THE BRO-MAGNET Read Online Free

Paul seemed to like it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a grown man cry so hard. And the way he hugged me!”
    “Oh,” she shakes her head in disgust, “he’s an alcoholic. He cries when he watches Wipeout too. Believe me, Uncle Paul crying is no endorsement.”
    Perhaps it’s time to change the subject.
    “So,” I say, “now that you and Billy are husband and wife, I guess you and I’ll be seeing more of one another?”
    “God, I hope not,” she says. “I don’t know what Billy sees in you.”
    What do I even say to something like that?
    Thank God I don’t have to say anything, because just then I see a pretty feminine hand tap on Alice’s shoulder – tap, tap, tap – and there’s Three Sheets, cutting in on Alice so she can dance with me.
    “What’s your cousin’s name again?” I whisper in Alice’s ear as we switch partners and I take Three Sheets in my arms.
     I don’t know why I can’t remember the cousin’s name – you’d think I’d be able to after the engagement party, rehearsal, rehearsal dinner etcetera – but it’s a wedding thing, like this mental block. I know I’ll never see this person after a certain point, that point in time being in just a few hours, so why waste the limited storage capacity of my brain by committing her name to memory?
    Another look of disgust from Alice – “You’re kidding me, right?” she says – and then Billy’s whirling her away like he’s a taller, bulkier Fred Astaire. Huh. Those pre-wedding ballroom dancing lessons he took are really paying off.
    I look down at Three Sheets wishing I had the balls to ask her name but that would be too embarrassing. For her, I mean. She’d probably get depressed, thinking herself so unremarkable, she’s not even worthy of someone she’s been in a wedding party with remembering her name. Me, I’m used to being embarrassed. Honestly, most of the time I don’t even notice anymore when it happens. I just keep going.
    “So,” I say, going for a reliable conversation starter, “some wedding, huh?”
    Three Sheets tilts her head up at me and for the first time it registers that she’s pretty. Sure, she’s packing an extra fifteen to twenty pounds – wedding-party dresses can be so unkind, particularly purple – but I’ve never minded a little bulk on a woman. Her hair is dark blond and thick, even if it does look a little too retro in that maid of honor updo, and her baby blues are kind if a little bleary.
    “It’s great,” she says, giving me an admiring look, “and that ‘circle of friends’ speech – I can’t remember the last time anything moved me so much. How did you ever come up with exactly the perfect thing to say about Alice and Billy?”
    Ah, the advantages of out-of-town wedding guests. Three Sheets is probably the only woman in the whole room who thinks that was a custom-made speech – even the wait staff in this place have heard it more than once!
    * * *
    The cake is cut, dessert is eaten – I love it when the bride eschews tradition and goes for the chocolate – then Billy throws the garter and I catch it (my eighth but I never try; they just always somehow land in my possession) and Alice throws the bouquet and Three Sheets catches it.
    So there I am, sliding the garter up Three Sheets’s stockings-clad leg. I don’t have much experience taking garters off women but I’m something of a pro, after seven previous times, putting them on women. The trick is to make it look sexy enough to keep the boozy crowd happy but without defiling the garter recipient’s reputation in any way, which can be a challenge if the recipient is drunk and proves almost impossible in the case of Three Sheets.
    She’s got her legs crossed demurely at the knee but as soon as that garter goes past her ankle, she spreads that top leg straight out wide and hikes up her dress to make my job easier. She does such a good job of spreading and hiking, I find myself confronted with the fact that underneath