Page 40 of Her Brother's Billionaire Best Friend

“Something like that.” Ilaughed it off and walked away, struggling to conceal my smirk ofsatisfaction.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

(Matthew)

Putting together a bachelorparty for Scott hadn’t been easy. There had been so many rules. Forexample, no strippers and certainly no escorts. We couldn’t be outpartying until dawn, either; we were well past that age, and wecouldn’t show up to the ceremony looking like the bloated corpsesof ourselves, having biologically died the night before.

But the entire point of a bachelorparty was to feel young and single and carefree one last time,before marriage locked you down into misery forever.

The straights were very much notokay.

Still, a tradition was a tradition, andI wasn’t about to let my best buddy down.

We’d skipped out almostimmediately after the rehearsal dinner, leaving the rest of theguests to drink and dance into the sensible hours. As I’d left, I’dspotted Charlotte. My eyes had been immediately drawn to her, theway they had been all night. She’d been on the dance floor,cracking up while voguing badly with her equally not gracefulfather, and something in my chest had melted at how sweet theentire thing was.

Then the danger alarms hadgone off and I’d led my buddies perhaps too quickly through theresort, to the deserted conference facilities. Now, we stood infront of the double doors to the main conference pavilion, a hugeoctagonal building on the outskirts of the resort, my lessphysically-inclined friends sweating and red-faced.

They would see that itwould all be worth the hike in a minute.

“Gentleman!” I announcedlike a ringleader. “We are about to experience the most outrageousnight of our lives.”

“Can we experience it in theair conditioning?” Scott asked, wiping his brow.

“Shut up. This ispageantry, okay?” I cleared my throat. “Tonight, we are going toparty like it’s freshman year. Picture it. New Jersey. Two-thousandand three. Drink of choice? Diet Mountain Dew. The soundtrack?System of a Down. Our mission?”

“To protect the world fromthe threat of fascism,” Shawn said, his bespectacled face lightingup with recognition.

I pointed enthusiastically to him.“Exactly. Gentlemen, I give you...” I pulled open the double doorswith a flourish. “Call of Duty.”

“No way,” Scott breathedreverently.

Inside, a ring of tablesbore some truly ancient hardware, still far better than thecomputers we’d lugged to the internet cafe off campus. None ofthese machines had cardboard boxes for a case, but I’d made surethey all had the tube monitors and wired mice we’d consideredstate-of-the-art twenty years ago. It was like a timemachine.

All around the room,servers—the human kind—waited to bring us drinks and snacks at ourrequest, so no one would have to leave their seats. Truly, it wasthe LAN party dreams were made of.

“Dude,” Dan, our campingstore owning friend, said to Scott. “I’m sorry, but we’re gonnamiss your wedding.”

As our friends rushed in toclaim their conference center desk chairs, dutifully avoiding thehumps of taped-down wires on the carpet, Scott clapped me on theback. Actual tears shone in his eyes. “This is... the perfectbachelor party.”

“I know.” I gave him a hugand, stepping back, said, “Come on. Let’s kill someNazis.”

****

I didn’t know why I calledCharlotte.

It was three in themorning. She would be asleep. And she’d never given me permissionto put my number in her phone. That had been a risky move that hadpaid dividends. I pinched the silky fabric of her panties betweenmy thumb and forefinger and rolled it idly. But I’d intended thattext message to be a one-time thing. A quick little joke and we’dnever need to contact each other that way again. One and done,delete her number.

But I hadn’t deleted hernumber and now I was drunk and alone and, after reliving most offreshman year of college all in one night, I was oddlydepressed.

I didn’t know why I called her. But shepicked up before I could change my mind.

“Matt?” She sounded awfullyawake for this time of night.

“What are you doing up?” Iasked, almost accusatory. “You’re supposed to be at a weddingtomorrow.”

“The Godfatherwas on TV, and I gotsucked in. Then the second one came on and I thought, why not?Nothing going on tomorrow, right?” She paused. “What are you doingup? You’re supposed to be in a wedding in less than twelve hours.And how did your number get into my phone?”

“Sorry about that.” I shouldbe sorry. It had been a supremely creepy move, in hindsight. “Ithought it would be funny.”

---