I feel bad, I know it’s a really special day for every girl that ever dreamed of being a bride, but it’s the truth, and you’re better off hearing it from me now than some other guy later.

Men despise weddings the way women despise breakups, or being cheated on, or growing old. Weddings go against everything we stand for, threaten our very view of the world, and our place within it.

I’m not just speaking for myself. It’s not just me who thinks this way. It’s all men. Every last one of us hates weddings. It’s practically a requirement for being a man.

Think about it.

How do we like to view ourselves? How do we really like to imagine the way the world sees us?

A sailor, coasting into the sunset. A pirate on the High Seas, just us and our ship against everything the ocean has to throw at us. A cowboy, alone on our horse, riding into town and every women in it looking our way. A biker, cruising the open road, the wind in our hair and the sun on our face.

It probably sounds stupid, but it’s the truth. We’re simple creatures. We like simple things.

Just me and my horse and my gun, baby. Just me and my ship and my compass. Just me and my bike and a tank of gas. Hell, you don’t even have to get that fancy. Just me and my truck and my dog, baby. How’s that?

It’s the way we’re built. We’re strong. We’re rugged. We stand alone.

Rocks. Islands. Mountains.

That’s how we see ourselves. And there’s no room in there for flower arrangements and party favors and violin music.

Hell. A wedding comes along, dresses you in a goofy suit, sticks a flower on your lapel, puts a ring on your finger. It’s like having your nuts cut off with a blunt razor.

It’s literally painful to watch, even when you’re not the one on the chopping block. We watch our buddies getting married and we shake our heads. “Never me,” we say. “You won’t catch me going down without a fight. I’m the lone fucking ranger. It would be a crime to hang up these spurs.”

We watch our friends get married like they’re volunteering to be neutered. And we’re all thinking the same thing. How can he do it? How can he give up so much life, so much adventure, just to be someone’s husband? Has he lost his mind?

And I know what you’re going to say. I’ve heard it all before.

It’s love. Love overcomes everything. Love conquers the world. Love makes you want to spend your whole life with that one special someone, that one woman who lights up your world like a Christmas tree.

Maybe I just don’t get it. Maybe it’s me. I mean, you see other men getting married every day and they seem happy enough. They seem to be going along willingly.

Maybe I’m just a big, fat, stinking idiot. It wouldn’t be the worst thing someone called me. But if being an idiot is the price for maintaining my freedom, I’ll pay it. I’ll pay that price any day of the week.

So mark these words. I, Grant Lucas, will never get married. You will never see me standing at the altar, a cheesy grin on my face, a violin wailing in the background, saying “I do”.

I Do Not.

How’s that for being clear?

And if you ever see me about to tie the knot, do me a huge favor. Do me this one, almighty solid.

Shoot me in the face.

Chapter 2

Grant

B
UT MAYBE THERE’S SOMETHING I’M
missing, because even though I’m a sworn bachelor, every once in a while I get a glimpse of a different world. A place that’s warm, and safe, and tender, and full of love.

And I know I’ve said my share about weddings, but the day Jackson and Faith tied the knot was different.

Jackson looked happy. As much as it pains me to admit it, the man had a smile on his face like he’d pulled off some secret coup. He looked happier than I’d ever seen him, and we’d been through it all together. He waited a long time for that day, and he was about to marry the woman of his dreams, the woman who’d given him a child, the woman who’d been so faithful to him for twelve long years. She was so loyal even her name was Faith. And they were finally tying the knot.

Even I could admit it was a good story, painful and difficult, full of danger and despair, but full too of hope and joy, laughter and tears, and most important of all, love.

Maybe I was getting soft, but it touched me.

Jackson was the best friend I ever had, and he was finally getting the happiness he deserved. The happiness he’d earned. It was almost enough to make me forget myself and shed a tear.

Almost
.

I mean, like I said before, weddings aren’t exactly my thing.

The bride was beautiful. You have to say that, you can’t say anything else about a bride, but Faith truly was beautiful. She looked the way only a bride can on that one day when she marries the man she loves. When I saw her I thought she was an angel, dressed all in white, the light on her silk dress making it glow like it was on fire. She’d waited twelve years for that day, and it pulled at my heart strings to watch it all come together for her. It gave me hope for the future.

Sam looked better than I’d ever seen him. He was doing so well since Jackson’s return. It made me realize the importance of a father in a boy’s life. Now that his parents were getting married, he looked like all his dreams were coming true. He was a good kid and I was proud to call myself his godfather. I almost teared up when I saw the look of amazement in his eyes when he saw his mother in her beautiful dress.

Almost
.

Like I said, I’m not the type to get sentimental at a wedding.

But looking at the way Sam loved his parents, and seeing that he would now have the family he’d always wanted, it was
almost
enough to bring me to tears.

Sam helped his daddy fix up the old hacienda. He worked hard on it. We all did. And the three of them would be happy in that house. I knew it.

And Jackson? I swear to God it was the first time I ever saw him nervous, and I’ve known him a very long time. I nodded to him reassuringly as we stood there with the priest, waiting for the bride.

Yes, sir. The day of Jackson’s wedding was the happiest of his life.

But would you believe me if I said it was also the happiest day of
my
life?

Crazy, right?

Unbelievable.

I’d have said the same thing.

I’m no pushover. I’ve been around the block. I’ve seen and done things that would give most men nightmares. I live my life on the edge, skirting the law, making my own rules. I’m not the kind of guy you’d expect to get emotional at a wedding. Shit, I don’t even believe in weddings. I won’t bore you with the statistics, we all know them, but I think it’s clear that you’re more likely to get hit by lightning, or win the lottery, than end up in a happy marriage.

A good marriage is a lot harder than most people realize. A strong relationship takes everything, and it’s rare to find someone willing to give everything these days.

So I tend to look at weddings as just one more fairy tale, left over relics from a time when people were simpler and more naive.

True love and devotion for a life time?
Please
. It’s about as common as a prince rescuing a princess from a dragon.

So why was I tearing up?

Why, as I stood there next to Jackson and the priest, romantic music serenading us, did I feel like I was about to burst into tears?

Let me give you some background.

I’m not a small man. I’m what you might describe as husky, or brutish, or gruff. While some men’s bodies seem like they’re chiseled from marble, mine looks more like it was hewn from solid wood. While some men might write you a love poem, or sing you a song, I’m more likely to cut you down a tree, or maybe haul rock.

I’m big. I’m course. I’m rough.

I’ve got muscles that sometimes cause my shirts to rip.

BOOK: Wife Me Bad Boy

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