Page 5 of And the Best Man Ran Away With the Groom

“I donotknow that,” I grate out. “And they definitely didnotgo home to fuck.”

“Sorry,” Alastor says, offering a smirk as he holds his hands up to make air quotes. “Make love.”

“I hate you.”

I pull myself up off the couch and bound up the stairs, opening the front door to reveal one of the last people I was expecting. Trent Darcy.

He looks like a completely different person out of the suit he had on yesterday. Much more casual in a well-worn t-shirt, denim shorts, and thongs, with his long hair pulled back in a messy bun. He’s one of those genetically blessed people that can pull off any look they want, though; I’m sure he’d still be attractive even if he were sporting a parachute tracky and a bright pink perm.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, unable to keep the suspicion from my voice. I’ve never had an issue with Trent; I mean, I’ve never really gotten to know him all that well considering we moved in completely different circles at school, and he’s been living in Sydney for I have no idea how long, but the few times we hung out while I was with Jack I got the impression that he was a perfectly nice guy. Here he is now, though, on my doorstep, the day after his best friend ran out on our wedding, and he’s smiling at me as though there’s absolutely nothing unusual about this situation.

He shrugs. “It seems a best man’s work is never done. Even when the groom he’s best man to takes off before the ceremony.” I glower at him, which prompts him to cock an eyebrow. “Sorry. Too soon?”

“You were saying something about why you’re here,” I say flatly, motioning for him to get on with it.

“Right.” He gives another bright smile and steps back from the door for a moment, reaching over to the side to retrieve something. I’m about to poke my head out the doorway to see what he’s doing, but then he straightens up, a half-sized post box replica in hand. The wishing well from the wedding.

I immediately start shaking my head. “Nope. No thank you.”

“It’s yours,” he insists.

“No, it’s not. That money was gifted to me and Jack, for our future or whatever. Now there is no me and Jack, and definitely no future to spend that money in.”

“Come on, there’s got to be at least fifteen grand in here,” he says, still attempting to shove the post box at me. “Someone’s got to take it.”

“Not me.”

He lets out a weary sigh. “Okay, can I come in, please? I feel like a dick standing out here fighting over a miniature post box.”

I hesitate for a long moment before relenting and stepping back from the doorway so he can come in.

“Why does your house smell like my acupuncturist’s treatment room?” Trent asks, his face screwed up as he sniffs the air.

“Mum’s been cleansing the bad aura,” I grumble. “Clearly it’s worked if you’re here.”

He holds the hand not lugging the wishing well up in a placating gesture, a soft smile in place. “I come in peace, I promise.” Then he cocks his head as though he’s a dog picking up a sound. “Is thatCaptain America?”

I groan. “Bastard was supposed to pause it.”

Trent’s brows shoot up in obvious curiosity, but I just sigh and motion for him to follow me downstairs.

“Darc, hey. what’s up mate?” Alastor asks from his spot on the couch when he sees me return with Trent.

Trent brushes past me and toward Alastor. “Kingy, hey, how’s it going?” The pair complete their footy bro handshake thing with neither of them actually answering the other’s question.

“You were going to pause the movie,” I say with a scowl in Alastor’s direction.

He just shrugs. “You were taking forever.”

GLOSSARY

Lounge Room - Living Room

T20 - Twenty20. The shortest form of professional cricket - often considered the most exciting by people who don’t know much about cricket. (And now Isla will step down from her high horse and continue the glossary).

Frothy (also spelled Froffy) - beer

Furphy - a delicious Victorian-brewed ale. Not to be confused with Furby, the incredibly annoying toy that was popular in the ’90s.

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