I shepherded Tyler down the hallway, leaning in to murmur in his ear, “It’s all good, Ty. Calm down.”
He took a deep breath as the chatter grew louder. “Yeah,” he said weakly. “Yeah, it’s all good.”
The room we found at the end of the passageway was filled with people, noisy and crowded. I spotted at least three guys without ties, and immediately pulled mine off, too. At Tyler’s scandalized glare, I said, “Shane doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to wear ties.”
“Shane was a Yalie,” he hissed back. “He wore a three-piece suit to bed.”
“Then he was doing things very wrong,” I quipped, and pulled Tyler into the milling people. “Come on, Ty. Let’s find your bestie and get this show on the road.”
I was hoping that once we were over the first few minutes of the charade that the guy would relax. He was stiff and clumsy as I pulled him along with me, taking in the room. The high ceiling was covered in strings of soft, silver-white, twinkling lights, and the tablecloths and throws decorating the buffet tables and various bars were colored rich green and winter white.
It was simple, minimalistic, and discreetly expensive.
Before long I heard a shout of joy. Tyler stopped dead, looking around, and then a glittery pillar of green velvet threw itself at him.
“Where have you been?” it demanded, and then beamed over Tyler’s shoulder at me. “Oh-Em-Gee, you must be Shane!”
I found my own arms full of forest green velvet a second later, and I couldn’t help laughing. “I’m guessing you’re Jon?” Tyler had told me his friend was a makeup artist, glamorous in an LA way, and he wasn’t wrong. Jon—who had confirmed his name in a babbling stream as he linked arms with both of us and pulled us over to meet his fiancé—was about the same height as Tyler, but more slightly built. His deep green suit was completed with a cravat and waistcoat. He was wearing eyeliner, and his cheekbones were shiny.
He was a ball of energy, hazel eyes sparkling as he chattered, and I liked him right away, laughing along with him as he joked about Tyler being the only guy in America who’d show up later than the groom to a wedding.
Tyler, when I looked past Jon to check in on him, was also beginning to thaw as his friend’s words poured over him. I gave him a wink when he caught my eye, and got a small smile in return.
“Shane McAuley, this is my fiancé, Dr. Cooper Kincaid,” Jon announced, coming to a stop in front of a dark-haired guy in a black suit with a forest green waistcoat—only his wasn’t velvet, and if he was wearing makeup, I couldn’t tell.
“Good to meet you, Doc,” I said, as we shook hands. “Nice place you got out here.”
I made small talk as best I could, while Jon had a whispered conversation with Tyler. For a few moments, I thought everything would be okay: Tyler would chill out, we’d talk a little more with Jon and Cooper, and then we could mingle, chat, enjoy the apparently amazing food.
I was beginning to relax. No one really cared who anyone else was at a function this size. The only conversation was talk about the weather, the wedding, and the weather for the wedding. When Cooper showed an interest in how I felt about Yale Law School, I shrugged it off and asked him about the weather in LA. Easy.
But beside me, Tyler had gone stiff and jerky, his voice getting louder in his conversation with Jon. “No,” he snapped. “It’s not a good idea.”
“Hey, babe,” I said, slinging an arm around him to get his attention. “What’s going on?”
Jon, bewildered, looked at me. “I was just telling Ty-Ty that tomorrow night, for the joint stag party, we thought it’d be fun to split up for part of the night—Doms and subs, you know?” He lowered his voice. “Most of the people here tonight are total normies—I mean, except my family; God, pray you don’t have to spend much time with them—but my LA crew are all in the scene. They’re the only ones coming to the stag.”
“It’s stupid and patronizing and—and—regressive,” Tyler said, scowling.
“Yikes, Ty, lighten up,” Jon said, and there was an edge to his voice. “It’s supposed to be fun. And it’s not even for the whole night.”
“It’s not fair for Da—Shane.” Tyler stared at me, communicating his panic with the fluttering of his eyebrows. “He doesn’t know anyone here except me.”
I liked to think I could read people reasonably well. In my view, Jonathan Ashe was usually pretty easygoing, but there was a whiff of Groomzilla in the air. And I couldn’t blame him. Tyler was acting weird.
“It’s fine,” I told Tyler, squeezing his shoulder. “Seriously, babe. I know the Doc now—” I gestured at Cooper, who gave an encouraging smile at Tyler “—and I’ll meet all the other guys tonight, too. Right?”
Tyler looked at me and me alone for a long moment, before he finally broke the tension by nodding. “Right,” he said. “I’m sorry, Jonny. I just want to make sure Shane feels, uh. Included.”
“That was the aim,” Jon said, still frosty.
“It’ll be fun,” I insisted. “Get to hear a few West Coast techniques, a few stories…It’ll be fun.”
Maybe if I repeated it enough times, I’d believe it myself.
Chapter 4
Tyler
