The First Best Man

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Kate

There’s nothing better on earth or in heaven than a rousing episode of Jeopardy! and a plate of chili-cheese fries. Fight me.

“What is the Macarena ?” I shout, teetering on my barstool as a contestant rings in and answers, “What is the chicken dance?”

Jasper, my evening bartender, chuckles as my lips pull down into a frown when the contestant’s answer is declared correct. I narrow my gaze at him across the bar, and he holds up his palms in surrender.

“I was close,” I grouch, making him laugh again.

“Not close enough,” he murmurs, setting a fresh glass of draft beer in front of me.

“Ha, ha,” I deadpan, then soften the words with a smile as I lift the beer and take a long sip .

Ah. Cold and crisp, the brew hits the spot while I wait for my chili-cheese fries to arrive. It’s after eight on Sunday evening, which means the kitchen is technically closed for the night. But as the owner of the Bush Monkey Bar & Grill, I have a little pull with the kitchen staff. Besides, this is my Sunday night ritual, so they’re used to it.

“Robert Langdon, Chuck Noland, Woody.”

“Who is Tom Hanks?” I bark, and Jasper gives me a silent golf clap from the other end of the bar where he’s been washing pint glasses.

The show goes into a commercial break, and I take a moment to spin around on my stool and survey the place. A small establishment with only ten tables––all currently occupied––a handful of bistro tables on a small patio, and five barstools, the Grill has been mine since my dad passed away six years ago and left it to me. One of only a handful of eating establishments on Bush Monkey Isle, business is booming as it did under Dad’s careful supervision. This place is a mainstay on this tiny tourist island off the Southern California coast, and I know exactly how lucky I am to own it.

To live here, where I was born and raised.

I have a great life, and there’s very little I’d change if I could.

My favorite gameshow’s theme music echoes from the tinny speakers on the small television behind the bar, so I spin back around to focus on it as the contestants are introduced to the categories in the second round.

A contestant picks a category and a wager, and the host reads off the clue as I read along on the screen. My lips part to answer, then freeze as a deep, rumbling voice rings out just behind me.

“Ronald Reagan.”

My head whips to the right as the owner of the voice slides onto the stool next to me, and I’m rendered speechless as my gaze takes him in. Thick, dark hair. Brilliant ocean-blue eyes set in a ruggedly handsome face. Wide shoulders encased in an expensive-looking suit jacket.

When my gaze skitters back up to meet his, he’s wearing a soft smile that tells me he knew I was checking him out and not finding him lacking. I wiggle my shoulders and clear my throat before speaking.

“Wrong, sir.”

“Excuse me?” he says, pressing a palm to his chest. “Ronald Reagan was absolutely the fortieth president of the United States of America.”

“Ah,” I say, holding up a finger in his direction, “but you didn’t phrase the answer in the form of a question. Jeopardy! rules must be followed at all times in this bar.”

“My mistake,” he says with a slight grin and a dip of his head.

“Amateur,” I murmur under my breath, and a soft laugh rumbles from his chest.

The husky sound leaves me a little lightheaded.

Or maybe it’s my lack of sustenance. Where the hell are my fries, anyway?

Jasper approaches from the other end of the bar and places a cocktail napkin in front of the stranger. “Welcome to Bush Monkey Bar & Grill. What can I get you?”

The man’s gaze travels across the display of liquor bottles behind Jasper before perusing the row of taps off to the side. Then he looks down at the glass in front of me, and points to it.

“I’ll have whatever she’s having. And a menu, please.”

I flinch internally as Jasper meets my gaze for only a second, then turns his attention back to the customer. “My apologies, sir, but the kitchen is closed for the night.”

The man’s eyes fall closed as a sigh slips between his lips. “Okay. Just the beer, then, I guess.”

“I’ll have that right up for you,” Jasper says, then moves to pour a glass of the same draft IPA he poured for me.

A distinct rumbling fills the air between us, and I look down at the man’s stomach before moving my gaze back up to his. “Hungry?”

He flinches slightly, saying, “I’ve been travelling all day, and I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

I feel bad for him, and I consider telling Jasper to have the boys in the kitchen whip him up a burger, or something. But before I decide, Oscar appears from the back with the largest plate of chili-cheese fries known to man. I swallow thickly as he sets the plate in front of me, then peek over at the man next to me from the corner of my eye.

He’s staring at my dinner, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, and keeps that expression as his eyes raise to meet mine. I shrug as a little giggle pops out of me without my permission.

