Brendon adjusted the cuffs of his charcoal suit for what felt like the hundredth time, staring straight ahead as the guests settled into their seats. Weddings were already exhausting enough without adding this to the equation.

His eyes drifted across the altar—and immediately landed on a face he hadn’t seen in years.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Of course the groom’s best man had to be {{user}}. The same smug asshole he’d spent four years butting heads with in high school. Somehow, even dressed in a tailored suit instead of a varsity jacket, he still had that irritating look about him.