“Will you boys get out of the way and act like gentlemen? Let the woman sit down! Where are your manners?” Lola asks, flicking Patrick’s ear.

The question sets everyone in motion, my friends tumbling out of the booth. Jack dashes off to grab fresh drinks for the gang. Noah tracks down some menus; I insisted we wait to eat until she arrived. Jo pats the space next to her, offering a friendly grin. Emma’s eyes flick to mine, and I raise my eyebrows, checking in, making sure she’s okay.

She gives me a nod in return, breaking our eye contact and focusing her attention on the gabbing women who are welcoming her with open arms. I want Emma to like hanging out with my buddies, but I also want her to become friends with their other halves like I am.

“She’s doing okay,” Noah says, nudging my side. Some of the tension deteriorates as the girls all laugh at something Lola says.

“She doesn’t seem nervous,” Patrick agrees. “This is so exciting, H!”

“I feel like I’m on a freaking roller coaster,” I grumble, accepting the beer Jack hands me. I take a swig, wiping my mouth clear of foam. “It’s only been a few weeks of really knowing each other, but I can already tell she’s important to me, you know?”

“They grow up so fast,” Neil says dramatically.

“They’re looking over here and giggling,” I observe.

“I hope they’re talking about the time you forgot to wear boxers under your white bathing suit shorts and didn’t realize until you were climbing out of the ocean,” Jack adds. “Everyone got a glance at that nice dick of yours.”

“I really hate all of you.”

The next two hours pass in the blink of an eye. Emma laughs at the stupid jokes my friends make, indulges in deep conversations with the other women, and holds my hand under the table, fingers squeezing mine every few minutes, reassuring me she’s not going anywhere, even after hearing the stories.

“Next round is on me,” I announce.

“I’m going to run to the restroom, then I’ll help you carry the tray back,” Emma says, sliding out of the booth behind me. I swing our hands back and forth until we part at the bar.

“You know I can carry a tray by myself.” I press a kiss to her forehead.

“Yeah, I know. I just wanted an excuse to hold your hand in front of people,” she teases, sauntering in the direction of the bathroom.

I’m distracted when I put in the order, leaning against the wood of the counter as I wait. My friends like Emma. I can tell. They aren’t asking invasive questions or embarrassing her. Everyone’s having a good time.