“Totally exciting,” I repeat, and I can practically feel Asher’s smirk even though I’m not looking at him.

“Well,” Yasmin says brightly, “I think I’ll go and congratulate her again.” She gives me a peck on the cheek and then beelines for Hannah.

I look into my empty juice glass and wish scotch were in there.

“Here,” Asher says, thrusting a bottle of beer in my direction. “I’m sensing you need this.”

“So I can entertain you some more?”

“No,” he says quietly. “Dude, I had no idea your divorce was official. How long ago did that happen?”

“Last month,” I mutter. “Although we’ve been separated for a year.”

He frowns. “So . . . you got divorced the same month that Hannah announced her pregnancy and right before she got engaged?”

“Yup.”

He toys with the label on his beer. “You know, your freak-out is starting to make a little more sense to me. No wonder you let whiskey drive the bus last night.”

I bark out a laugh without meaning to. He’s right, though. My sister is having a shotgun wedding, just like I did six and a half years ago after getting my college girlfriend pregnant. And look how that turned out.

Asher St. James isn’t getting that story, though. No thanks. Or any stories. Earlier, I could hear him fishing for clues about my sexuality. I’m bisexual. I’m not conflicted about it. My family knows.

But my drunken text rant was over-the-top embarrassing. There’s no way I want Asher to think that I was hitting on him. Like his ego needs any more stroking.

More guests come through the door, and he hurries off to greet them. I watch him go. Well, fine, I admire his ass in those trendy, close-fitting pants. Still, Asher is everything I’m not. He’s the life of the party. He was a professional soccer player; now he’s a top photographer of athletes and models. He’s sporty and artsy and smooth.

So damn smooth. Like his clean-shaven face that I bet would feel so good . . .

“Mark!”

I drag my eyes off Asher’s hiney and find my sister and Flip marching toward me. “Yes, Hannah. How’s your party? I heard they’re bringing out some vegetarian rolls, by the way.” I give her a wink.

“That’s amazing. Who could eat, though? I’m just so excited to see everyone!” She’s beaming and fanning her face with excitement. That giant rock on her finger hardly looks real. She sent me about fifty pictures of it yesterday, and I assumed the camera angle was exaggerating things.

But, nope. Rosie’s marbles are smaller than that thing.

She puts her hands on my chest, and the sparkle almost blinds me. “Mark, one of the reasons I was so happy for Asher to plan this party tonight is . . .” She stops, her smile growing bigger, like it’s about to unleash a secret she’s been holding in all evening. “Ever since we were kids, I always knew I would want to do this.”