The Best Friend's Guide to Surviving Matrimony (and All That Other Happy Shit)

It was a stupid idea. I'll admit that. “Showing him what he's losing” implied that he, in essence, possessed me – which couldn't be farther from the truth. If anything, I was losing him. But that didn't keep me from entertaining the thought.

Surprisingly enough, it seemed like a relatively simple feat to accomplish. How hard could it be? He was a man. All I’d have to do was belt back a few shots, put on a low-cut shirts, apply some lips gloss and show up to the wedding. He'd compare me next to that two-bit fiancee of his and ditch her in an instant. Which wasn't to say that he couldn't get good-looking girls – with a face like that, how can you not – but I knew that out of any of the bees his honey could attract, I was by far the biggest and the best. This was going to be a piece of cake.

When Jeremy poked his head into the office Friday morning and announced the arrival of a visitor, however, three days' worth of confidence and determination and backbone all flew out the window as a certain tall, raven-haired man strode into the room. Suddenly, I was losing every hope I had by simply looking at him.

It'd been too long since I’d seen him, too long since I had feasted my eyes on his beauty. It seemed to make the blow worse. I knew every inch and curve of his body, but allowed my eyes to peruse him anyway, even though I knew it would hurt. He was surprisingly formal today, dressed out in a pair of black trousers and a black-and-white pinstriped button-up. But God, did he make formal hot. The trousers clung tight to his thighs and complimented the imminent bulge at the apex of his legs. Black boots peeked out from beneath the hems. While the shirt wasn't as obscenely tight as the pants, the sleeves were rolled up and the top three buttons undone, revealing drool-worthy sneaks of tanned skin. And then, of course, there was that face: lips curled, eyes glowing, wisps of chestnut tendrils falling out of his paisley bandana and framing his awing features.

My heart ached. No, I definitely wasn't ready for this. There was so much more at stake than I’d realized.

“Hey,” he said, lips spreading into a grin. Those dark orbs twinkled. “Lookin' good, little one.”

I continued staring at those eyes, those marvelous eyes, my heart pounding. “You too.”

“It's been almost a year and a half! Don't I get a hug?”

I'm not sure how, but next thing I knew, I was across the room and pressed against his chest, cheek flush against his bare skin. His scent engulfed me lit it always did. His hair tickled my forehead like it always did. His breath stirred at my ear like it always did. I had the strong urge to kiss him like I always did. And when the hug lasted longer than just a moment's time, I broke the contact as fast as I could, like I always did.

“Okay, you missed me, I get it,” I laughed, pulling away.

He was smiling. “You haven't changed a bit.”

“Be glad,” I mused with a wink. “Oh – so congratulations, stud! Never pictured you as the settling down type, but I guess you finally met the girl strong enough to tie you down, huh?”

Congratulations flopped off my tongue awkwardly, my mind not exactly sure how to pronounce the word. I didn't mean it. Not one bit. But I tried to make it believable, tried to make the smile on my face genuine, and by the smile on his own face, I could tell it was working.

“You and your subtle way with words,” he said sarcastically. “Yeah, she's the one, I guess. I don't know why, but I'm crazy about her.”

I had to fight the impending eye roll I felt coming. I don't know why, either.

“I can't wait for you two to meet. You guys are so much alike.”

My nose crinkled a bit. “Hate to burst your bubble, Satch, but I'm busy pretty much twenty-four-seven these days. The chances of me getting around to the meet the boo before the ceremony are unlikely.” I leaned against my desk, shrugging in an attempt to dismiss the unintentional distaste in my tone. “Besides, wwhat does it matter what I think of her? This whole thing is about you, not me.”

Lie.

“Because you're my best friend. Your opinion matters.” He brightened a bit. “You won't have to wait till the ceremony, anyway. We're throwing an engagement party next Saturday.”

My face paled. “Oh.”

“It'd mean the world to us if you came,” he said, stepping closer. He was getting that pleading look in his eye. “Vivian is dying to meet you. Jo and the boys will be there too. And we even made it on a Saturday so you could come.”

I stared at him for a long time, probably too long. My gut was bubbling. Every part of me was protesting the idea. Me, alcohol, and his wife-to-be? Never had I heard a worse proposition – except, maybe, the whole dumb marriage in general. Still, this one was a close contender for runner-up.

There were three variables, however, that kept the word “no” from spilling off my tongue:

1. He was looking at me with his puppy dog face.

2. He'd obviously talked to his fiancee about me in a good light.

3. He'd remembered, even after eighteen months, that Saturday was my one free night a week.

So when what I wanted to do was actually scream, “No, no, no,” what I ended up muttering was, “When is it?”

He grinned.

After putting the date in on my phone and filling me up with more uninteresting tidbits about his fabulous fiancee, Satchel vamoosed unusually fast, claiming to have “band shit.” With the get-up he was in, it seemed highly doubtful. But I said nothing, just watched the floor as he kissed my cheek and found his way out. When I heard the door click shut was when I finally breathed, letting out a sigh and sinking down into my chair.

“God dammit,” I muttered to myself. I’d forgotten how beautiful he was. How charming. How much I adored him.

He'd changed so much, yet not at all. While there were noticeable differences, such as the fact that he hadn't spewed out with a random cry of Fuck! a single time during his visit (very un-Satchel-like, I assure you), he was still just Satchel. Nothing less, nothing more. He still had the obliterating smirk and the careless attitude that drove me crazy when we first met. He was still so intelligent in his own pretentious way that made me all that much more adoring. And while he may have been softer than I preferred, I still couldn't hold it against him. He was too perfect. And I thought I could win his affections?

Flopping my head back to stare at the ceiling, I couldn't help but question my own perseverance. His visit had dashed almost all of my hopes. I was cracking already.

Winning him over was going to be a lot harder than I’d thought.