He grins. “What can I say? Her Midwest-isms are catchy.” He finishes adjusting my tie and slaps me on the shoulder. “I still can't believe you're getting married, dude. And before me, too. How the fuck did that happen?”

I know what he means. If someone had told me last year that I'd find a girlfriend by now—let alone a wife—I would have laughed in their face. And then probably punched them. I didn't understand why or how a man could tie himself down like that.

But Gracie showed me that a good relationship doesn't tie you down. It sets you free. It means that you'll always have someone there to support you. It gives you a space to be yourself without being alone. To try new things together and fuck up and laugh about it and try again.

Ever since we were kids, I'd always had feelings for Gracie. But I didn't understand just how deep they ran. And when I started to realize it, I instinctively fought the idea. Love was a drug, a trap, a trick that only other people fell for. My being in love with Gracie would change everything. I'd have to give up my playboy lifestyle, Hayden wouldn't trust me anymore, and Gracie's heart would probably end up broken.

But it was already too late. From the moment we first kissed, her tongue eagerly stroking mine in that crowded nightclub hallway, I had started changing...for the better.

Then, on the night of our last lesson, I couldn't deny the truth any longer. Seeing Gracie cry over me had felt like a gut-punch. I know you don't do relationships, she said, and instead of nodding along, I realized something: I genuinely wanted one. I wanted to try. I wanted to learn. So I let her know that it was her turn to become my teacher. And she did. She showed me how to love—in her own way, full of laughter, passion, and heat. I never knew something could feel so all encompassing. She was my first thought when I woke up and the last thing on my mind when I drifted off to sleep. It was her name on my lips when we made love, her very being imprinted on my heart. It was love with no guardrails, and I fell hard and deep for her.

Now I'm standing in a cramped church dressing room, wearing a tuxedo, ready to make an honest woman out of her. With my closest friend by my side.

That last part still feels crazy to me sometimes, even though it's been almost a year since I manned up and came clean with Hayden. I told him I wanted to date his kid sister—real, serious dates, not just hands-on sex ed. That dinner was one of the most awkward things I've ever sat through. But somehow, instead of the train wreck I'd expected, it was only a minor speed bump in our friendship. And two hours after I proposed to her, Hayden had called me to demand why I hadn't asked him to be my best man yet.

Maybe it worked out because he saw how crazy I am about Gracie. My feelings were so obvious that Hayden knew deep down, that I could never hurt her. He saw it in my eyes and he heard it in my voice, so rather than punch me in the face, like I was expecting, he sat there and listened to my every word.

“You guys are still getting dressed?” Beth pokes her head in, looking frazzled but proud. No force on Earth could have kept her from being Gracie's matron of honor. “It's showtime. Get your asses out there.”

We both swear and hurry down the back hallway to the main chapel. We reach the altar just minutes before the organ belts out its first notes. A wave of nerves hits me, but they're the good kind of jitters. I can’t wait to see Gracie today.

All the guests coo as the flower girl and ring bearer appear: Beth's two preschoolers, Georgia and Austin, looking like dolls in their fancy miniature clothes. They're only four and five years old, so it's a minor miracle when they make it down the aisle without a hitch. Beth bends down, smiling and holding out her hands in encouragement, until they reach the bridesmaids' section and the safety of their mother's arms. Georgia offers a daisy to Melanie, causing another wave of aww's to sweep through the pews.

Then the music holds its breath, Gracie walks through the chapel doors...and I can't see a damn thing but her anymore. As I watch my stunning bride draw closer, every emotion crashes into me at once. She looks like an angel. With her gown's elegant, floor-length skirt, she even seems to float forward on a cloud rather than walk. Her lush chestnut hair spills over her shoulders in a riot of curling waves, natural and not done-up like I was expecting. Her cheeks and lips have been stained the same girlish, kissable pink. Her V-shaped neckline hangs low from wide, see-through straps; I want to bite her delicate exposed collarbones, push my face into the cleavage that just barely peeks out. Damn, I never thought a wedding gown could be sexy as well as beautiful. But I guess that's because the woman inside it is Gracie.

Her eyes latch onto mine as she draws closer, and she gives me a cheeky smile. She doesn’t look nervous or unsure, just ridiculously happy, and I thank my lucky stars she’s mine. All of her. Heart, body, and soul. And seeing her in a white dress right now? It’s pretty fucking surreal.

She'd look even better out of the dress, but I'll get to see that treat soon enough. My imagination drifts ahead to our honeymoon. In less than six hours, we'll be kicking back at a luxury resort hotel in Puerto Vallarta. I can sip a margarita on my beach chair and watch Gracie frolic in a skimpy bikini, the lapping ocean waves as blue as her eyes. And after the sun sets...

I'm especially looking forward to our wedding night. Not because we'll do anything new in bed—it would be hard to find a box we haven't checked yet, at least not without getting into some seriously crazy shit—but because we ourselves will be new people. We'll be making love as husband and wife for the first time. A virginity we'll lose together.