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I can still remember with vivid clarity the day Jude asked me to be his best man last year. We were leaving nineties trivia night and he stopped me to tell me he had something important to ask me. With tears in his eyes and everything, he told me he’d be honored if I stood next to him at the wedding as his best man. He then went on to elaborate on how it will be the most important day of his life and how he can’t imagine getting through the day without me by his side.
Now Stassi gets to walk in and sweep all of that off the table because she wants her brother to stand there instead?
“Jude, you didn’t tell him about the best man change,” Sutton says behind me.
“Oh, shit,” I hear Jude say.
I tee off, watching long enough to track my ball to a general area, and then I trudge back to my cart.
“When were you going to tell me?” I ask him.
“I was waiting for the right time.” His words are timid and reserved. I’m guessing Stassi stole his fucking balls when she made that change, too.
Suddenly I don’t feel so bad about going to the concert with Jovie last night.
Loyalty clearly means something different to each of us.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Jovie
* * *
It’s been almost two days since the concert, and while my weekends are normally quite productive, I’ve done nothing more than sit around thinking about Stone. Pacing my kitchen, nibbling my thumbnail, I stop when I spot his neon green glow-in-the-dark souvenir beer cup from the concert.
Grabbing my phone, I snap a photo and send it his way.
ME: You forgot this Friday night.
To my surprise, he responds right away.
STONE: It’s all yours.
ME: The problem is, I already have about a million glow-in-the-dark souvenir beer cups. I don’t have room for one more. And I’d hate to toss it because it’s a perfectly good glow-in-the-dark cup.
STONE: Fair enough. I can come by and pick it up. How about tomorrow night? Around seven?
I do a mini hop in my kitchen. If he’s willing to drive clear across the city for a plastic cup, then maybe Monica’s theory has a little bit of weight?
ME: That works.
ME: Have you started the book yet?
STONE: I have.
ME: And?
STONE: It’s surprisingly hard to put down.
ME: I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic …
STONE: I’m not. I don’t usually read this kind of stuff, but I’m finding myself drawn into the story. I can see the appeal of the escape. I have to say, though, the Duke of Stonington is kind of an asshole.
ME: I like to think he’s just misunderstood.
STONE: Aren’t we all …
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Stone
* * *
I’m about to head out the door Monday night when Jude shows up.
“Hey,” I get the door. “Everything okay?”
It’s not like him to show up without calling, and the forlorn look on his face is suggestive of some sort of storm brewing.
He hoists a duffel bag over his shoulder. “You care if I crash here for a bit? Stassi and I got into it. She kicked me out.”
“What the hell are you talking about? You’re getting married next month.”
“I know.” He rolls his eyes.
“What happened?” I stand back and let him in.
He drops his shit by the door and makes a beeline to my kitchen, helping himself to a beer. He twists the cap with his bare hands, grips the neck of the bottle, and takes a swig.
“She was on my phone … and apparently decided to go through my search history.” His eyes avert to the floor; a look of shame.
“Oh, god.” No good can come of going through someone’s search history, it’s like going through their innermost private thoughts without any context. “What’d she find?”
“She saw that I’d been Googling Jovie …”
“What? Why?”
He takes another swig, this time bigger than the one before. “I don’t know, I guess she was still weirded out by the Facebook tag thing.”
“No. I mean why were you googling Jovie?”
He shrugs. “I told you the other day … running into her lately has got me thinking … and I guess I was just curious. Wanted to know what she was up to …”
I shake my head.
“I know, I know I fucked up.” He places one hand in the air, as if to stop me from the lecture he knows is brewing.
I glance at my keys and phone resting lifeless on the counter.
I spent all day looking forward to tonight, to seeing Jovie again.
Now I have to cancel.
Grabbing my phone, I fire off a quick message. Better to rip the Band-Aid off now than leave her hanging or thinking I’m ghosting her.
ME: So sorry—something just came up. Rain check on the glow-in-the-dark cup?
I wait a moment, but she doesn’t respond right away.
Jude takes a seat at my kitchen island and rambles on about Stassi, word vomiting every detail of their relationship problems—problems that should’ve been hashed out in marital therapy months ago, like I recommended.
