Terry Essig - Before You Get To Baby...

“Honest to God, all the woman talked about was this bizarre husband hunt she’s on. She gave me less than a week to do a bunch of research for her. Otherwise she was going to freeze the rest of the cookies all for herself.” Drew was getting incensed all over again just thinking about it.

“Hell,” Rick grunted. “You’re good at research. You no doubt did a great job, so quit your bellyaching.”

Drew slanted a disgusted look at the television. Honest to God, who could care about basketball just then? Another crime he could lay at Frannie’s doorstep. She’d ruined the sport for him. “I don’t think you’re really listening here, Rick. I’m telling you, she’s dead serious about this garbage. I’ve never seen anybody so focused. That general, you know, what’s-his-face Schwartzkopf should have been half as focused during Desert Storm. They’d have pulled the entire war off in a day and a half.”

Rick jumped to his feet, both hands in his hair. He pulled them straight out leaving his hair standing straight out in spikes on either side of his head. “Charging on Gonzaga? I don’t think so! The Wisconsin player wasn’t set. He wasn’t set, ref. Where’s the instant replay? I want to see the instant replay. Do you believe that?”

Andrew’s eyes flicked to the TV screen. “Twenty-four was set.”

“Hey, remember me? I’m the one taught you everything you know about sports. I’m telling you, he wasn’t set.”

“Yeah, he was. Sea foam and apricot, Rick. I’m telling you, she’s already got the damn colors picked out for the wedding. And what kind of colors are those, anyway? Some guy’s going to go into a tux shop and ask for a sea-foam-green cummerbund? Or even worse, ‘I’d like an apricot cummerbund and matching handkerchief, please.”’ Andrew rolled his eyes at both the play on the screen and the painful mental image. “Like it’s not bad enough you have to wear patent leather shoes with a tux. Hell, it’s bad enough you have to wear the tux at all. If you have to get married, what’s wrong with being comfortable? Jeans and sneakers, something that’s not going to literally choke you while you put the proverbial noose around your neck.”

Rick watched the TV intently. He didn’t sit until the end of the replay. “It might have been charging,” he admitted grudgingly. “Maybe.” He flicked a glance at Andrew. “Now would you kindly shut up about Frannie and her fictitious wedding plans? I’m trying to watch a game here. It’s not like anybody’s asking you to wear an apricot cummerbund.” Rick leapt back to his feet. “He stole the ball! Look at that, would you? He’s going all the way. Two points, yes!”

Drew was just pushing himself off the sofa to turn the television off and force Rick to listen to him when the doorbell rang. Rick’s eyes didn’t even flicker. Drew sighed and went to answer it himself.

He smiled and nodded recognition. “Ladies. What an unexpected treat. Come on in.” Somebody had to play host after all. It was obvious Rick wasn’t up to the task. “Uh, Evie, was Rick expecting you?” After his last frustrating half hour trying to get Rick’s attention, Drew wondered if Evie knew what she was up against. In fact, Drew briefly considered telling Evie her fiancé should come with a label—Rabid Sports Nut.

“Hey, Drew,” the vivacious redhead said as she sailed into the entrance hall, Frannie following in her wake. “Is he here?”

Evidently Evie wasn’t expected. This should be interesting. “Yeah.” Drew jabbed a thumb in the direction of the living room. “In there. Follow the noise.”

Evie crinkled her nose and laughed when she heard a whistle blow, the roar of a crowd and the bellowing of her fiancé.

“Put on your glasses, ref.”

“The tournament isn’t over yet?”

“Ah, no. Not yet. They’ll be down to two teams after tonight. Only one more game.”

“Hallelujah.” And Evie planted herself right in front of the television. “Hi, lover.”

Rick leaned to one side, then the other. “Hey, I can’t—oh. Evie. How’s it going, sweetie?” Rick’s eyes shifted from his fiancée to the corner of the screen left unblocked by her body and back to his fiancée. He sighed, picked up the remote and clicked the TV off.

“The wrong guys were winning anyway,” he announced philosophically.

Drew’s eyes goggled as Rick stood and with a strained smile, gave Evie a kiss and asked, “What’s up?” Must be true love, was all he could figure. Scary.

“Frannie and I were out doing wedding stuff. We figured we’d stop by and get your opinion on a few things.”

Rick gazed longingly back at the television. “Just a few things?”

Evie held firm. Start as you mean to go on. “Yes. I’d like your input on the color scheme, floral arrangements, the men’s tuxedoes, why you have this need to always be on top—just a few little things like that.”

Rick was still lovingly stroking the remote control with his thumb. “Uh-huh, uh-huh, sure babe, whatever you want. You know that.”

Drew stifled a laugh and whispered to Frannie, “This could get interesting.”

Frannie flushed. She grasped Drew’s arm and tugged. “Let’s you and I go in the kitchen. Give them a little privacy.”

“Not on your life,” he shot back quietly. “What’s wrong with the man being on top, I’d like to know? I kind of like it myself.” Then more loudly, “Hey, Evie, about the men’s tuxes, basic black, right? I mean, since I’ve got to wear one—”

Frannie stomped on his foot. “Hush, this is none of your business.” She tugged harder, but it reminded her of the last time she’d had to move the refrigerator to clean behind it. Just about impossible. She braced herself and yanked again. Drew barely budged. She was going to need reinforcements, just as she did for the refrigerator. “Come on, Drew.”

“Don’t sweat it, Drew. Black is fine. For the jacket and pants,” Evie said.

The hair on the back of his arm stood up. Planting himself more firmly against Frannie’s surprising strength, Drew quickly questioned, “For the jacket and pants? What does that mean? What else is there? I mean, the shirt’ll be white. Dress shirts are always white. And the cummerbund. Black, right?”

“Welll…” Evie hesitated and Drew panicked.

“I was kind of thinking…”

God save him from women who thought. “What? What were you thinking?”

“Well, you know how men’s formal shirts have those rows of ruffles down the fronts?”

Drew was getting a very bad feeling here. “Yeah? Maybe we could just wear plain white shirts. I don’t see why that wouldn’t work, do you, Rick?” He turned to his best friend, hoping for salvation but finding only a wicked grin.

“It’s only for a few hours, old buddy. Whatever she’s got in mind, it’ll only hurt for a little while. Promise.”

Frannie huffed, “Honestly, what a couple of babies.”

“I’ll make a deal,” Evie said. “No ruffles on the shirts, just tucks…”

“Tucks?”

“Tucks,” Evie repeated firmly. “In exchange for which you will, without complaint, wear a cummerbund that matches the bridesmaids’ dresses.

“Take it,” Rick advised. “It’s a good deal. Think of it as the fee us guys have to pay to get exclusive rights.” He gave his fiancée a sick smile. “We’re both going to live.”

Then he whispered quietly, “Just agree, will you? The quicker they’re satisfied, the quicker we can get back to the game.”

Drew took a deep breath. “Okay, so what’s the color scheme?” He wasn’t at all sure he really wanted to know.

“Well, I really, really love pink, you know…”

“Pink?” Drew exploded.

Frannie rolled her eyes.