Husband Rollover (Husband Series Book 4)

By: Louise Cusack


Weddings suck.

Because they’re happy until you cry. And when the vows are over, there’s way too much alcohol and time to think about how everyone else is married. Like, literally. Everyone.

But me.


I glanced up from my empty table to find the bride’s cousin Kamal looming over me—Kamal Sutra as I’d called him during our weekend fling.

Unfortunately, like every other man I’d met in the last two years, he hadn’t followed up on the sex.

So I had to be doing something wrong.

Instead of asking him about that—which I would require serious inebriation—I said, “S’up?” intending to sound cool. Unfortunately, because I was nervous, the word came out slurred and his frown deepened.

“Are you drunk?” He wasn’t much taller than me, but his Mumbai hipster stubble and trendy groomsman tuxedo were Bollywood cool.

“Give me time.” I tried for the sort of glare my friend and fellow bridesmaid Louella had patented, but I suspected from the slight shake of Kamal’s head that I was coming off lame.

He pointed at the dancefloor. “We’re supposed to be part of the bridal waltz.”

I glanced over and saw my three best girlfriends dancing. Two of them were with the hot, hunky men who had fallen head-over-heels and married them—one, only an hour ago. The third, Louella, was partnered with the shockingly handsome brother of the groom and her fiancé Nick was watching them very closely—yet another hot, hunky man who was head-over-heels in love.

Which begged the question: Where was my sexily-ever-after?

Kamal interrupted my envy with, “It’s not too late.”

See if you feel like that when you’re thirty-five!

I usually loved that fact that he was a spunky little munchkin, but he was in his late twenties with no biological clock at all. He would be the last person to settle down, so there was zero value in trying to explain my dilemma.

“Fritha?” he said again, as if he thought I was deaf.

I tried to shake off my maudlin thoughts with a shrug. “They won’t miss us.” But I had to look away from the dancefloor because my eyes were prickling with a shitty need to cry. Again. I glanced around for my glass, hoping to distract myself, but it was empty. “More wine?” I raised it in Kamal’s direction. Maybe getting drunk wasn’t such a bad idea.

“What’s the matter?” He sat down beside me and the prickling eyes came back.

Damn you.

He took my hand in his, but it was clearly a first-aid gesture, rather than anything sexy. He tilted his head to inspect me more closely and said, “Is this an ‘Always a bridesmaid, never a bride’ thing you’ve got going on?”

“If it was…” I snatched my hand back. “…I don’t think patronizing me would help.”

Fucking men.

Could you have been this intuitive when we were in bed together?

Always nosing out your secrets when you least wanted them to. He was clearly aiming for ‘caring’, but his timing annoyed the crap out of me

“S’up?” Nick Aston, Louella’s hunky ex-bodyguard and soon-to-be-husband slid into a seat across from me. He must have wanted a distraction from watching her dance with the best looking man in the room.

“S’up with you?” I bantered back. He’d learned s’up from me, and said it to tease me whenever he could.

“Nothing,” he replied, ever the poker face, but the fact that he had his back to the dancefloor spoke volumes. A bodyguard would always keep his attention on his charge, and though Louella was no longer in danger, the habit would have become ingrained. He must be feeling some major jealousy to ignore it.

“Well, I’m being harassed.” I pointed at Kamal who only shook his head, looking even more patronizing if that was possible.

“Yep,” Nick replied. “I can see how tormented you are.” Then he said to Kamal, “Is she drunk?”

“I think so,” the little bastard replied. “She won’t dance.”

Nick shook his head, adding to the chorus of disappointed men.

I had to get back on top, so I leant across the table and said to Nick, “Fuck you for coming up with the idea of eloping with my bestie. That’s cheating.”