The Worst Best Man(48)

She clutched her shoes to her chest and balled up the remains of her gown and slipped out the door.

They’d dined on champagne and tender steaks in bed and ended up naked and panting again. She had every intention of leaving, of going back to her room to pack and regain whatever shred of sanity she had left, but had instead fallen asleep next to Aiden, a tangle of limbs and sheets.

She woke with a start, sunlight beaming obnoxiously in her face between the slice of curtain they hadn’t bothered closing. She’d been horrified to find her face snuggled into Aiden’s neck. Her hand resting on the smattering of chest hair above the slow and steady beat of his heart.

Her leg was thrown over his crotch, and his erection was digging into her thigh. The magnitude of last night, of not just giving in to his chase, but demanding he take her, hit her like a heavyweight champ. And the things she’d let him do to her? The things she’d done to him? Hell.

Apparently, she was as forgiving as Pru. Or as hormone driven as ol’ one-eyebrowed Margeaux.

She must have forgotten to pack her dignity.

“Well, well, well.”

Frankie jumped a mile in the hallway as she pulled Aiden’s door closed.

“Jesus, Pru. You scared the ever-living hell out of me.”

Her best friend was still in her wedding gown, her hair a disaster, her makeup smeared. She smelled like a distillery and was grinning like a kindergartner turned loose in the Hershey Chocolate Factory.

“You and Aiden?” Pru squealed at dog whistle frequency.

“Shhh! Jeez. Keep your voice down.”

Pru listed hard to the side as if she were walking the deck of a boat. “I’m super drunk but not drunk enough to not be really, really excited.”

“Have you even been to bed yet?” Frankie asked.

Pru shook her head violently from side and side and walked into a wall. “Nope. ’s my party. Hey! Wanna hold my hair while I throw up? You can tell me why you’re sneaking out of You Know Who’s room with sex hair and teeth marks on your neck.”

--------

Pru could be a professional vomiter, Frankie observed. She tucked her knees under her neatly in front of the toilet and gracefully sighed up the contents of her stomach.

“You know, when I barf, I sound like I’m trying to bring up a foot of intestine,” Frankie pointed out.

“Blaaaaaah,” Pru crooned to the toilet. She sat back on her heels looking proud of herself and flushed. “Barf drunking is so much easier than barf sicking. I prolly won’t even remember this tomorrow… or today.”

“Yeah, but you were like this with the stomach bug of 2005 too.”

“The trick is not to fight it,” Pru said sagely. “When you fight it, it makes it so much harder.”

Vomit lessons from a cheerful zombie bride. At least this was keeping her mind off of the satisfied ache in every well-used muscle. Off of the naked man down the hallway who had shown her things in the dark that she couldn’t comprehend in the daylight.

“Where’s your husband?” Frankie asked, handing Pru a glass of water.

“My husband is sleeping under the head table on the terrace,” Pru said proudly. “Now, tell me exactly how you got beard burn on your neck.

Her neck wasn’t the only place she’d gotten it. But she wasn’t about to mention her inner thighs right now.

“Aiden and I had sex,” Frankie admitted.

Pru started cackling.

“Geez, what? You laugh any harder, and you’re gonna spew again.”

“I was jus’ thinking that I can’t wait to tell this story at your wedding!”

“Why would you tell this story at my wedding?” Frankie asked, horrified.

“’Cause you’re gonna marry Aiden, and I’m gonna be your matron of honor!”

“I’m not marrying Aiden! We had a one-time momentary lapse in judgment.”

“Uhhhh, judging by the orgasmic look on your pretty, pretty face, you had a life-altering one-time momentary lapse.”

Frankie slumped against Pru’s vanity. “Okay, it was good. Really good.” So fucking good every sexual experience from now on was going to pale in comparison. That was a cheery thought.

“And?” Pru prodded, fluffing the skirt of her dress around her.

“And the key phrase is ‘one-time.’ We are not each other’s types no matter how good in bed we are together.”

“Okay, okay. On a scale of Jimmy Talbot and Tanner Freehorn, where does Aiden fall?”

This was the problem with having a best friend who knew everything about you. She created sex scales based on your worst and best experiences. Jimmy had been her first and sweetly awkward. Tanner was a random hookup at a New Year’s Eve party ten months ago who had given Frankie her first multiple orgasm.

“Ugh. Don’t make me do this!” Frankie begged.

“You have to,” Pru ordered. “It’s in the friendship rules. Jimmy to Tanner. Go!”

“Tanner plus three,” Frankie mumbled under her breath. She traced the grout line with her finger, refusing to meet Pru’s eyes.

“Tanner plus wha?” Pru demanded. Her post-puke voice echoed off the marble.

“Three.”

She watched drunk Pru do the math very slowly on her fingers. “Oh hell. Five. I had five orgasms, okay?”