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“Easy for you to say,” Winter mopes. “It’s notyourwedding.”
“And”—Tucker piles more crap onto my plate—“you haven’t spent several months planning it. Did you at least remember the rings?”
Barely.
“Of course, man, I wouldn’t forget something so important. Listen, guys, yesterday I got held up in Berkley and I was late, but now”—I place my right hand over my heart and solemnly raise the other to take a sacred oath—“I’m here, 100 per cent invested in this wedding and ready to perform my best-man duties.”
Tucker sits at the table, giving me a skeptically raised eyebrow, but Winter is working hard at suppressing a smile.
“All right, Golden Boy,” she says. “You get a pass, but no more screw-ups.”
Duly chastised, I nod, hoping getting naked with the bride’s sister won’t count as a screw-up.
Speaking of the devil. An image of naked, panting Summer appears before my eyes just as the lady materializes in the flesh behind me.
I know because Winter is waving and calling her over to our table, and even though I can’t see her, I can almost picture Summer spotting me, furiously trying to come up with an excuse not to join her sister’s table, failing, and coming over looking irresistibly pissy.
“Hey.” Summer joins our group.
She takes the last free chair next to Tucker and does her best to avoid meeting my eye as she picks up a muffin, looking as subtly on edge as I predicted.
“Everything okay with you?” Winter asks.
“Yes, why? I’m cool; why wouldn’t I be cool?” Summer replies in a slightly too-shrill voice that sounds allbutcool.
Winter raises her brows. “You just seem a little keyed up.”
“I’m just a little nervous about seeing everyone.”
Winter throws her sister a regretful stare and lets the topic drop.
“Hey, Summer,” Tucker says back.
“Hi,Summer,” I echo, infusing the perfect amount of charm into the greeting. And then, just because, I decide to rock her boat a little. “Good to see you again so soon.”
Winter stares back and forth between us. “You two know each other?”
The question prompts Summer to almost choke on the mini muffin she was eating, making her splutter and cough all over the place, her face turning beetroot red. It remains to be seen if it’s from the lack of oxygen or from embarrassment. Gosh, the woman is terrible at keeping her cool under pressure. She really doesn’t come across as the had-a-months-long-affair-with-my-best-friend’s-boyfriend type.
To put her out of her misery, I say, “We were just partnered up in yoga class.” Then, turning to Winter, I add, “Hard to miss the resemblance.”
Winter narrows her eyes at me and leans forward on her elbows. “Yo, Golden Boy, dial down the charm a notch, won’t you? My sister is off limits.”
Oops.
Guess this answers my earlier question.
“Hey,” I self-deprecate a little. “I’m sure your sister has better things to do than mingle with the likes of me.”
I give Summer a mischievous wink, and she stares daggers back at me while pretending to sip her latte.
“No, you’re right,” Winter says. “My sister isn’t looking for a relationship right now.”
“Oh, is that the case?” I ask.
This is so much fun.
“Yes,” Winter replies. “Sammy has sworn off men for a while.”
