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“Well, it’s looking like we’re losing that bet tonight,” Hazel says, her voice sympathetic. “Unless you want us to distract the blonde so you can go hit that.”
“I don’t want to hit that,” I say, crossing my arms and mostly meaning it. I do want to hit him, but more in the slapping sense of the word.
The conversation shifts to Timothy and Mina, who are making out after some asshole started that stupid tapping on a wineglass nonsense. They look so happy in a world of their own, eyes only for each other.
The cake is safe from fireworks and I’m out twenty bucks.
Nic and Simone are still at their table, chatting and laughing like old friends. He doesn’t need to try so hard—she’s interested. I think he might be too.
Dammit. I need another drink. I leave the safety of the pack and wave at the bartender.
“Hey.” Mina slips in next to me, stealing my drink before it hits the surface of the bar. “You and I need to talk, and I need to pee. Come help me with this dress?”
Since that’s the most important job for a maid of honor, I follow her to the ladies’ room, slightly alarmed when she makes sure we’re alone before locking the door.
“Why does Nic have a date?” she demands, slapping her hand on the vanity.
I jump at the sound, a little confused about why she cares. “My mom set him up.”
“Your mom.” Mina echoes, falling into a broody silence. “Why would she do that?” she finally asks.
“So she can cash in on us not hooking up?” I shrug. “Do you have to pee or not?”
Mina ignores that, instead stepping closer to me, dropping her voice. “You and Nic have been hooking up this whole time, haven’t you?”
“Is this another bet?” I don’t need to ask. It must be. “Because honestly, I don’t want to talk about Nic.”
Mina’s face goes all sympathetic, and she nods, but says, “I’m sorry you’re hurting.”
“I’m—” I can’t even deny it. I couldn’t leave my emotions at the door. Nic could. He’s moved on to the next woman while I’m barely holding it together in the ladies’ room.
“I’ll fix this,” Mina says, determination settling over her expression as she pushes past me and unlocks the door.
“Don’t you have to pee?” I call after her.
“Nah,” she says over her shoulder, “Timothy helped me with that after we fu—excuse me,” she interrupts herself politely as Great-Aunt Glenda shuffles in. With a little laugh, Mina disappears.
“To be young again,” Glenda says with a gusty sigh, shaking her head.
I do not want to be cornered by Great-Aunt Glenda so I try to slip past her, but she grabs my arm. “Got any more of those pretty little flower stimulator thingies?”
Somehow, I’ve become the family sex toy dealer. The ninety-year-old accosted me at a Fourth of July barbeque and said if I was handing out sex toys, she deserved one too. I was not handing out sex toys at a family barbeque and whoever told Great-Aunt Glenda about my job deserves a smack to the back of the head, but I sent her a tulip-shaped clitoral stimulator, the most senior-safe product Sploosh! makes, and after that, orders from the retirement community rolled in.
Honestly, good for them. Not great for me every time someone forgets to charge their toy and Glenda gives them my number.
“Sorry,” I say, slipping out of her bony grip and motioning to my lack of a handbag. “I don’t.”
I make it to the bar and order another drink. Music starts and Timothy sweeps Mina onto the floor for a slow, pretty Ed Sheeran song. Thirty seconds later it switches to a thumping medley of every filthy song released in the last ten years.
The DJ doesn’t call the wedding party up. No parent dances either. Everyone is invited to the floor and I’m treated to the sight of Dominic Fontana twirling a petite carbon copy of his ex-wife on the dance floor.
It hurts. My insides feel like they’re being turned inside out and an all-consuming dread pumps through me with every heartbeat.
It shouldn’t hurt this much.
I knock half my drink back the moment the bartender sets it in front of me.
A hand wraps around my waist, the solid body suddenly behind me smelling like cheap cologne and sweat. Colton. I suppress the urge to gag.
