Chapter 1
Matt
“I blame romance novels.”
“They’re not mine.” I pause at the crosswalk and glance at the dusky sky as though seeking divine intervention. “I told you, my sister left them when she stayed over.” It’s not exactly a lie. Fat lot of use they’ve been, anyway.
“You’re too nice for your own good,” Fin continues, clearly on a roll. “And that is not a compliment.”
From him, it’s a bigger compliment than he realizes.
“Who in the hell goes to an ex’s wedding and expects to have a good time?”
Me, obviously,I think as the light changes, and I step out among the tourists and native New Yorkers. My gaze connects with that of a striking blond coming the other way before her eyes drop admiringly over my tux. But I’m not in the mood. Not for women, and not for this conversation.
“I didn’t realize she invited me to insult me,” I insist. “I thought we’d parted on good terms.”
“Was it an insult, though?”
“Well, I’ve been called arideonce or twice in my time,” I say, leaning into my Irish accent. “But hearing I’m the boyfriendequivalent of training wheels isn’t quite the same. Worse, she might be right.”
“Huh?”
“Fin, the last three women I’ve datedhavegone on to marry the fella after me.”
“So you’re like ... a foster boyfriend. The one before they find their forever homes.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, beyond frustrated.How the hell he has a wife, I’ll never understand.“Look,” I grate out. “The day is done. Over with. All I want to do now is turn off my brain and have a drink.”
“I like that plan. Saturday night, a hotel bar. May the odds be in your favor.”
“I’m not going to the hotel bar.” One hand sunk deep in my pocket, I scoot sideways between two teenagers engrossed in their phones.
“Pretty sure the saying isMisery loves company... notMisery loves the minibar.”
“I just want a drink,” I mutter. “Not a lecture.”
“Here’s a revolutionary idea. Why not a drink and a little company?”
“You’re a gobshite.” I mutter the uncomplimentary epithet as I turn into a quieter side street, away from the hustle and bustle.
“You deserve to let off some steam. Treat yo’self, as the kids say.”
“I’m not in the mood.”
“You’re definitely inamood.”
“Look, I’m over one-night stands.”
“Said no man ever.”
“I am who I am,” I grumble, trying to keep a lid on my worsening mood.
“And like I said, you’renice.”
Fuck it, maybe he’s right. I have just spent the afternoon doing and saying all the right things. I pressed my lips to the cheek of a woman I once passionately kissed, shook hands with and congratulated the man she kisses now. I danced with mothers and grannies, toasted love and marriage, and fixed on a smile until my cheeks fuckin’ hurt.
All because I’m a decent fella.
