The Bachelor Party (But We’re Bros! #24)

Chapter One

Finn

Airports are fun. It’s like this big living room inside a shopping mall, and then you get to fly off to somewhere even more fun. Or, I guess they can be, once you get past check-in and security. That whole part is pretty ass, actually.

Miles, my best friend since seventh grade, came running at me once I exited the giant robotic revolving door into the airport. His arms stretched out as wide as his smile. I smiled too.

“Yo, what’s up!” Miles said as we crashed into a half-hug, half-hand-slap. “You’re late, fucker. I can’t start the party without my number one male!”

Maybe I was wrong. Even check-in and security can be fun if you’re with the right people.

“Sorry. I couldn’t find an Uber, then I had to pack at the last minute.”

“It’s like seven o’clock in the morning, bro. You couldn’t pack last night?”

“When did you pack?” I didn’t want to admit that I had gotten my duffel from my parents’ place the night before, but forgot to fill it with clothes and shit until that morning.

Miles rolled his eyes and laughed. “Bree made me pack two weeks ago. Then repacked it herself.”

“Perks of getting hitched, I guess.”

Miles draped his arm around my shoulders and ushered me to where the other guys were waiting in line. “Are you ready to party? You fucking better be.”

I was ready. I needed it. But being his best man meant ensuring he partied the right amount, more than doing so myself.

“You know it, bro. Gonna get litty titties on South Beach,” I said.

“The number one male is here. Party has started!” Miles hollered to the other guys as we got within earshot.

Number one male was a weird thing to call me, but less weird than asking me to be his best man.

Miles was close to his older brother, Ryder, but we always said we were brothers too.

Of course, I said yes, even if I had no idea what the hell I was doing.

I’d never even been in a wedding party before, much less responsible for all that shit, but then I found out everything was pretty much planned.

All I had to do was wrangle the boys, which I could handle.

Miles’s face fell a bit, along with his volume, and stopped me before we got to the guys. “Did you, uh, tell them about the rules?”

“What rules?”

“No pictures of me too drunk. Or drunk at all. Or with a drink in my hand. Nothing on social media without my express approval. And no filming. No videos at all. Period.”

I didn’t roll my eyes, but could’ve. I knew they were his fiancée, Brielle’s rules, not his. Miles had never given a shit about what was on socials until he met Bree.

“Yeah, I put it in the group chat.”

Miles smiled again. “That’s why you’re the best number one male, Finnegan Cartier.” My name isn’t Finnegan. Nor is my last name that fancy watch brand. At least, I think they make watches. It’s just Finn Carter, but Miles has called me that since we were twelve.

The guys were waiting to use the self-check-in kiosk, so I couldn’t have been that late. Tyler greeted me first, with the same half-hug I’d gotten from Miles.

“The best man showing up late to the bachelor party? Not a great look, bro,” Tyler said.

Tyler went to high school with Miles and me. He was on the same teams as we were and was basically our third best friend. He liked giving shit and drinking. Not always in that order.

“Fuck off. When did you get here?”

“Number one male’s coming in spicy,” Connor, Miles’s roommate from college, said.

“We’re going to Miami, best keep it spicy,” I said, greeting Connor the same way I did the other guys.

Jason, Miles’s work friend, who was a few years older than us and married with a kid already, said, “Don’t let them bullshit. They walked in ninety seconds before you did.”

“Thanks, man.” I gave him a broad smile and a firm handshake.

“No worries,” Jason said. “I’ve been here since six. Like we were supposed to, right, Kilo?”

Tyler’s face lit up. “Yo, you call him Kilo, too?”

Jason chuckled. “I mean, it’s right there.”

“Motherfucker bought European jeans in high school, and we called him kilo-meters until we graduated.” Tyler laughed and pushed Miles.

“My mom bought them for me after a work trip. And I wore them one time.” Miles said with a whine.

“Yeah, but you told anyone who’d listen they were from Paris,” I said.

I didn’t envy the attendant behind the counter taking our checked bags, or anyone, having to deal with us.

We looked like a bunch of rowdy former athletes in our twenties because we were.

Jason had to have played some kind of sport.

And I wasn’t sure if he was still in his twenties, or was, like, thirty.

Either way, I knew he could hang from the happy hours I’d been to with him.

While looking at his phone in the security line, Connor asked, “When’s the wedding again? Need to put in time off.”

Miles said, “September fourth. It’s not in your calendar yet?”

Connor looked up. “The farthest thing in my calendar is two weeks away, and that’s, like, what? Three and a half months?”

Tyler turned to me. “I was gonna ask, why are we going now, so far away from the wedding?”

