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TANNER

This getup is not what I’d ever have in mind if it were me marrying someone. Fuck, the collar around my throat is getting tighter and tighter by the minute. Ridge is lucky that I’m even in this damn penguin suit. The only good part about this damn shit is that there isn’t a tail at the end.

“Quit fuckin’ around,” Ridge says, just as I’m pulling on my collar for the eighth damn time.

“Listen, there’s a reason why you work a desk job and I do what I do,” I give him hell like he usually dishes me.

“When you’re old and crotchety, barely able to move, you’ll be thinking, ‘Damn, I should have been more like Ridge.’” He swirls the bourbon in his glass before taking a sip. Classic banker moves right there.

“Maybe, maybe not. There’s a reason why we all run the Hart of Stone Construction company,” I tell him, already having set a plan in motion, with the rest of my siblings.

Our poor parents, literally and figuratively, raised five children in a small house with three bedrooms and one bathroom.

The minute I could, I worked my ass off during the summers, taking construction jobs even if it was to pick up trash and throw it in the dumpster.

It helped my parents out, too, me having my own spending money, and what I learned only added to working around the house when Dad decided to add another room to the house when my sister was about three years old.

We all worked tirelessly, but to see Mom’s smile on her face and not having a little girl in their bedroom helped a lot.

“Touché. You going to drop off Taylor’s gift for me?” Ridge asks for the third time.

“Finishing my beer and then heading that way,” I tell him.

Taylor and he have been living together for over a year now.

I’m not sure why they felt the need to spend the night away from one another or why they allowed their parents to even think they should.

It’s all too fucking cliché. If it were me, the only thing I’d do that maybe half of the other population does is skip the big ceremony and reception.

Shit, maybe I’m even cliché thinking this, but a wedding in Vegas sounds ten times better than this.

It’s the honeymoon that deserves all the hype, anyway.

“Do it soon, yeah? This is something she can wear when she walks down the aisle.” He winks. I’m not sure if I should be happy for him or scared for myself.

“Fuck, I don’t even wanna know, do I?” I take my last sip of beer, grab the bag he has dangling on his fingers, and see the grin he’s trying to hide behind his hand while attempting to cough.

“Do yourself a favor and give that to Marlie. Taylor just texted and said she’s there and in designer mode.

That woman’s a work horse, a lot like yourself.

Anyway, hand that off to her, please, or Taylor might kill her maid of honor and best friend forever and ever.

Taylor’s words, not mine.” I get a kick out of that because Taylor is pretty easy going.

I’ve yet to meet Marlie because of her schedule and mine always clashing, so it’ll be interesting to finally put a face to her name.

“Gotcha. If we’re done talking like two girls, I’ll go hand off your present and get back here in time to be your best man.

You know, the reason I’m in this getup.” I point to the black-and-white ensemble, the cummerbund, a freaking cummerbund.

I don’t know how I got roped into this, but it’s bullshit.

Give me a cotton shirt, worn-in jeans, broken-in boots, and I’d call it a day.

The kicker is, I’m wearing a dark purple tie, along with the same color flower pinned through the lapel on my left side.

If my sister were here, she’d point at me and laugh, then I’d have to ruffle her feathers, Mom would holler, Dad would laugh, and our brothers would get in on the fun.

“Yeah, get your panties out of a twist while you’re at it.

It won’t kill you to wear it for a few hours, and you can repay me one day when it’s your time to get married.

” That causes a shiver to travel down my spine.

It’s not that I’m opposed to marriage; I’m just beginning to think I’ll be single forever.

And that’s fucking fine with me. My business is thriving, my family isn’t on poverty’s doorstep, and my four-year-old golden retriever, Tim, might be all I ever need.

“Not likely. Be back soon.” I head for the door to do his bidding, like I’m some girl Friday. I should probably rethink this friendship with Ridge. It seems like more work than ever.