“Spirit,” Julie said. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

Riley Compton walked up and slid an arm around her friend’s neck. “What would you call it?”

“Um…vigor?” Julie said, with a toothy grin.

“Vaguely sexual,” Riley said. “I like it.”

Riley reached a hand out to stroke her daughter’s tufts of black hair even as her laser blue eyes fastened on Lincoln. “Mathis. Care to explain your behavior last night?”

“Not without a drink,” Lincoln said, backing away, just as Grace and her husband Jake wandered over, no doubt to hear what had gone down—or not gone down—with him and Daisy last night.

Lincoln liked his friends. He did. It was a tight-knit group, despite the fact that it seemed to be ever growing. There were Cole, Penelope, Jackson, Cassidy, and Jake, all whom were Lincoln’s colleagues at Oxford.

Then there were the Stiletto women—Julie, Grace, Riley, and Emma, half of whom were attached to the Oxford guys.

Rounding out the group was Jackson’s girlfriend Mollie, Julie’s husband Mitchell, and Riley’s husband Sam—the only three not technically a part of the Stiletto/Oxford family, and yet every bit as important to the group’s odd dynamic.

Sometimes he felt like he was part of some plus-size Friends episode, and he was damn glad for it. He was lucky to have friends like these—friends who, despite their ribbing and teasing, were fiercely loyal.

It made no sense that h e occasionally felt like the fifth wheel—or thirteenth wheel, whatever. None of them ever thought of him as the odd man out, he knew that.

But it didn’t stop him from feeling that way.

It didn’t stop the fact that he knew he’d forever be the odd number. Not just among these friends, but always.

There was no coupled future for him with Katie, and no coupled future for him without her either.

He was as loyal to her now as the day he’d gone on one knee and slipped the ring on her finger, but it didn’t make him any less alone now.

Emma managed to pull her face away from Cassidy’s long enough to spot him helping himself to some of Sam’s RUNE whiskey on the sideboard.

Lincoln started to set the bottle aside and then, seeing the fire in Emma’s eyes, decided to add a bit more to his glass.

“Lincoln Mathis,” she said, sliding up beside him and wrapping long fingers just above his elbow and squeezing. “Would you mind telling me what part of stay away from my sister I was unclear on? You realize that I’m about five steps away from a vast array of sharp knives, right?”

“Ahhh—”

Lincoln glanced over Emma’s head to Cassidy, who merely shrugged and picked up his glass of red wine. “She did warn you, man. Also, am I seeing this right? You drinking something without a sugar rim or fruit garnish?”

“Sam swears it tastes like maple,” Lincoln said, playing along with the part he’d created for himself, like he always did. The careless, easygoing guy with the sweet tooth. The sweet tooth part, at least, was dead on. “And Ems, nothing happened. Scout’s honor.”

Her eyes, so like Daisy’s, narrowed. “You were a Boy Scout?”

“Yes. Although only because I thought it would be like the Girl Scouts and that there’d be cookies.”

“You sure you didn’t want access to the girls selling the cookies?” Cassidy asked.

“Both,” Lincoln mouthed to Cassidy.

Emma punched him. “Seriously, Linc, I adore you, I really do, but there were about a hundred women at that wedding you could have hit on. Why her? And do not start with the flower dick thing again, because I know she didn’t come on to you.”

“How do you know?” he asked.

“Yeah, how do you know, sister darling?”

Both he and Emma whipped around to see Daisy standing behind them with a caught ya smile on her face.

She’d changed her clothes. It occurred to Lincoln that in the span of one day he’d seen her in four outfits. His shirt and boxers, back into her bridesmaid dress, then the jeans and blue sweater, and now a light pink dress kept casual with knee-high brown boots.

She looked damn good in all of them, but if he had to choose, he’d go with his boxers and shirt. No bra. Lincoln froze with the whiskey halfway to his mouth. The thought was unwelcome, and 100 percent forbidden.

“Daisy. Glad you’re here.” Cassidy came over, pecked her cheek. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Sure,” she said, smiling up at her new brother-in-law. “White wine?”

Lincoln lifted an eyebrow along with his glass. “No whiskey? Jack Daniel’s, perhaps?”

He hummed Britney Spears’s “Oops!…I Did It Again,” and Daisy gave him a ha ha look, as Emma narrowed her eyes, obviously noting that there was an inside joke there and not liking it.

“Easy, Mama Bear,” Daisy said, running a hand over her sister’s arm.

Emma sighed. “I’m never going to figure out what happened last night, am I?”

“Sure you are,” Daisy soothed. “Your friend and twin sister went out for a couple drinks to celebrate delivering killer best man and maid of honor speeches.”

Emma’s glare transformed into a sentimental smile, and Lincoln nearly rolled his eyes, knowing that Daisy had just purposely and skillfully diverted her sister’s anger toward mushy sentiment.

“Don’t even start.” The usually unruffled Emma was sniffling. “I’ll start to cry all over again and I hate crying.”