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The thing is, little as I relate, I think those two are likely to beat the statistic and stay together for the long haul. I don't get monogamy—at least not their restrictive, exclusive version of it—but Chase has never been like us. He didn't even touch Jade Montgomery, despite her throwing herself at him for years. He didn't like the fact that she was fucking around with the rest of us, too. What single, red-blooded teen refuses the head of the cheerleading squad because she sees too much dick? He's made for one woman, in a way I'll never understand, and that woman is Erica Simons—soon to be Archer.
The bride reaches us, and takes Chase's hand. I feel like an intruder, looking into something not meant for my eyes when I watch their exchange. As much as I usually like spying on other people's intimacies, this is uncomfortable as fuck, so I redirect my attention to the rest of the bridal party.
Erica has one bridesmaid, one bridesman, and a maid of honor. We met a few times, notably at the engagement party, and while the guy, Damian, was friendly enough, the women stuck to themselves. Hardly surprising. They're from the west side, across the river, like Erica, and we don't tend to mix much. What could we even talk about? We're trust-fund kids, and they’re on food stamps. There's too much envy and resentment on their side for us to navigate the same world. Chase and Erica overcame that fundamental divide, but the rest of the riverside and west side are still miles apart.
The two women are pretty enough to look at, even if neither stands out like Erica. Erica distinguished herself by appearing just as confident as any riverside heiress, sure of her own worth, though it isn't related to the weight of her parents' wallet. Her friends could never blend in among us that way.
The short one with colorful hair is a dainty little thing, both bubbly and provocative, giggling one second and thrusting her chest forward the next. The blonde's far more subtle, and doesn't seem particularly interested in anyone around her, not even her friends. I remember seeing her playing with her phone during the rehearsal dinner.
Morgan. Her name is Morgan, I think.
They both wear dresses of the same pale purple. The blonde chose a long, flouncy straight gown that does little to show off her figure. The pink-haired one is in a short, form-fitting silky number more suited to a night out at the club than a formal occasion. In fairness, Chase and Erica are getting married in their garden, so it's a casual affair.
Rhys researched everything about Erica when Chase first expressed an interest in her. I remember hearing that one of her girlfriends is a whore, and the other a stripper. Looking at them, it's hard to decide which is which. I grin at the pictures invading my mind, greatly distracting me from the exchange of vows.I could hire them both, have one strip as the other sucks my cock. There is, after all, a tradition of the best man having his way with the bridesmaids.
I hope the blonde is the whore. The other's objectively prettier, but the way the taller woman doesn't seem to acknowledge my existence unnerves me.
She lifts her gaze just then, and I'm startled by the depth of her gunmetal-blue irises. I would definitely have noticed those before if our eyes had met. She flushes and drops her gaze quickly. My mouth curls up higher as my cock twitches in my pants. So, the aloof one isn't all that indifferent, after all.
Roman elbows me, albeit discreetly, and I roll my eyes. It's not like I'm going to whip my cock out and shove it in her mouth right now. I know how to behave in mixed company. There are children and boring fucks present.
I give Chase the rings and my oldest friend makes his girlfriend the new Mrs. Archer. I've never been one for weddings, but at least this one doesn't last long.
Chase's mom, the consummate hostess, had tents erected in the garden in case of rain, but though spring can be capricious, thesun's shining, blessing the garden party. There's plenty of champagne, and I drink my fill in anticipation of the dreaded speech I'm supposed to make. Public eloquence has never been a problem for me, but what am I supposed to say at this wedding? Nothing sincere, that's for damn sure.
I sit on Chase's side at the principal table, next to Roman. Chase’s mother heads the right side, with Rhys at her left and her father-in-law at her right. I note that her husband occupies the head of the table on the bride's side, seated next to Erica's mother, a bombshell who takes the concept of MILF to the next level.
I smirk, finally understanding something that’s evaded me until now. Of course Chase rushed to put a ring on it. He had to do so, to ensure he locked down the girl before his father dropped Lisa to marry his hot side piece. If they’d waited much longer, they could have become step-siblings.
I grin against the rim of my flute of champagne, redirecting my attention to my cousin. Roman's yet again attempting to beat Rhys at chess on his phone, and this time, he might, as Lisa Archer shouts enthusiastic yet distracting advice to both of them, muddling the game.
At the center of the elegant cream table, the newlyweds whisper to each other softly, words I do my best to tune out.
I'm the odd one out, a position I'm accustomed to. Rhys and Rom are two sides of the same coin, the first stoic and too smart for his own good, the other, never taking life seriously. I was closer to Chase, regardless of the fundamental differences between the two of us.Now, Chase has Erica. We’re still the best of friends, but there’s no denying that our relationship changed. We talk less, spend less time together. I don’t resent it—I can understand why a man would choose pussy over hanging out with his pals. Still, I’m getting a little bored at times.
A fit of tittering catches my ear, and I tilt my head to find the maid of honor giggling with the bridesmaid and man.
I'm unreasonably irritated I don't know what they're laughing about. Leaning forward to look at them beyond the happy newlywed couple, I ask, "Care to share with the class?"
The entire table focuses on me.Great. I take another sip of champagne, my irritation growing by the moment.
I don’t even like champagne. Give me a beer or a decent single malt any day.
"You wouldn't get it." Morgan waves indifferently, dismissing me.
What makes her presume to say so? She doesn't know me. "I could surprise you."
"Doubt it," she replies.
Her friend in the short dress snorts, openly mocking me.
My focus zeroes in on her, razor sharp, missing nothing this time.
Herblonde hair is swept off her elegant neck and gathered high on her head. A few loose strands frame her oval face, golden in the sunlight.She is quite pretty, though not a classical beauty like Erica, or a cute, sexy little thing like her friend. Her little upturned nose seems too small for her face, and her mouth, too large. Somehow, she makes it work. The overall effect is charming. I can imagine running the tip of my tongue over her freckles and beauty spots, tasting them one by one.
Distracting and unexpected.
The rest of the wedding is a blur of drinks and mild annoyances, but I don't forget either of them soon.
