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Sammi continues. “Exactly. What makes you think that we’ll be able to follow the rules this time around? We’ve never been good at it—it’s almost never worked out in the end. The whole wedding bells, chapel, you as Mrs.Butts...” She doesn’t finish her statement because she bursts into laughter.
They all actually fall into a hysterical uproar.
“Another great point,” Becky wavers. I can tell she’s trying to stop laughing.
“What the fuck, Becky! Whose side are you on?”
“I’m not on anyone’s side. I want everyone to be happy. But are you sure this is something you want to do? Become Mrs. Butts?”
They continue to laugh, and I roll my eyes. My lord, they’re so fucking annoying. It’s like dealing with toddlers.
Maybe Becky’s been spending too much time with her own kid and not enough with real adults and real problems, now that I think about it.
They’re easily distracted, and apparently, they can’t say ‘butt’ without laughing. They deal with massive dicks and dirty talk like fucking champion cock suckers, but ‘butt’is one thing they can’t take.
Go figure.
I take a sip of the champagne the attendant poured for me when I first got on the jet, hoping it’ll calm my nerves. But we hit a small bit of turbulence, and the liquid spills onto my chest and down my hands. I lick it up as fast as I can, not wanting to waste any.
After all, once we land it’s the last taste of alcohol I’ll get.
Suddenly, I’m in college all over again—Zamboni!It’s been way too long since I’ve licked spilled booze off a flat surface, right?
“You and Brendon are way too much alike, you know. He’s getting married too this weekend and—” Becky adds, and I almost choke on the little bit of champagne in my mouth.
A tinge of jealousy pinches at my gut, but I wave it off. It’s a lingering reflex. That’s all.
“Your brother Brendon? And you’rehere, Becky?”
“You’re my BFF—and with as awful as Brendon’s wife-to-be is, I’ll have another chance to see him walk down the aisle. I’m just saying…if you aren’t happy being Mrs. Butts, we have options.”
“Honey,” I say in my most condescending voice, “I’m not quite understanding you. What do you mean we have options?”
“Let me put it bluntly,” Percy interjects. “If you aren’t happy and don’t want to fuck Mr. Boring Accountant Norbert Butts for the rest of your life, we can make it happen. And I’m sure Brendon Brooks would love to have another guest at his trainwreck wedding to pick up the pieces when it all goes up in smoke. EspeciallyMiss America.”
“Ex-Miss America,” I remind her.
But even I have to admit…hearing that immediately makes me excited. Part of me wants to turn this jet around and run straight to him. A sense of eagerness begins to tingle my skin, and I have to refrain myself from instructing the pilot to do the exact thing I’m not supposed to.
I have to ignore the devil tugging at me, wanting me to break the rules—drink a fifth of tequila, dress seductively, and talk toeveryone, specifically Brendon Brooks.
Hell, I’ve wanted that fucking man since college. He fades into my bad girl daydream, and I gawk at his roguish good looks, athletic and broad build. I imagine myself riding him like the cowgirl I never was. God, he makes me want to rip his clothes off.
I doubt he would enforce these rules on me.
But like all good things, the fantasy has to end.
“No… No. Brendon, like myself, will be getting married tomorrow. Hopefully for good. Don’t be putting that shit in my head now, Percy. Like I said, we have to be good,” I remind her—and myself, for good measure.
“What’s the fun in that?”
“We can still have funandbe good. Ever thought of that?”
“Why in the hell would I think of that?” Percy exclaims.
Point well taken; rules don’t apply to her.
“Just reassure us that this is what you want. And you’re okay with these rules. If so, I’ll be on board and do whatever the hell it is you want us to do.” Sammi redirects the conversation back to the matter at hand.
