“I wish I had the lady balls to fuck something up for them,” Jen whines. “That family has been nothing but a pain in my ass my whole life. He’s the reason I’m not the one being fitted for a wedding dress.”
“Err… Nope.” I hiccup, and ride my wave of drunken happiness. “You are the reason you don’t get that pretty dress. You were the one with a ring on her finger. He was just…” I snicker, then slur. “Entrepreneurial, I guess. I’m not saying it doesn’t make him a total dick,” I throw my hand up to the skies, like the universe will feel my wrath. “And it’s soooo much worse, because we know he did it to dig at Jackson. But he didn’t cheat on anyone, Jen. That’s on you.”
Point made, I drop back to the thick pillows, and go to take a sip of my wine, only to find it mysteriously empty. “Who did that?” I look up. “It’s all gone.”
“I got it.” Chrissy snatches my glass and rolls off the bed to refill it. “And I agree with Maddi. Sleeping with you may have been a dick move… but we already knew he was a dick. You were the one in a relationship. But also…” She pulls the foil off a brand-new bottle of white, then turns to us and points a finger, “You didn’t even like him anyway.”
“Bryan?”
“No, Andrew! Raise of hands, please, ladies. Who here thought Andrew was our girl’s prince charming?”
Not one single hand is raised, so Chrissy turns back to the wine and begins pouring. “Dodged a bullet, is all I’m saying.”
“It was a good pairing,” Jen grumbles. “His family, and my family—”
“Are you a fucking dog?” I demand. “Is it imperative you breed more designer dogs? Jesus, Jenna! Get off the ‘Momma and Daddy said’ train, and think for yourself. He was a dick, he had a combover, he was as boring as a bag of rocks—”
“And about that smart.” Chrissy tips the bottle back and takes a long chug. “He was a complete idiot. We need to choose smart, ladies. And Andrew was never gonna make the cut.”
“I had a plan,” Jenna whines. “And one night with a jerk undid it all.”
“One night of something fun and mysterious,” I point out. “And now you’re holding a grudge against the wrong person, all because you got caught.”
“Whose side are you on?” She grabs a nail file from the bed and tosses it at me. “Girl squad means blind support, Maddi! What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I support you!” I laugh. “Ohhhhh, that scoundrel. That good for nothing, but very pretty jerkhole. I just cannot believe he’d go to bed with a pretty girl when the opportunity arose.”
“My daddy is still pissed,” she whimpers. “All that non-refundable money. All of those guests. The business dealings that were supposed to take place.”
I lay back down when Chrissy brings my glass over, and though I roll my eyes, I hide it from the scorned. “Have you ever considered falling in love, ya know, for the sake of falling in love? And not because it would be an economically appropriate move?”
“Of course I’ve considered it,” she snaps. “But that’s not how it was gonna work out for me. Now I’m designing Little Miss Obnoxious’ dress, and having to bite my tongue every time she and her perfect posse of pretty princesses come into my shop.”
I snort. “Alliteration is so much fun.”
Frustrated with my lack of giving a shit, she grabs her glass of wine and chugs half in one go. “This is why I drink, by the way. Because the world ain’t fair.”
“You’re so right,” I give an exaggerated sigh. “Scoundrels and jerks. Every man on this planet is either a scoundrel or a jerk. Zero exceptions.”
“Thank you!” She finishes her wine and lets out a low growl. “It’s about damn time you showed some damn respect.”
“When’s the wedding?” Hannah asks – loudly – with a swish and a flick of her powder brush. “Is it gonna be a drawn out, ten-year thing where we’ll never hear the end of it? Or is it the already knocked up and needs to tie the knot to make it all tidy kind?”
“I don’t think she’s knocked up,” Jenna answers. “She was in this week for a fitting.” She looks down at her naturally thin body, and grabs the world’s smallest roll of skin at her belly. “She has a six-pack, guys.” She sighs. “I see her in her underwear, and I’m just saying, if I was into chicks, I’d have a hard time not coming when that Kincaid crooked her finger too.”
“Ugh.” Hannah tosses her brush and swaps it for an eyeliner pen. “That’s so annoying. Some people get everything, and others have nothing.”
Says the socialite’s daughter who has never gone hungry in her life.
“Newspaper said November,” Chrissy mumbles. She turns to her side, and plays with the rope around my shorts as she slowly, carefully winds it around her finger. “Mid-November. Early enough that it can be out of the way before this year’s tournament, but late enough that she’s had most of the year to plan it.” She pouts. “I read the whole effing article.”
A cellphone trills somewhere beneath the piles of pillows and tossed clothes, but everyone knows it must be Jen’s or Chrissy’s. Both are on-call for work, both uber professionals.
Considering I’ve literally never heard my ringtone in my life – hello, silent mode – I lay back and let them scramble for their phones to see who has to work while drunk.
I sure hope it’s not Chrissy.
“It’s mine,” Jen raises her ringing phone like it’s a trophy, then brings it back down and coughs, like clearing her throat will make her sound less intoxicated.
When she has it under control, she hits the green icon and lifts her chin – like that, too, will help hide her inebriation.
“Hello?” Her brows pull closer together. “Miss Kincaid.” She grits her teeth – comically so – and fists her glass of wine until her knuckles turn white. “Hi, I was just thinking about you.”
Drunk me insists I howl at the irony. Drunk me insists Jen put her call on speaker so we can all listen to Sporty Spice. But PR me grabs a pillow and presses it to my face before I get my friend’s ass booted out of a wedding she really wants, because… ‘status and money.’
“Oh… uh, sure. That’s fine. I can…” She pauses with a frown. “Sure. I’ll fix my schedule to make that work. Yeah, girl! Totally okay.”
“Yeah, girl?” I howl into the pillow. Giggle until tears form in my eyes. But then a fist slams down onto my exposed thigh, and ruins my attempts at being quiet.
“You got it, Miss Kincaid. I’ll see you on Friday. Yup! It’s totally fine. Okay, bye… okay, bye…” She grunts. “Okay. Bye.”
I remove my pillow, and peek at my friend as she pulls the cell away from her ear and hangs up, then I squeal when she turns to me and slams a fist onto my thigh a second time.
“Ouch!”
“Don’t mock me while I’m on the phone, jerk!”
“Who says ‘yeah, girl’? Yeeeaahhh, gurrrrrl.” I cackle. “You sound like you’re trying too hard.”