Nash looks down at me, his eyes scanning me from head to toe as a grin curls his lips. “T-shirt a bit big, huh?”

I look down at the embarrassingly obvious Nash Harris Stag Party T-shirt Kevin had made for everyone to wear for the trip. “Yeah.” I chuckle. “I guess he didn’t stop to think that I’m half the size of almost everyone else on this trip.” My designated T-shirt, the one with Murph printed on the back, was swimming on me when I put it on. It fell to mid-thigh—even longer than my shorts—so I had to tie it up at the side, and cut off the sleeves, which came down to my elbows.

“It looks cute on you.”

At that, my head snaps up and I meet Nash’s eyes. He quickly looks away, pressing his lips together, and I watch as he closes his eyes briefly as if silently chastising himself. And it sucks. He should be able to say those kinds of things to me. He used to tell me all the time that I was cute, or something I did was cute. Even before we dated. It used to piss me off because I never wanted to be cute. I wanted to be sexy or beautiful. But then, the way he told me I was cute started to grow on me. And I was suddenly his cute girl. But now? Now cute is unacceptable. And it sucks that everything has changed.

Silence settles between us, and I hate these silences. It’s like neither of us knows what to say or how to act around each other anymore. In the years we’ve known each other, we’ve never had to deal with uncomfortable silences, but now it seems that’s all we have left: uncomfortable silences and awkwardly fleeting glances full of something neither of us has the guts to broach.

“We should get going,” Nash finally says, looking at me with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “The bus will be here any minute.”

I watch as he turns and walks back inside, and I exhale a heavy breath, looking out at the ocean one last time in the hope of some semblance of clarity. A horn sounds from out front, and I take a fortifying breath, forcing a smile onto my face as I walk inside to meet the rest of the guys as they excitedly make their way to the door. I follow the throng down the steep front steps and we come to a stop at a blacked-out bus idling in the long driveway, deep bass thrumming heavily from inside and seeping out into the otherwise peaceful afternoon.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” A woman wearing what can only be described as lingerie smiles as she steps down from the bus. Her eyes meet me, and her smile falters momentarily before returning. “Oh, and lady.”

I shake my head, waving a hand in the air at her correction. “Consider me one of the guys.”

She giggles, looking at Nash’s T-shirt, which clearly indicates that he’s the groom, and she takes his hand without asking, leading him onto the bus first before we all follow. Inside, the place is like a nightclub. Bright flashing lights, loud music, and a fully stocked bar. I smirk knowingly at Nash as I pass him, trying not to laugh as he sits looking awkward as hell with the scantily clad woman perched right on his lap. I continue to the seat at the back, sliding in by the window while watching as the guys all pile in, all of them laughing at Nash and taking photos with their phones.