Page 30 of None Of Your Business

“Generally,” I add quickly. “I need to know who I’m dealing with.”

“You’ve met all of them. I mean, you carried one of them home after our engagement party.”

“Nothing happened. I told you that.”

“And now you’re standing in my ER, asking questions about my fiancée’s siblings.”

“I’m asking about the wedding.”

I should leave. I’ve already pushed this too far, and Beckett’s bullshit detector has been annoyingly accurate since medical school.

Unfortunately, I came down here for an answer.

“Are you giving everyone plus-ones?”

“Madison handles numbers.”

“Right.”

“Ask Madison.”

Absolutely fucking not.

He looks at me the same way he did back in our third year of residency, right after I pulled out of the trauma rotation. He has a very specific look for when he catches on to something and is just waiting for me to admit it.

A slow, obnoxious smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Noah is a lone wolf,” he says. “Why? Interested?”

I shrug. “He’s a handsome man.”

Beckett lets out a dry snort. “Pretty sure Griffin is about to buy a ring for Piper. Rowan is single.”

Single.

I knew it. She’s a therapy crasher.

“Right.” I push off the counter. “Good to know for the seating chart.”

There is no universe in which the best man needs the relationship statuses of individual bridesmaids for a seating chart. Beckett knows this. Judging by his expression, he’s enjoying watching me figure it out.

“What?”

“You asked whether Rowan has a plus-one.”

“I asked whether everyone has a plus-one.”

“After coming down four floors to a department you hate. Isn’t she a little young for you?”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Excuse me?”

He immediately holds up both hands. “Nope. Never mind. She’s twenty-six, and you’re thirty-seven. You’re both adults. I don’t care.”

“You’re eight years older than Madison. Eleven years is not—”

Too late. I register the defense I’ve just constructed. Nobody asked for a defense.

This is getting out of hand.