ONE
GAGE
Arthropoda.
Decapods.
Crustaceans.
I hated crustaceans.
It wasn’t a phobia. I just hated them. Everything about them. Their tiny, soulless black eyes, pointy legs, and jointed appendages. The way they scurried around with their creepy little feelers and pinchy pinchers. Oh, man. Just the thought made me gag.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this. Why am I doing this?” How many times had I asked the same question? This was insane. I should have seen this coming. Why hadn’t I seen this coming? When the thought of doing a thing made you feel nauseated, it was a pretty good indicator that you shouldn’t do the thing.
My best friend since high school, Kayden, smiled sympathetically. The guy deserved to have a street named after him for his patience in dealing with me through this mess.
“Because you love your fiancé?” Kayden didn’t sound too convinced. Another red flag.
“Eh.”
Did I say that?
Well, that wasn’t a good sign.
Especially when said fiancé stood at the altar waiting for me. I should’ve felt bad, terrible, I should have, except I stood in a tent on the beach in August, in Florida, wearing a suit made of seashells. That’s right. Seashells.
The little bastards were individually sewn onto the itchiest, most uncomfortable fabric known to man, made a horrible crunching sound every time I moved, and weighed far more than I expected a thousand—or however many—little shells to weigh. If I ever met this torture device’s designer, I would kick their ass. Or offer a very strongly worded email. Zero stars. Would not recommend.
When I’d tried to talk some sense into my fiancé, he’d accused me of being selfish and single-handedly attempting to destroy his big day. The last time I checked, at least two people were needed to form a marriage, though if Skipper could marry himself, he probably would. I’m sure someone in Florida already had, and hey, no judgment here, that was between them and whatever deity they worshipped.
There was dramatic, and then there was Skipper. No, that wasn’t a nickname, and yes, I should have known better than to get involved with Skipper Woodman. Speaking of….
“What’s he doing?” Why did I ask? It’s not like I didn’t know.
Kayden peeked out from the tent flap. “Looks like he’s on social media again. Is he making a video? Yep. He’s streaming a video at the altar. Classy.”
I groaned and ran a hand through my hair. “Perfect. Because his followers need another reason to hate me.”
Skip was an artist, his work centering around—wait for it…the beach. He was a boxed-water-drinking snob whose favorite line was, “Nice try, Hunty,” while pretending to be poor despite living off daddy’s millions.
Sweet Steven Tyler, what the hell was I doing? I loved Skip. That’s why I agreed to marry him, right? Wait, that shouldn’t be a question. I did love him, didn’t I? Damn, another question. Skip wasn’t that bad. The guy was crazy about me. There was the time he—no, wait, what about the time he…Nope. Uh, okay, but then there was the time he…Hm. It had to be the heat messing with my memory.
“They wouldn’t hate you if they knew the truth,” Kayden grumbled. He wiped the sweat from his brow. “Fuck, why does this overgrown swampland have to be so fucking hot?”
Yet another question I had no answer for. I was on a roll today. Kayden had made his feelings about Skip known from the beginning, but like a good friend, he supported me. Like most people in my life, he was not a fan of the Skipper.
“All he does is bitch about you on social media.” Kayden grabbed one of the wedding favor fans off the table. He stared at the shells on it, shrugged, then fanned himself. One of the tiny shells flew off and smacked him in the eye. “Shit!”
Wonderful. Because nothing made a wedding memorable like physically assaulting your guests with wedding favors. Kayden ripped the shells off and continued to fan himself, which I would have found hilarious at any other time considering how tiny that fan was and how huge Kayden was. The guy could give Captain America a run for his money—if Captain America had traded his shield in for a yoga studio.
“I didn’t see him making a video when you stayed up all night taking care of him after he got food poisoning, which, by the way, would have been avoided if he’d listened to you and not eaten the vending machine tofurky. Who the hell puts tofu anything in a vending machine?”
True.
“What about when you ran out of that meeting because he called you with an emergency, only for you to get to his condo and find out the emergency was that he’d run out of hair product and couldn’t be seen in public like that?”
That was also true. Not a good day for me. We’d lost a client thanks to Skip’s nonsense. As an acquisitions consultant for an engineering firm that held Defense contracts, my boss was not impressed.
“But that’s why I’m doing this.” I motioned to the suit I wore. “Because I love him?”
Kayden eyed me. “Are you asking me or telling me?”
It took me longer than it should have to answer.
“Telling.”
Maybe? Or was I asking? Shit. Why was I such a hot mess? More importantly, why was I surprised?
Things with Skip had been complicated since we got together a year ago. We’d been on and off so many times that I’d lost count. The only thing that outnumbered the times he’d broken up with me was the number of V-neck tees and Panama hats he had in his closet. Instead of taking that as a sign and walking away while I could, I’d let him suck me back in. Literally. More often than not, a blowjob was involved. I had problems. Serious problems.
“Maybe you’re just getting cold feet.”
“I don’t get cold feet,” I grumbled. I’d been in the Navy for crying out loud. My entire military career centered around fixing problems and working through high-pressure situations. I could get anything, anywhere, at any time. Our soldiers depended on my team and me. I also came from an Army family. Oh yeah. That was a whole other mess I wasn’t about to think about right now. The point being, I wasn’t afraid of a challenge.