They say weddings are the perfect place to meet your match. I say they're a dangerous mix of free champagne, awkward dancing with strangers, and bad decisions waiting to happen. So when my childhood BFF begs me to come to her beachfront "I do's" and hints that the groom's teammate is just my type, I almost say no.

I don't do setups. I don't do flings. And I definitely don't do cocky, too-hot-for-their-own-good baseball players who probably think emotional depth is a pregame stretch.

But then I meet Alex.

And he's nothing like I expected.

Tall, flirty, and frustratingly gorgeous. He's got that smirky confidence I should hate. But he also . . . reads. And listens. And somehow sees straight through the walls I keep throwing up like he already knows the most vulnerable parts of me.

I swore I wasn't going to get involved, but one headboard-rattling night turns into two. Then three. And soon we're all whispered laughs in tangled bedsheets and stolen kisses on sunset walks.

And when he starts reaching for my hand like he's done it a hundred times, the lines I drew begin to disappear.

I wasn't looking for him, but maybe-just maybe-he's the perfect ending I didn't even know I needed.