Page 5 of With Any Luck

“Goes straight to voice mail.”

“And all the other guys last night, you followed up with them?”

“They said you two went off and didn’t come back.”

Shit.I don’t remember this escapade last night at all, at least not at first. But the more I think, the more the nightcomes back to me in bits and pieces, flashes of a puzzle slowly shifting together. We left the bar. And then ...

Then—

“Oh, fuck,” I whisper.

Theo darts his gaze to me. “What?”

Dread coils in my stomach because I did the unthinkable. Drunk, wild card me did the one thing that I wasn’t supposed to do—ever. The worst thing imaginable.

I remember a kiss.

Normally, I’m sure that would fall under the umbrella of “Bad Things You Should Never Do To A Groom The Night Before His Wedding,” but this is worse. Way, way worse. Because, one, that’s so gross. I want to peel off my lips and throw them in the sea. Yes, Rhett is gorgeous. He’s handsome. He’s perfect.

He’s also like a brother to me. A long-lost sibling. My right-hand man. My big cheese. My good-time boy. I will kill for Rhett Song, and I’ll help him hide a body. And now I have to go and scrub my lips of at least three layers of skin before I can eventhinkabout him again.

Kissing him is like Luke kissing Leia inStar Wars.

And, obviously, it’s also bad news because of my curse.

You know, the one Theodore Luck doesn’t believe in?

Ever since I could remember, whenever I’ve kissed someone—on-the-mouth kissed someone with a purpose—the person finds their soulmate, the love of their life, the next day.

I know how it sounds,reallyI do. But how else does it explain that when I was thirteen and kissed Teddy Abercorn behind the gym bleachers, our science teacher paired him with Evelyn Albright the next morning for a frog dissection, and now, fifteen years later, they’re happily married with two kids in Albuquerque? Or Quinn Dayton, whom I kissed in the back of the band bus my senior year, and he flew out the nextmorning on a backpacking trip to Europe and sat beside his future husband, Fitzgerald, on the red-eye to London?

Or Fiona Baylor. Cairo Weitz. Iwan Ashton. Oliver Quick. Phillip Dietz. Wesley McNutty. On and on and on, twelve in total.

And Rhett made thirteen.

Thirteen, and now MIA to his own wedding.

Because I kissed him last night and he realized that he was about to marry the wrong woman and now he’s on the run. That’s the only explanation, right? Isn’t it? Sometime last night, he met the love of his life and now they’re on a fated rom-com-esque adventure together as they fall madly in love—

And it’s not with Carmilla.

Oh my God.I just became Julia Roberts inMy Best Friend’s Weddinganyway.

Theo can read my face, because he says, “You remembered something? From last night?”

“What?” I squeak, then clear my throat. I try to put on my best poker face. “No.”

“I know that look.”

Apparently, my poker face is shit.

There has to be some mistake. I refuse to believe that I—even drunk me—would do something as stupid as kiss my best friend. I shake my head and say, “Rhett never leaves things half-finished. He’s somewhere in this town, I’m sure. Let’s start where we saw him last,” I suggest, grabbing my purse from where drunk-Audrey had thrown it on the entrance table and looping it over my shoulder. “Which is Ye-Haute.”

Theo scrunches his nose. “The cowboy-wench bar?”

“Only God can judge me,” I reply severely. He holds up his hands in surrender. “C’mon. Let’s hurry.”

“After you.”

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