Free No Weddings by Kat Bastion, Stone Bastion

with other guys. Definitely not with sisters. It’s why we invented locker-room talk. If we couldn’t share our inner touchy-feely, you’re damn right we’d share the conquests. Without an outlet, guys might burst out crying in random places, like walking down the sidewalk during rush hour, from the pressure of being bottled up.
    And that embarrassing shit ain’t right.
    “You seal the deal with Hannah?” Kristen’s calm voice interrupted my thoughts.
    I coughed, choking on the beer that had decided to make a run for my lungs. After a dozen coughs, I looked at Kristen through tears in my eyes. “What?”
    She glanced at me with concern. “You okay? Drink much?” She spoke slower and moved her fingers in fake sign language at me. “I said, did you seal the deal with Hannah?” She slumped back from the effort at harassing me, as if it was too much, and sighed. “Do we have our cake supplier or not?”
    I snorted, shaking my head, then nodded. “Yes. And no.”
    Kristen’s brow furrowed. “What the hell does that mean?” She got up and went into the kitchen.
    “Hannah wants to supply to restaurants and resorts, even if it’s for weddings. I’m sticking firm on the point of her not interacting with other event planners. It’s too risky for Invitation Only. But I could tell she wanted to be a part of things, so I offered her a trial run on our first party.”
    Kendall turned toward me. “And she agreed?”
    “Yep.”
    “And will she sign?” Kiki asked.
    “Yeah. She explained the importance of her setting up the cakes on location, and I get that. We’ll have to cave on that point and trust that she’ll protect us when she does.”
    Kristen called out from the kitchen. “Perfect. Call her and set it up. We’ve got less than two weeks before the event.” She came back into the room with a platter of club sandwiches right as Kendall finished setting up the Monopoly board on Kristen’s coffee table. Playing had become a ritual while we hashed out our business plans. Competitiveness flushed out the best ideas.
    I was always the dog. Imagine that.

    S weet Dreams was quiet before eight in the morning. Feet up on a chair opposite me, I typed like a madman. Outside, pedestrians occasionally walked by the large plate glass window next to me. Every now and then, one would stop to admire my bike, rotating around her to take in all the custom chrome details, turning her into a one-bike show.
    I shouted out to the empty front room, “You know, you really should think about getting a couple of overstuffed leather chairs up here, maybe a couch.”
    On that comment, my tenth random statement in the last hour, Little Miss Baker finally graced me with her presence from the back. “Why? So you could make yourself more comfortable?”
    Under steady brows, I dropped my head to the side, sending her a deadpan look. “You know you want me here. Who else would give you invaluable business tips? Oh, and speaking of business, our first event has a Super Bowl theme. And is at the Super Bowl.”
    Dressed in one of those little tees she liked to wear, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Invaluable? Wait, what? At the Super Bowl?” Her eyes widened.
    I nodded.
    “Nice.” She got this faraway look like she’d already begun planning out the cake.
    Pulling my feet down, I straightened in the hard chair, glancing left and right. “And yes, I’m giving you invaluable advice. Do you see customers beating down your door? I don’t.”
    Glaring with narrowed eyes, she strode over and took the seat where my feet had just been. “Okay, Mr. Hotshot Business Man, what would you do if you were me?”
    I made a show of scanning the room, pretending to take in the place through a fresh set of eyes as if I’d just walked in. And even though I had plenty of ideas without having to take another look, I ran through what came to mind anyway.
    The display case was perfectly arranged with a rainbow of cupcakes decorated in unique