Without a Hitch(39)

There’s that damn word again.

Lochlan: Thanks, mate. You good?

Colton: Better than you’re doing, I’d say.

Lochlan: (middle finger emoji)

Lochlan: I’m at the Foundry wedding. Let’s get a pint soon.

Colton: Done.

Pocketing my phone, I almost feel worse than before I texted my friend, but I square my shoulders and enter the reception anyway. Somehow, the bridal party has already made their entrance, and as I walk toward my family, my gaze never leaves Abby. My fire.

I don’t dwell on the fact that I keep referring to her as mine. For tonight, and maybe tonight only, that’s exactly what she’ll be.

I’VE SAT THROUGH A MEAL, four dances, and a fucking cake cutting that required no less than six helpers because it stood at least five feet tall. Now there are speeches I’ll never remember, and I’ve stared, glowered, and ogled Abby the entire time while shooting daggers from my eye sockets at the men who have touched, talked, or laughed with her.

To say I’ve hit my limit with this wedding bullshit is the understatement of the fucking century. I’m done. So, when my girl excuses herself from the grasp of lecherous man number five, I track her movements to the restrooms.

When did I start stalking women headed to the loo? Tugging on my earlobe, I sit back in my seat and attempt to fake a relaxed position.

“You like her,” Nova whispers to my right.

“Oh, he likes her all right.” The glee in my father’s voice makes a smirk lift at the corners of my lips. I don’t give into the smile entirely because I will not give him false hope. One-night stands do not mean love.

“Why are you glowering at her then, dear?” my mother asks through a smirk of her own. She is truly diabolical. Kitty Bryer-Blaine is as shrewd as I am.

“My guess is because of all the dances she’s had with other men as part of her wedding party duties.” Nova stresses each word.

Logically, I know she’s correct. But I still hate it.

“Nonsense,” I say instead. “We simply have unfinished business. That’s all.”

“Unfinished business, Banny? Like slime the banana?” My father wiggles his eyebrows with a suggestive expression.

I choke on my old-fashioned. “Jesus, Dad.”

“Check the oil,” my mother adds.

“Feed the kitty? Knocking boots? Bumping uglies?”

I glare at Nova. “The last thing I need to think about is all the euphemisms my family can come up with for having sex.”

“The no-pants dance? Two-person push-ups? Stuff the taco?” My sister is thoroughly enjoying herself now.

“Test the humidity?” my father barks out.

“Burping the worm in the mole hole?”

“Bloody hell, Mother! The mole hole? Are you serious?”

I feel my face flame, but my family is on a roll, and laughter rings out loud, proud, and happy.

They’re nothing if not thorough.

I precisely fold my napkin, taking a moment to count to ten before I storm off like a… what is it Colton calls it? Ah, yes, a juiced-up nut monkey. Lovely. Now I’m quoting my most immature friend.

Perhaps I am having a midlife crisis? Yes! Can thirty-two be considered midlife?

I’ve had enough of my own shit. My thoughts are rampant and unnerving, and no matter what I do, I cannot get them under control.

“Ride the skin bus to tuna town.” My father guffaws so loudly at his addition to this insanity that it snaps me from my wayward thoughts, and I stand quickly.

“I have to take a piss.”

“Right,” Nova sings. “It’s cheeky that your bladder is on the same schedule as our beautiful new friend, Abby. Don’t you think, Kitty?”

“Very,” my mother agrees.

Tossing my napkin onto the table, I turn on my heels and stalk off in Abby’s direction.

Finding a bench in the hall, directly between the men’s and women’s restrooms, I take a seat and pretend to scroll my phone. It doesn’t take long before sounds filter out through the women’s room.

It’s loud.

Not loud enough to be considered yelling, or for me to clearly make out all the words, but loud enough that someone sounds slightly hysterical. I lean closer, straining to ensure it’s not Abby’s voice.

Once I’m reasonably confident it’s not Abby, I relax against the wall.

I’m content replying to work emails until the door to my left flies open and a wave of activity filters out into the hall.

“Katrina! You cannot be serious right now. It’s your cousin’s day! Her wedding day! You need to be here.”

“Whatever,” Katrina scoffs. I know this woman too. She’s the bride’s evil cousin, and I’m seriously beginning to believe that Audra was adopted. “And don’t be ridiculous. Knowing those two, she’ll get a chance to be a bride again in three years, tops.”

A collective gasp rings out behind her. Then the voice I crave fills the space as Abby moves into the restroom doorway. “You listen to me, you nasty little she-devil. If you’re leaving this wedding, you’re going out the back door, without making a scene. Without speaking to Audra. Without showing anyone else what a horrid bitch you are. Do I make myself clear?”

Well, well, well. My Pepper is spicier than I realized.