“A Smirnoff Ice?”
Everett smiles, and something blooms inside me. It feels familiar and good. Like really, really good. “Only the best.”
He twists off the top with his fingers and hands it to me before retrieving a bottle of his own. “For old times’ sake.”
I clink my bottle to his with a wide, cheesy grin. I take a sip at the same time Everett does, our eyes locked on each other, and when we pull our lips away from the narrow opening, our expressions are pensive, almost disapproving. “Did it always taste like that?”
Everett laughs. “Perhaps we need something more fitting to our matured taste buds.”
He takes the bottle from me and sets it down on the table. “Did you want something else?” He gestures a hand toward the bottles in front of him.
I shake my head. “I think I’m going to go to the bar,” I tell him. “Maybe see if Grace needs rescuing.”
“You want me to come with?”
His offer feels tempting but a little risky, especially after our afternoon by the pool.
“I’m good.” I stand before I change my mind on his offer and head to the main bar. It feels like it’s gotten even more crowded within the fifteen minutes we’ve been here. I bump into a few carelessly moving elbows before I make it to the bar, no Grace in sight. I set out to order myself an espresso martini, hoping it’ll wash out the tangy taste of the Smirnoff Ice, just as a set of arms wrap around my waist.
“Teeny!” a shrill voice screeches into my ear. “Come dance with me!”
“No, no,” I protest, turning to see Mina and the entourage of bridesmaids at her side. Her tiara’s lopsided, and she now has a beaded necklace around her neck. The kind that people throw around at Mardi Gras. Only this one has a flimsy plastic shot glass attached to it. “No dancing for me. I’m just going to order a drink.”
“Come on!”
One of Mina’s friends, who I haven’t had the opportunity to meet yet, gently tugs at my hand. “Hi! I’m Cecelia! Maid of honor!”
“Oh, hi! It’s nice to meet you!”
“Mina said we need to get all the girls on the dance floor,” she tells me, playfully tugging at my hand again.
“And we never say no to the bride, right?” I answer, laughing at the way Mina has her arms in the air like those blow-up guys at car dealerships with wide smiles and lanky arms.
I reluctantly walk away from the bar and follow Cecelia’s lead. I’m standing there, awkwardly swaying, while everyone moves along to the music, some pop remix I can barely recognize over the thumping bass. Just as the crowd thickens to the point of sardine can crampedness, I’m pushed forward at the same time the heel of someone’s foot decides my bare toes are a good place to ground.
I suck in a loud breath, though it isn’t heard over the noise. No one sees what’s happened, but I turn to Cecelia. “I’m going to use the bathroom,” I tell her, holding back the grimace from the pain shooting up my foot.
“You want me to come with you?”
I shake my head. “I’ll catch up with you guys in a bit,” I say over the noise. “Keep an eye on the bride.”
We both turn to see Mina with her arms wrapped around a woman we don’t know. They’re both swaying in an embrace like they’re lovers, and Cecelia steps in to intervene.
I turn back to our booth, trying my hardest not to limp, when I see that there’s blood lining the knuckles on my toes. When I finally make it to where Josh, Andrew, and Everett are sitting and sipping on glass tumblers filled with something amber colored, they all turn to see me hobbling to the edge of the cushioned seat.
“What happened?” Andrew asks.
“Someone stepped on me on the dance floor,” I explain, reaching for a napkin to wipe away the blood now pooling around the open wounds. “I warned Mina about my rusty dancing skills.”
I pull away the napkin to see that the gash is a lot bigger than I thought. What the hell? Was this person wearing cleats? My second and third toe start to look mottled with red and purple spots, the telltale signs of the swelling and bruising to come, and I just hope that’s the extent of my injury instead of broken bones underneath the surface.
Warm hands wrap around my ankle, carefully undoing the straps of my shoe with calm and ease. Next thing I know, I see Everett kneeling in front of me with a large cloth napkin wrapped around a bundle of ice pressed to my toes. I flinch from the painful pressure, and Everett peers up at me with worried eyes.
“Are you okay?” he asks, though I can barely hear him. I can read his lips, talking to me with concern. Yet his hands move calmly, a complete contrast to the stress covering his face.
“Um, yeah,” I tell him, my foot still in his hands. “I’m fine. But I think I should call it a night. I can just take a cab back to the hotel.”
“We can take the limo back,” he tells me.
