Still Beating Jennifer Hartmann

Chapter One

CORA

"You're incorrigible."

I narrow my eyes at the man I've deemed worthy of my most treasured insult.

Incorrigible. It's a damn good word.

The man in question is Dean Asher—my sister's prick of a fiancé.

Dean laughs, seemingly unaffected by the hostility shooting from my eyes like hot lasers. He must be used to it by now. "What the hell does that even mean?"

"Stupid, too," I say, sipping on my watered-down cocktail with one arched eyebrow.

Fifteen years. Fifteen goddamn years is the amount of time I've been subjected to Dean's teasing, ridicule, and bad attitude. He's the stereotypical 'bad boy'—surly, well-muscled, always reeking of cigarettes and leather. Pathetically good-looking.

Asshole.

My sister, Mandy, fell right into his trap. They were high school sweethearts from the start. Mandy was the epitome of popularity with her Prom Queen title, bleached blonde hair, and Abercrombie wardrobe. That was the style back in high school.

I, on the other hand, was none of those things—thank God. Despite the fact that I'm only ten months younger than Mandy, we could not be more different. She's athletic, bubbly, and vain. I'm a bookworm who would much rather purchase adorable outfits for our family dog than for myself. Mandy is perky, and I'm prickly. I could recite Shakespeare all day, where Mandy likes to quote the gossip headlines off Twitter.

Even though we have our differences, our sisterly bond has strengthened over the years, and now I'm preparing to be the Maid of Honor in her wedding next month. I'd like to say that Mandy outgrew everything about her high school years, but, alas, Dean Asher somehow made the cut as she enters her thirties. He's clung to Mandy like a disease. She just can't shake him.

I can't shake him.

So, now I have the divine privilege of being Dean's sister-in-law in four short weeks.

Vomit.

"Pretty sure that's not a word."

I swirl the miniature straw around my glass, my eyes raising to the man staring me down with his signature smirk. His gaze is all iron and grit. I shake my head, ashamed I have to call this guy family soon. "Don't make me Google it, Dean. You know I will."

It's Mandy's thirtieth birthday party. We're at The Broken Oar—a laid back bar in northern Illinois, right on the lake. It's a fun place to celebrate, despite the questionable company.

Dean takes a swig of his beer, his pale blue eyes twinkling with mischief. And not the fun kind. "You always were the nerdy type, Corabelle."

"Don't call me that."

He winks at me and I shoot him a death glare. Dean is the only person, other than my parents, to call me by my full name—Corabelle. I hate the name. Everyone calls me Cora. Dean knows this, of course, but he's always found immense joy in tormenting me.

Our banter is interrupted by the birthday girl, who is currently bringing the phrase "white-girl-wasted" to remarkable levels. Mandy wraps her arms around both me and Dean, squeezing the three of us together in an awkward, smooshed hug.

"I looooove you. You're my bestest friends. I'm marrying my bestest friend," Mandy slurs, having inhaled at least a dozen Sex on the Beach shots at this point. She turns to me, her head falling against my shoulder. "And you, Cora. You are going to marry your bestest friend really, really soon."

I push myself free of the embrace. The smell of Mandy's overpriced perfume and Dean's whiskey breath is making me want to hurl. "I'm never getting married, Mandy. Divorce just isn't on my bucket list. Maybe in another life."