"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Nick Jameson asked his best friend.
"I was going to ask you that," Josh Towers said as he peered into the mirror on the wall of the groom's dressing room, straightening a bow tie that was already perfectly straight. But then, nearly everything about Josh was perfect—apart from his taste in women.
Nick sighed. "What do I need to know? I'm not getting married." Not ever.
"You missed the rehearsal, you know."
"Hey, I was on call last night." Nick shrugged, testing the seams on his tuxedo jacket. Tuxedos were called monkey suits for a reason, he thought. They were damned near as comfortable as straitjackets.
Not that he'd ever been in a straitjacket, but if for some reason he considered doing what Josh was—getting married—he'd put himself in one.
"And what's so hard about what I have to do?" Nick asked his friend. He had stood up with Josh at his other wedding—the first one. He was such a hypocrite. How cou ...
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