I wink. “Boring’s for other people.”

  She smiles wider and opens her mouth like she’s about to ask if we can be not boring together.

  I remember Emma’s disappointed in me, and I continue on my way.

  This week’s weird. Not that I don’t put Emma first on a regular basis, but this week is extra. And apparently I haven’t toned myself down enough yet to make the couple of the hour happy.

  “Okay, son?” my dad asks as I hit the edge of the pool area.

  “Barely singed,” I report with a grin.

  Uncle Owen cracks up. Dad sighs and shakes his head while I keep going.

  He wasn’t meant to be a single dad. Definitely not to two middle schoolers and then high schoolers. But he does his best, and that’s all we can ask.

  And I know he adores Emma as much as I do.

  She’s such a genuinely good person that you can’t help but be happy for her when she’s happy, even if you don’t understand things like how Chandler Sullivan makes her happy.

  You still want to stand in her glow. You want to be the reason she’s glowing, because the brighter she glows, the more the world is a better place.

  Not my time to be in her glow though. This is my time to give her space.

  Sucks, honestly.

  She’s one of my favorite people in the entire world.

  And this week, I am not hers.

  Feels way too much like being in high school again.

  I’m trying to shake it off, reminding myself weddings are stupidly stressful and life will go back to normal next week as I head down the coconut-tree-lined path to my bungalow.

  “So that was a nice, refreshing dip,” Delaney Kingston says when I’m nearly there.

  Ah.

  So that’s who’s huffing along behind me.

  Her bungalow must be this way too.

  And I probably owe her an apology for her unexpected pool dip, courtesy of me.

  Don’t want to give it to her though.

  “Hey, Princess Plainy-Laney.” I grin at her over my shoulder like she’s not the only other person from back home besides Chandler who can make me twitch today. “Like your shoes. They squeak real nice.”

  “Bonus feature. They’re supportive and musical.”

  Huh.

  That’s an unexpected response.

  Would’ve thought I’d get an eye roll and a lecture on not taking paper umbrellas near electrified bug zappers. You want a rule followed, a problem solved, or a lecture about how the world is supposed to work, you go to Laney.

  You don’t go to Laney for jokes. She’s the type who wouldn’t know fun if it landed on her desk in a brown manila envelope clearly labeled fun. Once saw her refuse to go sledding because there weren’t nets at the bottom of the hill. Was voted in high school as the most likely to live to a hundred and six because she flosses every day.

  No heart disease taking her out early due to inflamed gums.

  I have not missed seeing Delaney Kingston since she quit showing up to parties on my side of town and I quit dropping into bars and restaurants on her side of town.

  She’s one of Emma’s best friends though, so I’ll be nice if it kills me. I grin back at her again. Add a wink. “You need help carrying your bag to your room?”

  “That’s so kind, but I can see you already have your hands full, and it’s just a purse.”

  “Just a purse? That’s a purse the size of a suitcase. Wouldn’t take anything at all to drop this costume and carry that for you.”

  “While I’m sure that wouldn’t be a hardship for you, Emma really doesn’t need you to get thrown out of the resort for public indecency, so I’ll carry my own bag. Thank you though. That’s a kind offer.”

  Emma would be so disappointed if you fuck up again.

  Fucking guilt.

  I hate the guilt. Worked really hard the last decade or so to get over it and live my life in the sunshine, but here she is, tossing it around like confetti for Emma’s wedding week.

  I keep smiling as I approach my bungalow, ignoring the twitch under my skin that I tell myself is an allergic reaction to being near a wet blanket.

  I stop and face her at my doorway. “Good to see you, Princess Plainy. Maybe next time you shove me in a pool, you can be in a bikini.” I wink again.

  She winks right back.

  Delaney Kingston.

  Winking right back.

  This is High School Theo wet dream material, and yeah, I’ve worked really hard to forget that too.

  What the fuck is going on?

  “Wouldn’t that be fun?” she says. “Oh, good. We’re here. Thank you so much for showing me to my bungalow.”

  I look around.

  Then look around again.

  Nearest other bungalow is a whole building’s length away, and Laney’s trying to step around me to my porch. “If you’ll just excuse me—”

  “You lost?”

  “No, this is my bungalow.”

  “Don’t think so.”

  “The Plumeria Bungalow. Says so right here on my key card envelope.”

  She flashes the little paper envelope holding her key card, and no.

  That’s what it says.

  But no.

  I cross my arms, letting my dripping, half-melted flamingo costume fall off my hips and leaving me standing there in nothing but my black briefs, which is a dangerous place to be.