“The only dates that worked for everyone,” I said, taking my shoes and belt off, reciting what Miles told me when I asked the same question.

“You’ll need to take off the Friday before too, and a half-day that Thursday,” Miles said to all of us.

“Why Thursday?” Tyler asked.

“That’s the stag night,” I answered.

“The fuck is a stag night?” Connor’s brow came together.

I looked to Miles to field that one, as I had no clue either. It was just one of the dates he told me to remember.

“Just a night to go out with the boys one more time before the rehearsal dinner.” Miles shrugged.

“Aren’t we doing that right now?” Connor asked.

“Not all my groomsmen could make it, and I have some other friends and cousins I want to celebrate with too.”

“Isn’t that what the actual wedding is for, bro?” Tyler pointed out.

“Nah, that’s Bree’s day. The stag night is for the boys.” The TSA agent waved Miles to enter the little glass box, where he had to raise his arms and spread his legs.

We were hyped once we had our shoes on and in search of a bar. It might’ve been eight in the morning on a Thursday, but clocks don’t matter on bachelor party time. The bar closest to our gate was closed, but we found another one further down.

“Cheers, man!” Tyler said, raising his glass. “Your last hurrah as a single man.”

“Hey, I’m here, and I’m not single. I’m still hurrah-ing.” Jason laughed.

Miles said, “And you have a girlfriend, Tyler.”

“Nah, she wasn’t my girlfriend, and we’re not seeing each other anymore. I’m a free man this weekend.”

Connor slapped his back. “Good, me and Finn need someone else on our team tryna smash.”

“Hey,” I said, “keep my name out your filthy mouth. Just because I’m single doesn’t mean I’m a whore.”

“Are you calling me a whore?” Connor asked.

“I’m just saying your body count and your bank account are both in the hundreds.”

“Damn fucking right.” Connor roared with laughter.

Jason asked me, “Is this it for Miami? Sorry, I didn’t pay too close attention to the group chat.”

“Uh, yup, except…” I turned to Miles. “Where’s your brother?”

Miles took a slug of his beer instead of answering. Then it sounded like some of it got caught in his throat. “Not sure. But he said he was gonna come.”

Miles turned his attention to Tyler, and Jason asked me, “What’s the room situation again? We’re sharing, right?”

“Yup. You’re with Connor, I’m with Ty, and Miles is with his brother.”

Connor said, “Hey bro, you didn’t say shit in the chat about me bringing girls back to the room. So just be prepared for the fun.”

Jason’s cheeks heated, and he laughed. “Knew I shoulda paid more attention to the group chat.”

I almost choked on my beer before I answered. Rounding the corner, looking pissed off, was Miles’s older brother, Ryder. He was always bigger than Miles and me, even when we all stopped growing. His gait, assertive and determined, looked like he could burst through a wall Kool-Aid Man style.

Miles didn’t see him until he was right behind us. Ryder slapped his brother’s shoulder with more force than needed and said, “What’s up, fellas?”

The sudden hit caused a cascade of beer onto Miles’s forearm. Miles’s face melted as soon as he saw who it was.

Ryder said, “You could’ve told me you weren’t gonna be at the gate.”

Miles wiped his arm. “You’re a big boy. You found us.”

“Mm-hmm,” Ryder said. “Hey guys, what’s up?” He smiled at the rest of us, then took a seat next to me.

The bartender asked what Ryder wanted. “What’re we drinking, boys?”

“Just beer for now.” Tyler smirked and squinted. “But if you’re down for a shot, I am.”

“Why the fuck not? It’s a bachelor party, right?” Ryder said. Then to the bartender, “Round of tequila for the boys. The good stuff.”

Jason shook his head. “I’m good, man. Don’t want to be hungover before we even get there.”

“Your loss.” Ryder shrugged.

Gotta say Ryder doesn’t skimp on stuff like that.

When he said the good stuff, he meant it.

Shit was delicious. After we clinked glasses, Ryder kinda shrank.

He spent the rest of the time until the flight either on his phone or giving short answers to the other guys.

Ryder and Miles didn’t speak again until we landed.

Shit was weird. That’s not the Ryder I knew. He was never rude to anyone or had a bad word to say. He wasn’t the life of the party type and would shy away from the spotlight if he didn’t need it, but he was always engaging.

Maybe Ryder thought he should’ve been the best man? But Miles had said he didn’t have time. The guy was a new doctor who barely got enough sleep, so it made sense. Also, if that were the case, wouldn’t he have been pissed at me? And he wasn’t. I was the only one he spoke more than a sentence to.

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