“Murph, are you coming to Myrtle Beach?” Nash suddenly asks.

“Myrtle Beach?” I quirk a brow in confusion.

He nods. “Yeah. The bachelor party. We’ve got this really cool rental house right on the beach. Just me, Kev, Seth, a couple of guys from New York. And, Harley, of course.”

Of course. I try to act unbothered. “No. I have some things to do around here.”

He shrugs, and Anna starts, looking at me with bulging blue eyes. “Oh my God!”

“What?” I stare at her, waiting for whatever it is she’s suddenly so excited about as Nash picks at chips from a bowl on the countertop. She clutches at her chest dramatically, and I just blink at her until she gets to whatever it is she feels so inclined to tell me. “You can come to the bachelorette party,” she says as if it’s the greatest idea since sliced, gluten-free bread. “We’re having it at a retreat in the mountains. Facials. Massages. Manicures and pedicures. The works! Please say you’ll come?”

I almost choke on thin air from her unexpected invitation. She can’t possibly expect me to come. I couldn’t honestly be expected to go. Not with her, the woman marrying the man I was supposed to end up with. And a retreat in the mountains? It’s hardly my kind of thing. To be honest, I’d rather jump headfirst into an open shark tank than spend a night with Anna and her girlfriends. “Actually, on second thought, I’ll go to Myrtle Beach,” I say, trying not to make myself too obvious. And both Anna and Nash look at me, so I add with a smile, “It’ll be nice to spend the time with Harley.” I’m almost certain I can taste throw-up in my mouth.

Nash makes a cooing sound, Anna openly gushes, and I try so hard not to roll my eyes.

“Is he around?” I ask, forcing myself to look away from where Nash’s hand rests casually on Anna’s slender hip, his thumb tenderly stroking the smooth skin showing where the hem of that damn T-shirt has ridden up slightly higher, exposing her perfect skin. Not a single stretch mark in sight.

“Garage.” Nash nods in the direction of the door, picking a chip from the big bowl on the countertop. “He’s getting some ice from the back of his truck.”

“Babe, stop!” Anna slaps his hand playfully. “No more chips. Think of the wedding photos. You’re going to break out and bloat up!”

Nash rolls his eyes, doing as he’s told and pushing the chip bowl as far away as he can, and for some reason that makes me real sad. He’s like her little dog, doing as he’s ordered. Turning quickly, I hurry through the internal door that leads to the garage, desperate to get the hell away from the two of them.

The garage smells of gasoline and freshly mowed lawn, and immediately I can feel my allergies threatening what little composure I have. I sniffle, wiping my nose with the sleeve of my shirt as I step down into the cluttered darkness, illuminated only by the tiny window at the top of the garage door. When I spot Harley, I pause, resting against the side of his truck. I take a moment to watch as he effortlessly lifts two bags of ice and a case of beer from the back. He’s wearing a flannel with the sleeves ripped off, exposing his strong arms, most of which are covered in tattoos. The top few buttons are undone, showing off his inked chest. For a few seconds, it’s as if I’m in some kind of a trance I can’t snap myself of out of, and I hate every second of it, but I still can’t tear my eyes away from the way his muscles move beneath his skin. It’s almost hypnotizing.