  My brain is slowly catching up to the fact that Laney’s hot as fuck right now in ways that she shouldn’t be. And not just because the strength she put into shoving me into the pool would’ve been a turn-on had any other woman done it.

  But now she’s strong-hot and wet-hot at the same time.

  Brown mousy hair all messed up. Expensive shirt sticking to her skin. Nipples puckered under the performance fabric, the clean outline of her plain-Jane bra visible too. Linen pants clinging to her hips and showing off her panty line. Dark lashes clumped together over bright blue eyes. And her sneakers still squeaking.

  “While I don’t mind sharing my room with a pretty lady,” I drawl, ordering my dick to not have a reaction to this wet woman standing in front of me, “I also don’t think I’m the kind of roommate you’d be into.”

  “Guess you’re wrong,” she chirps in response as she sidesteps me and bounces up the three stairs to the porch. “Because this is my bungalow too.”

  I blink.

  Then blink again.

  Then I get pissed, and getting pissed makes me more pissed since I hate being pissed.

  Hate being pissed.

  Make it a life rule to avoid it, in fact.

  But Delaney Kingston is an annoying, insufferable, rule-following, Prudy McSnooterson who would never lower herself to sharing a room with a guy whose favorite Saturday night activity is pulling harmless pranks with friends that sometimes end with all of us a little too happy to make good decisions.

  Trust me.

  I’d know.

  Spent too many years wishing she would lower herself. Wanting to see what she looked like with her hair down and her inhibitions gone.

  And she just said my bungalow too.

  Like she knows this is my bungalow.

  And if she knows this is my bungalow—fuck.

  Happy Theo has left the whole damn Pacific Ocean. Everything is suddenly clicking into place.

  “I don’t need a babysitter,” I grit out, tripping up the steps myself to block her and sounding more like the fuckup I was in high school than the man I am today.

  “I’m not a babysitter. Think of me more like a buffer. You don’t really want Chandler accidentally setting more of your clothes on fire, do you? Wait. No. Don’t answer that.”

  I reach the doorframe and slide in front of her to block her. This is the worst possible thing Emma could’ve done.

  I love my sister. I adore my sister. The two of us have been through some shit and come out on the other side, and I would do anything for her.

  Doing way more for her this week than she even knows, and I legit don’t care if she never finds out. Just want her to be happy, even if I don’t understand what makes her happy all the time.

  But sending Laney to babysit me?

  This is cruel.

  And it’s not happening. It’s a step too far. “You ever have fun, Princess Plainy-Laney?”

  “Yes, sometimes I stay up late at night doing puzzles while adding a little dollop of brandy to my chamomile. But just a dollop. Much more than that, and it might give me dirty dreams.”

  I’m momentarily speechless.

  Mostly because I can’t decide if she’s serious or if she’s fucking with me.

  She smiles brighter, blue eyes almost dancing. And while I’m unscrambling my brains after having Delaney Kingston mock herself to my face, she ducks around me and presses her keycard to the lock mechanism on my hotel door.

  There’s a click, and she strolls into my bungalow.

  And then she lets the door slam in my face.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Do I care where I sleep? No.

  But am I letting this woman loose all on her own inside my hotel room when I know what’s in the spare bedroom and she doesn’t?

  Fuck fuck fuck.

  Rule-following Delaney Kingston cannot be in my bungalow unsupervised.

  She absolutely cannot.

  I reach for my pocket, remember I’m in nothing but my briefs, and then dive for the sopping, mutilated costume on the bungalow porch. It takes too long to find my keycard in the interior pocket, and when I do, I half hope it doesn’t work.

  Let me be lost. Let me be lost. Let me be lost.

  But it clicks open just like it did for her a moment ago.

  And when I walk inside—yes, after tripping over my costume and kicking it off—Delaney’s there.

  I rub my eyes.

  Blink a few times.

  Hope a whole lot.

  Doesn’t work.

  She’s still here, halfway across the tropical-patterned rug in the living room on her way to the first bedroom, pulling along a god-awful floral-print suitcase.

  “That’s my room,” I say.

  She redirects as only Ms. Know-it-all can, heading instead to the closed bedroom door on the other side of the spacious sitting area with a kitchenette along the wall nearest me.

  “That’s mine too,” I say.

  “You’re using both bedrooms.” Not a question. A statement like she’s pointing out that I’m ridiculous.

  I’m an easygoing guy. Love having fun. Love helping the people around me have fun. I can handle a lot.

  I cause a lot.

  Almost always a harmless lot these days, but a lot.

  But sharing a room with Princess Plainy-Laney so that she can babysit me?

  No.

  One of us has to go.

  Any other day, any other place, with anything else hiding in that second bedroom, I’d volunteer to be the one to go.

 

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