“You’re all fucking fired,” I squawk. “I don’t need groomsmen. I’ll stand up there by myself—” “Dude, this is awesome. I’m recording the whole thing,” Jake calls. “Tess is gonna freaking lose it.” “Nearly there,” says Rob. I’m slicked with sweat and my sunburned shoulders are aching. “I can’t do this—guys—I’m afraid of sharks.” Sully shrugs. “Who isn’t?” “Except the San Jose Sharks,” says Novy. “Who can collectively suck my sweaty balls.” “Yeah, fuck the Sharks,” chimes Morrow.
