Badd Motherf*cker Your wedding day is supposed to be the happiest day of your life, right? That’s what they say, at least. I went into that day hoping I’d get the happiest day of my life. What I got? The worst. I mean, you really can’t get any worse of a day without someone actually dying.
So…I may have gotten just a little drunk, and maybe just a tad impetuous…
And landed myself in a dive bar somewhere in Alaska, alone, still in my wedding dress, half-wasted and heart-broken.
Eight brothers, one bar.
Sounds like the beginning to a bad joke, yeah?
I kinda think so.
Wanna hear another joke? A girl walks into a bar, soaking wet and wearing a wedding dress.
I knew I shouldn’t have touched her. She was hammered, for one thing, and heartbroken for another. I’ve chased enough tail to know better. That kinda thing only leads to clinginess, and a clingy female is the last thing on this earth I need.
I got a bar needs running, and only me to run it—at least until my seven wayward brothers decide to show their asses up…
Then this chick walks in, fine as hell, wearing a soaked wedding dress that leaves little enough to the imagination—and I’ve got a hell of an imagination.
I knew I shouldn’t have touched her. Not so much as a finger, not even innocently.
But I did.