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“Thanks, you guys. You’re all right. I’m letting the thought of them drive me insane. That stops now. I don’t care what they capture or what they think. I’m going to relish every single minute.”
“That’s our girl,” Erin bellows.
Erin
Ipace in front of the girls, who are seated at two tables in front of me.
I called a bridal party meeting in the reception hall ahead of tonight’s rehearsal.
“Sara-Beth has given us a job, ladies. Tonight, we are all staying in adjoining rooms across the resort from the boys. Our mission, should we choose to accept it, is to keep Garrett Tuttle from sneaking a peek or copping a feel the night before the wedding. Are we all in?” I ask.
Maxi raises her hand.
“Yes?”
“Um, why do we have to spend the night away from our guys? We aren’t getting married.”
“Because Garrett Tuttle is a crafty devil and it will take every one of us standing guard. And we just thought it’d be fun for us all to spend the night together,” I admit.
Maxi groans. “I see you bitches all the time. Corbin just worked a double shift so he could be off for the wedding and Christmas, my hormones are raging, and I wanted to make use of that big ole jetted tub and fancy king-size bed.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Fine. If you want to let the OGGs down, go right ahead.”
Maxi’s eyes dart to Sara-Beth, who is fussing over the table settings.
She huffs out a frustrated breath. “I’ll stay with you guys.”
That’s what I thought.
“Does anyone else have a complaint?” I ask, scanning the room.
Silence.
“Nobody? So, we’re all in?”
They nod.
“Excellent!”
I bring my eyes back to Maxi. “Sara-Beth said Garrett rented out the entire resort for four days, so you can still molest your fireman in the fancy hotel room,” I inform her.
“Yes!”
Taeli raises her hand and then speaks. “What are we gonna do to celebrate Ansley’s last night as a single lady?”
“I vote ice-skating!” Anna chimes.
“Oh, let’s night ski. No one will be on the slopes. We’ll have them all to ourselves,” Zoey suggests.
“We could get drunk and go snow tubing,” Brandee adds.
Ansley clears her throat, and our attention snaps to her.
“Can we do something, anything, that doesn’t include the possibility of me or any of my bridesmaids breaking a leg or throwing up on the altar tomorrow? Please,” she pleads.
“That’s smart,” Jena quips.
“We could take over the Cantina, and those of us who can hold our liquor can do shots and sing karaoke,” I propose.
