The Worst Best Man(9)

Pruitt snapped her fingers. “Oh, no! Uh-uh! Don’t you look at him, Chip. Spill it right now.”

Chip’s resolve crumbled faster than a cookie in the sticky hands of a toddler. “Aiden may have mentioned that Frankie danced like she had experience on the pole.”

“You called her a stripper?” Pruitt’s screech could probably be heard by the catamaran five-hundred yards off the coast.

Aiden winced. “In my defense—”

“There’s no defense! Damn it, Aiden. She’s one of my favorite people. You can’t treat her like she’s nothing.”

“I understand, and I apologized, and I tried to make amends by picking her up today.”

Pru cracked a slight smile. “Tried to, huh? She wasn’t amenable?” she asked innocently.

“Not exactly,” Aiden admitted. Not at all, really.

Chip slapped him on the shoulder. “Sorry, man. Our Frankie’s not the most forgiving person in the world.”

“So one slip up, and that’s it?”

Pruitt peered at him over her sunglasses. “Why? Are you interested in her?”

“As she so astutely pointed out, I’m no more her type than she is mine,” Aiden said, side-stepping the question. He wasn’t interested in Frankie. He was intrigued by her, but that was different.

“Why couldn’t you just have been nice and polite or, God forbid, friendly?” Pruitt sighed.

“I don’t want to be friendly. I don’t have time for friendly.”

Pruitt flopped back on her lounger pouting. “And now we have a maid of honor and best man who hate each other.”

“We should have eloped,” Chip said, squeezing her thigh with affection.

“We are eloping. We just took everyone with us.”

Aiden bit back a quip about knowing better for next time. Thanks to him, there almost hadn’t been a first time.

The server returned with a tray of pink frothy drinks with umbrellas and enough fruit to build a salad. “Mr. Randolph,” he said with a flourish. Chip grinned and passed out the drinks. “Hatfield, you’re the man.” He slid a twenty onto the tray.

Aiden took a sip of his drink, winced, and set the glass down on the table next to the chair.

“Well, if it isn’t Mr. and almost Mrs. Randolph.”

Pru squealed and jumped out of her chair. “You’re here!” She threw her arms around Franchesca.

She’d changed, he noted. Gone were the very small white shorts and entertainingly tight tank. In their place was a flowy cover up with a deep v that showed an eyeful of breathtaking cleavage and a hint of the black bikini beneath. Her hair was still piled atop her head. She looked exotic, curvy. And if he wasn’t careful, he’d have a hard-on like a teenager in a moment.

There was nothing subtle about Franchesca.

“I made it,” she said, grinning down at Pru.

“How was your flight? Do you want a drink?”

“Here.” Aiden pressed his pink concoction into her hand.

She stared at the glass with suspicion.

“Oh, for God’s sake. It’s not poisoned. Just drink the damn thing,” he ordered.

“Remember what we were talking about, Aiden?” Pru warned him. “Friendly?”

“You’re in trouble,” Frankie sang under her breath so only he could hear. She took a sip of the drink. Her full lips closed over the straw where his had been only moments ago. “Don’t you worry about Aide and me. No drama. Scout’s honor. Even if he did cockblock me from a sexy surfer at the airport.”

Pru linked her arm through Frankie’s and led her away, shooting him a dirty look over her shoulder. “Come on, Frankie. Let’s go spend some time with the girls. Now, tell me about the surfer.”

Aiden and Chip watched them go.

“Surfer, huh?” Chip asked.

“Shut up.”

Chip laughed. “Come on. Let’s play some volleyball.”





Chapter Six


“Ladies, our maid of honor has arrived,” Pruitt announced cheerily to the reclining goddesses.

“Yay,” Margeaux said without looking up from her phone. Her blonde hair was rolled in a chic chignon at the base of her neck. She looked regal, even in a bikini.

Pruitt dragged Frankie toward a pair of sun loungers. She took another sip of the pink frozen tartness. It tasted vaguely of grapefruit and vodka. But it would do.

“Now, sit. And spill,” Pru ordered. “The story, not the drink.”

Frankie handed over the glass with a sigh. She stepped out of her sandals and pulled the cover up over her head.

She felt a heated gaze on her skin and turned to see Aiden standing in the sand looking at her. He flashed her a cocky grin and shucked his shirt. He wasn’t lean like the rest of the groomsmen. He was bigger, more muscled. His chest alone made her mouth water. They stared admiringly at each other.

“Staaaalling,” Pru sang, drawing her attention.

“Ugh. Fine.” She turned her back on the beach, on Aiden. “What do you want to know?”

“How did your ride in from the airport go with Aiden?”

Margeaux dropped her phone and her jaw. Taffany, who had been busy swilling tequila straight from the bottle in a one-piece with less fabric than Frankie’s bikini, sat up.