“I got my order in before they closed the kitchen,” I offer lamely while studiously ignoring the narrowed- eyed expression Jasper shoots me as he delivers the man’s drink.

I most certainly did not get my order in before they closed down, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Jasper, bring me another fork, will you?” I call out, then swivel on my stool to face the man. “Share with me.”

“I couldn’t possibly,” he starts, but I hold up a palm.

“Please. You’d be doing me a favor. There’s no way I can eat all this by myself.”

A choked cough bursts from Jasper’s chest as he delivers the fork I requested and some extra napkins, and at my instant glare, he holds up his palms in surrender the same way he did before and spins around to walk away. I look back at the man as I pick up the fork and offer it to him.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice low and uncertain.

I nod, and he blows out a relieved breath before plucking the fork from my grasp. Soft laughter rumbles out of me, and I hold out my now-empty hand.

“I’m Kate, by the way.”

“Tucker,” he says, his warm fingers wrapping around my hand in a firm, yet gentle grip.

“Let’s eat,” I say as I release him, and he gives me a nod of thanks as I slide the plate of fries to the right so he can reach them without leaning over me.

“What are the Canadian Rockies?” he blurts after swallowing his first bite.

I look at him, confused, then hear the same words echo from the television’s speakers. I glance up to see he’s answered a clue correctly, and when I look back at him with an arched brow, he grins and shovels another bite of chili-cheese goodness into his mouth.

“No fair,” I say. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

He shrugs, fighting to keep his smiling lips together as he chews. I shake my head and refocus on the gameshow, determined to win this little impromptu trivia match.

“According to a meerkat and a flatulent warthog, it means ‘no worries.’”

“What is Hakuna Matata?” I shout with Tucker exclaiming the same question a half-second behind me.

“Yes,” I hiss, pumping a fist in the air, and Tucker laughs as he stabs another forkful of fries.

“You should probably eat something before I inhale the whole plate,” he teases, and I cock my head.

“You’re trying to distract me from becoming tonight’s Bush Monkey Jeopardy! champion, aren’t you?”

He lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug, then motions toward the food with his fork. “Would winning be worth missing out on all this goodness?”

“I’m not sure,” I say, my lips tugging upward. “Winning would be pretty sweet.”

“Suit yourself,” he says, moving to scoop up another bite.

My own fork snakes out, blocking his. We both chuckle. It really is ridiculous, fighting over the fries when there’s a literal mountain of the gooey deliciousness left for us to snack on. Relenting, I move my fork to the left to take some from my side of the plate. As I push the bundle of fries between my lips, a throat clears behind me .

“Excuse me. Kate Reid?”

I spin around toward the voice, and Tucker merely glances over his shoulder before facing forward to politely mind his own business. A man I don’t know stands there, his eyes moving over my body as his lips turn down into a frown.

“Sorry, do I know you?” I ask, pulling his gaze back up to my face.

“I’m Alex. Kaylee Harper’s cousin from San Diego.”

Um, okay.

“Hello, Alex, Kaylee Harper’s cousin from San Diego. How can I help you?” I ask, and I hear Tucker snicker quietly though he keeps his gaze forward.

Alex’s eyes roam over me again, his frown deepening. “Kaylee said you would be here, and that I should come meet you.”

“Oka-a-a-y?” I say, drawing the word out like a question.

“Kaylee said you’d be down for a hookup, but…” His words trail off as his gaze skates over my body for a third time, his frown deepening like he’s disappointed in what he sees.

Kaylee said what? That bitch .

Steeling my spine as Tucker spins around on his stool to pin Alex with a withering glare, I tilt my head to gaze at him with a studious expression. “Well, tell me, Alex, what are your qualifications?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, looking confused, to which I only shake my head and shrug.

“It’s simple, really. If we’re going to ‘hook up,’ as you call it, I need to know what I’m in for, first. Are you a clean kisser, or do you get all slobbery and gross? Are you more dominant, or do you want your women to slap you around a bit? Oh, and how big is your cock? I won’t entertain anything less than a full five-and-three-quarters inches.” I let my gaze drop to his crotch before arching a brow. “I can’t tell in those loose pants you’re wearing. Maybe you should just show me, first. I’m thinking you probably don’t meet my qualifications.”

Though he tries to cover it with a cough, Tucker’s bark of laughter is obvious to me…and to Alex, too.

That one stiffens to his full height before spearing me with a nasty frown. “You should be so lucky, you fat bitch.”

