“Nashville,” his mom said, lifting her hand to her chest and setting off a chain reaction of clinking and clacking as her million and one brackets clanged against one another. “Your father and I have been married for forty years, and we’re still in love.”

And living separately—as in, a five-hour drive from each other—for the past fifteen years, but that worked for them. As far as he could tell, they actually were happy with Mom in Harbor City and Dad at a commune upstate.

“Then you’re the exception.” He glanced over at his engaged cousins. “As I’m sure you’ll all be.”

“Wow,” Dixon said, glaring at Nash. “What a vote of confidence.”

“Look, unlike your marriages, my marriage isn’t about love.” He pushed back from the table and crossed his arms, suddenly losing his appetite even though he had half a burger left. “It’s about getting both of us what we want.”

“And you want to win the bet,” Dixon said.

Nash nodded. “Exactly.”

Griff leveled his unwavering stare at Nash. It was a look that could make most people rethink whatever it was they were saying. His cousin’s mix of muscles, tattoos, and surly snarl that only left his face when he looked at Kinsey tended to have that effect on people. However, Nash had spent every summer growing up with him and had known him back when he was the runt of the Beckett cousins.

“What’s she get?” Griff asked.

Something that wasn’t anyone’s business. “It doesn’t matter. We’re both going into this knowing that in a month, on New Year’s Eve, our marriage is over. That’s more than enough time needed for me to win Grandma Betty’s last present and for my wife to accomplish what she needs. One amicable divorce later, and we’ll both walk away happily single, unencumbered by love, and with our entire lives ahead of us to do whatever and whoever we want.”

His cousins glared at him. They were as close as siblings and as competitive as three nemesis Formula 1 drivers in the race of a lifetime. They’d each walk in front of a crosstown bus for the others but would also gleefully shove a cousin into the icy lake behind Gable House in December just to watch him splutter.

They were guys. It didn’t have to make sense.

“This is bullshit,” Dixon grumbled, obviously realizing that Nash had outwitted him.

Nash shrugged, relishing the moment. “There’s nothing in the rules against it.”

“You wrote the rules,” Griff shot back, no doubt annoyed that the smartest among them hadn’t thought of this brilliant idea first.

Nash smirked—he couldn’t help it. “No one said life was fair.”

“So,” Bristol said, yanking Nash’s attention back to the table full of Becketts and soon-to-be Becketts staring him down. “Who is the lucky lady?”