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Description : Tucker
Tucker Simon hadn’t been to a wedding in five years and damned if he was going to this one alone.

At least, not if he could help it.

With a grimace, he slid onto the barstool and tossed his crumpled invitation in front of him. He used his index finger to push the offending invite a couple inches away and glared at it. If he was Superman, his X-ray vision would have sent the damn thing up in smoke.

Sure, the pale pink paper, the bold gold lettering, and the stinking scent of something way too girly for a man to sniff was enough to get him worked up. But it was the thought of walking into that church and reception without his plus one that had him on edge.

Jesus. H. Christ.

His mother had been on his back for months about his dating—or lack there of—and had made it clear she expected him to show up with someone. Anyone. According to her, people were starting to talk. According to her, they were worried.

According to her, he was too young to be alone. As if thirty-one was the magic number for lost causes.

He believed her exact words were, “I don’t care if you have to hire someone. In fact, I’ll make some inquiries. Your third cousin on your father’s side was arrested a few years back for getting caught with a prostitute, but we’d be willing to overlook that.”

First off, the fact that his mother was willing to troll for prostitutes was alarming, especially considering the political aspirations of the oldest Simon, Jack.

Secondly, Tucker Simon had never paid anyone for sex—ever—and he had no intention of doing it now. Sure, he’d had a long dry spell after Marley went missing—he still refused to say died—but that was behind him.

Christ, was it behind him.

If his mother knew the truth—that...