“Oh, you wound me, Alex,” I say, my tone dripping with sarcasm.

I barely get the words out before Tucker launches himself off his barstool to loom over Alex. My dinner partner towers several inches over the little weasel, but Alex surprisingly stands his ground without flinching. Much .

“I think you owe Kate an apology. Two actually. One for approaching her the way you did, and another for that last comment,” Tucker says with a tight jaw and thinned lips.

Obviously more of an idiot than I’d previously assumed, Alex only puffs out his chest and says, “She should apologize to me for her big mouth. Smart ass whale.”

What in the actual freak? Whale?

Unbidden, my gaze drops down and travels over my lap, hips, and thighs, which are encased in tight denim. Sure, I have some extra padding and curved edges, and I have to shop in the plus-size section at clothing stores, but a whale ?

No way am I taking this sitting down.

Before I can slide off my stool to confront Alex on my own two feet, Tucker’s hand shoots out. At first, I think he’s going to hit the little creep, but he only clamps a hand around the back of Alex’s neck. Alex yelps and tries to pull away, then goes completely still as Tucker’s hand tightens visibly.

“Get the hell out of here,” Tucker growls, using his strong grip to shove Alex toward the exit.

The asshole barely manages to get a hand up to push the door open before his face slams into the glass. Tucker gives him a shove before releasing him, then spins around and moves back toward me while his fingers straighten his bright blue tie.

I melt right there on my stool as I watch him head my way. Apparently, that whole protective vibe is my jam, and I never knew it.

I never knew “swooning” was an actual, real thing until this very moment. Because swoon .

My whole body heats as he slides back onto the stool next to me and offers me a boyish grin. I can’t help but return the smile, and Tucker’s eyes drop to my mouth. My lips part as I suck in a ragged breath, and my heart starts to pound.

Is he going to kiss me? Do I want him to?

Yes. I really freaking do.

Oh, no. Shit . No, no, no.

I can’t let this beautiful beast of a man kiss me when I’ve been eating chili-cheese fries and drinking beer! I mean sure, he’s been having the same, but still. Not happening.

Sliding off my stool, I grab my purse from the hook beneath the bar and offer Tucker a small smile. “I’ll…um…be right back. Ladies’ room. Yeah.”

I speed-walk away with a stiff spine and hot cheeks. Oh, God. Could I have sounded any more like an idiot?

I rush into the restroom, thankful to find it empty. Bracing my hands on the sink, I stare at my reflection and take a few deep breaths to calm myself. When I’m a little steadier, I pull out a travel-sized bottle of mouthwash I keep in my purse for emergencies.

And this is definitely an emergency.

I swish the liquid around in my mouth, letting the alcohol burn away the germs before tilting my head back and gargling for a few beats. I spit it out into the sink and breathe deep through my open mouth, smiling at the sparkling fresh taste of mint.

Realizing I actually do have to pee, I use the toilet before washing and drying my hands. Then I pull some cherry-flavored lip gloss from my bag and swipe some onto my lips before fluffing my dark curly hair.

Okay. I think I’m ready.

I leave the ladies’ room, putting a little sway in my strut as I head back to the bar. Halfway across the restaurant, my steps stutter to a stop. Tucker’s stool is empty. My gaze flits around the whole dining room, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

I try to suppress the disappointment as I start moving again. When I reach my stool, I look at the leftover fries on my plate and realize my appetite is gone. A glance at the television proves my show is over, too .

Jasper approaches the other side of the bar top, a slight smirk on his face. “That guy asked to pay your tab. I tried to tell him it wasn’t necessary, but he insisted.”

“He left?” I ask, trying my best to keep my voice free of emotion.

“I don’t know,” he says, looking around. “I didn’t see him leave, but I was helping another customer. Maybe he’s in the bathroom.”

“Maybe,” I say, then jerk my head toward a woman waiting to order a little further down the bar.

I slide back onto my stool, my eyes darting toward the hall where the bathrooms are located every few seconds. At least five minutes pass, and I have to finally admit the truth to myself.

Tucker’s not in the bathroom. He ducked out while I was gone.

Because he never had any desire to kiss me.

I shouldn’t be surprised. Why would a guy who looked like that want to kiss someone like me?

I shake my head and wave to Jasper, signaling that I’m leaving. He waves back, and I head for the door.

It’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll go home and pretend I never met the man. It’s not like I’ll ever see him again, anyway. He’s a tourist. Just passing through.

So, it’s good that we didn’t kiss.

Really. I’m fine .