A/U: Why am I starting a new story? WHY? Oh well, hope you guys enjoy it. It's different...I like it.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Cheers.

"Sneakers."

I stared at her with a blank expression. She had one hand firmly placed on the curve above her hip and another hand brandished at my feet.

"What?"

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, narrowing them and setting her jaw. I was so confused. One minute we were getting ready to order for dinner and the next, Ashley, my girlfriend of three years, was standing up with furrowed eyebrows, a screwed up crying expression, and her arms crossed over her chest. She sighed dramatically.

"Derek! You wore sneakers on our anniversary?"

My eyebrows shot up. It was our anniversary? Well...that sucks. I shrugged. I bet a thousand bucks—no, fifty thousand bucks—I wore sneakers on our first, second, and third date too.

"Uh huh. What's so wrong with that? You're wearing make-up. I hate make-up. It gets all over my clothes and some of the stuff you wear seriously gives me major hives. You should check into that. It can't be good for your skin at all."

I looked back down at the menu I had been staring at moments prior while Ashley started screaming uncontrollably at the top of her lungs. Think Janice in season 2 of Friends. Everyone in the restaurant seemed to turn their attention toward the two of us. Honestly, I just wanted Ashley to turn the volume of her turn-stop shriek down just a tad. And you know what? Maybe so prime mushu pork too.

"UHG! DEREK IT'S ALWAYS THE FUCKING SAME WITH YOU! MY GOD!"

I nodded.

"Yeah, babe…for sure. Um, honey? Could you maybe speak at a volume suitable for human beings, because I'm pretty sure the inhabitants of Pluto are shutting off all of their satellites in order to drown out the likes of you. I'm just sayin, if there are aliens out there they probably want to destroy earth because you're yelling so loud."

She shut her mouth and glared at me in silence. Ahh…the pure bliss.

"Awesome, thanks. Uh, waitress? Maria? That's your name, right? I'll have the mushu pork—and maybe a little bit of heroin on the side as well, my girlfriend's feeling a little 'cranky' today, if you catch my drift. Thanks, babe."

"DEREK! You did not just call that girl babe! You know what? It's over! And I mean for real this time! We're not just going to end up hooking up and getting back together like the last time, it's really over!"

"Would you like white rice or fried rice with your mushu pork?"

I looked up at the waitress. Hot stuff.

"Which do you prefer?"

She smiled, her almond eyes twinkling.

"White rice. Definitely."

I smiled back. I know when games are being played, and I sure as hell enjoy them.

"White rice it is."

Cheshire grin? Check. Maria giggled and walked away. Even at twenty-four I've still got it like no tomorrow.

"DEREK!"

I sighed. Jesus, would you please shut the fuck up?

"Yes, Ashley?"

"Did you hear me?" she said, annoyance knotted into her tone.

She had blue eyes. Her eyes were what made me fall in love with her and as I stared at them, examining the small flecks of yellowy green that planted themselves stationary around the iris, I sighed. Ashley's eyes weren't really blue. They were brown. She wore colored contacts. After a while I realized I loved those blue eyes because the color reminded me of someone else, and I also realized that Ashley was just as manufactured as those contact lenses, which made me slightly sick.

"Yeah, Ash, I heard you. Everybody heard you. Please sit down and order, and then you can go home. Don't worry, Ash, I'll pay for the meal. So, how was your day?"

Ah…the joys of being annoying and good at it.

Ashley rolled her eyes huffed, but that didn't stop her from sitting down and ordering a hefty ammount of mandarin orange chicken. Funny how things work out sometimes.

Any-who, that's how I broke up with Ashley (and also how for one solid night, ended up with Maria).

But alas,

("WHAT? You're gay? Really? But you're great in bed!")

I made an honest man's decision and broke up with Maria too.

I'm a teacher.

Yeah, yeah, I know. What the fuck am I teaching for? I'm mother fucking Derek Venturi. I'm supposed to be a successful something or other with a big-boobed bimbo wife who can't think for herself or shop without a platnium gold card, three popular yet overtly drama-induced children, and a wide-spread known affair by now. Well, I took a more artistic turn when it came to the grand scale of things, and I'll tell ya, Hollywood is one fucking bitch. It takes everything just to get a solid screenplay written and then after it's written you have to wheel and deal with the right people just to weasle your way past bodyguards and locked gates. I've got three kickass screenplays, one beautiful Avonte Garde piece set to rock the socks of the independent world, and the two others? Ready to be box-office smash hits.

My problem?

Not enough money for the wheeling and dealing part...or the weasling part...not even enough money to strike up any small deals with managers, agents, or personal studios.

Hence the teaching job, which actually doesn't suck as much as it seems. The kids are all pretty intelligent for juniors in high school and I've been hit on more than ever in my entire life. About twenty-seven times a day by students (girls and boys alike), thirteen times by janitorial staff, twelve times by teaching staff...I've even been hit on by the questionable school mascot (go Rattlers...yay...). None of it matters though.

Yesterday, or the day things with Ashley ended, I wasn't being an asshole out of pure spite...Well, I probably would've acted the same way despite my reasonings, but still. Yesterday I recieved a questionable bit of information in the mail that sent my mind into a tailspin. Actually, it was more like a formal invitation.

An invitation to a wedding.

A wedding where I was to be guest of "honor" as the best man.

So, uh, Sam's getting married, but he's not the one who invited me...Actually, I'm not even sure he's over everything that happened when we were in high school together yet...

But it won't matter because in two weeks I'm taking leave off work and away from California so I can go all the way to fucking London. And why, might you ask?

Because Casey needs someone to be her "maid of honor" so I, because I am her "best friend", am dealt with the task of being the best man of the woman I may or may not still get morning wood over every now and again. Seriously, I should have just married Ashley, moved to Pasadena, and jumped off the ledge of a skyscraper.

It would have been much less complicated.

Well there you have it. Chapter Numero Uno. I hope you liked it a lot. Please Review, they're greatly appreciated.