Chapter One
Finn
Airports are fun. It’s like this big living room inside a shopping mall, and then you get to fly off to somewhere even more fun. Or, I guess they can be, once you get past check-in and security. That whole part is pretty ass, actually.
Miles, my best friend since seventh grade, came running at me once I exited the giant robotic revolving door into the airport. His arms stretched out as wide as his smile. I smiled too.
“Yo, what’s up!” Miles said as we crashed into a half-hug, half-hand-slap. “You’re late, fucker. I can’t start the party without my number one male!”
Maybe I was wrong. Even check-in and security can be fun if you’re with the right people.
“Sorry. I couldn’t find an Uber, then I had to pack at the last minute.”
“It’s like seven o’clock in the morning, bro. You couldn’t pack last night?”
“When did you pack?” I didn’t want to admit that I had gotten my duffel from my parents’ place the night before, but forgot to fill it with clothes and shit until that morning.
Miles rolled his eyes and laughed. “Bree made me pack two weeks ago. Then repacked it herself.”
“Perks of getting hitched, I guess.”
Miles draped his arm around my shoulders and ushered me to where the other guys were waiting in line. “Are you ready to party? You fucking better be.”
I was ready. I needed it. But being his best man meant ensuring he partied the right amount, more than doing so myself.
“You know it, bro. Gonna get litty titties on South Beach,” I said.
“The number one male is here. Party has started!” Miles hollered to the other guys as we got within earshot.
Number one malewas a weird thing to call me, but less weird than asking me to be his best man. Miles was close to his older brother, Ryder, but we always said we were brothers too. Of course, I said yes, even if I had no idea what the hell I was doing. I’d never even been in a wedding party before, much less responsible for all that shit, but then I found out everything was pretty much planned. All I had to do was wrangle the boys, which I could handle.
Miles’s face fell a bit, along with his volume, and stopped me before we got to the guys. “Did you, uh, tell them about the rules?”
“What rules?”
“No pictures of me too drunk. Or drunk at all. Or with a drink in my hand. Nothing on social media without my express approval. And no filming. No videos at all. Period.”
I didn’t roll my eyes, but could’ve. I knew they were his fiancée, Brielle’s rules, not his. Miles had never given a shit about what was on socials until he met Bree.
“Yeah, I put it in the group chat.”
Miles smiled again. “That’s why you’re the best number one male, Finnegan Cartier.” My name isn’t Finnegan. Nor is my last name that fancy watch brand. At least, I think they make watches. It’s just Finn Carter, but Miles has called me that since we were twelve.
The guys were waiting to use the self-check-in kiosk, so I couldn’t have been that late. Tyler greeted me first, with the same half-hug I’d gotten from Miles.
“The best man showing up late to the bachelor party? Not a great look, bro,” Tyler said.
Tyler went to high school with Miles and me. He was on the same teams as we were and was basically our third best friend. He liked giving shit and drinking. Not always in that order.
“Fuck off. When did you get here?”
“Number one male’s coming in spicy,” Connor, Miles’s roommate from college, said.
“We’re going to Miami, best keep it spicy,” I said, greeting Connor the same way I did the other guys.
Jason, Miles’s work friend, who was a few years older than us and married with a kid already, said, “Don’t let them bullshit. They walked in ninety seconds before you did.”
“Thanks, man.” I gave him a broad smile and a firm handshake.
