The Worst Best Man(13)

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Which one of you just bit me in the ass?” Frankie demanded.

“Cannonball,” Taffany squealed.

Pru popped up on the screen again just over Frankie’s shoulder. “What are we doing? Are you two making out on my phone?” she asked.

“We’re not making out,” Frankie told her.

“You guys totally should. I bet it would be SO. HOT. Cause you both are SO. HOT.”

Frankie stared into the camera. “Christ, can’t you wealthy folk buy constitutions? Learn to hold your liquor, people!”

“I’ll glue Chip to a table and meet you on the street. We can revisit the making out suggestion when you get here,” Aiden offered.

“Ha.” She disconnected the call, and Aiden dragged Chip and Ford out of the crowd. A flash of cash gave them an entire turquoise picnic table at Uncle George’s Fish Net.

“Stay here,” he ordered and waded back into the crowd. By the time he found the sidewalk, he could hear them and felt a wave of relief wash over him. If this were his wedding, his bride would not be roaming the island. If this were his wedding, it would be him and his bride. No one else to distract or dramatize.

“It’s her bachelorette party!” one of them shouted, pointing at Pruitt who was wearing an upside down I’m The Bride sash and a tiara in case anyone had any doubt.

“Please tell me you have food for us in the next seven seconds,” Frankie called, pushing through the crowd to get to him, dragging Pruitt with her. She was wearing a short black dress with a deep scoop in the front. More of her was covered than the rest of the bridesmaids combined. He could see Taffany’s flesh colored underwear… or bare labia. He wasn’t sure.

Aiden clamped a hand on Frankie’s free wrist. “Follow me.”

“Hello to you, too,” she grumbled.

He surged into the crowd, nearly a head above everyone else. Uncle George’s white tents were ahead. He felt Frankie stumble behind him and paused. “Why did you insist on wearing those?” he asked, surly for no reason other than he’d been worried. She wore four-inch heeled sandals that wrapped up her calves.

“Ask the bridesmonsters,” Frankie grumbled. “Coordination.”

“Aiiiiiiden!” An animated Margeaux threw herself into his chest hard enough that he had to catch her. “I missed you!” He saw it coming, was powerless to stop those two over-inflated raspberry lips as they came at him.

She laid a kiss on him that was sixty steps beyond friendly. She pulled back and looked up at him, squinting with one eye. “You and me are gonna have sex.” She poked him in the chest with a talon-like fingernail. “S-E-X.”

“Can we please get something to eat before you two decide to fuck?”

“I know what I’m hungry for,” Margeaux said, saucily. She slid her hand from Aiden’s chest to his crotch and squeezed. Aiden’s first reflex was to swing at her. The best offense was a good defense. But before he could decide whether to hit his first woman ever or just cower in fear, Frankie swooped in.

She slipped an arm around Margeaux’s swan-like neck and tightened her grip. “Get your hands off his junk or he’ll sue you for sexual harassment, Marge.”

Margeaux stumbled under the weight and pressure Frankie was applying. “’s not sexy harassment if I’m a lady. And I’m a fucking lady!”

“My lawyer and I would disagree,” Aiden said coldly.

“Oh, hell. Get, Pru,” Frankie ordered, pointing behind him. “I’ll contain Slutzilla here.”

Pruitt had decided to take a rest and was sitting on the sidewalk holding her shoes in her hand. Aiden was too tired to fight the shoes back on her feet, so he tossed the bride over his shoulder and hoped the scrap of white dress kept everything important covered.

She was singing “Here Comes the Bride” when he dumped her in Chip’s lap. The drunken couple was ecstatic to see each other. Frankie was ecstatic to see plates of fish and rice piled on the table. She slapped the beer out of Pru’s hand and waved over the server. “Is there any way we can get a ton of water?” she asked, laying a hand on his arm. The guy grinned at her as if she were asking if she could give him free blow jobs for life.

“Anything for you, miss.”

“Keep the miss and call me Frankie,” she insisted. “Water for everyone, and I’ll be in your debt forever.”

“Look! Frankie’s making friends with the help again,” Margeaux crowed. “It’s cause she is the help.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, why are you such a c-word?” Pruitt demanded from Chip’s lap.

Margeaux apparently had built up quite an immunity to being called the c-word. She was too busy laughing at her own joke to respond and fell off the bench backwards. No one stopped to help her up.

Digby and Davenport materialized out of the crowd and pounced on the food. Davenport was sporting a hickey on his neck. Digby was wearing a hat he hadn’t had ten minutes ago.

Taffany eyed the table with skepticism. She nearly tackled a server who was carting a tray of beers. “Excuse me. Where is the VIP section?”

The server laughed so loud and for so long that Taffany forgot what she’d asked and sat down next to Cressida who was enthusiastically making out with a stranger.