At the moment, I’m talking to who I guess to be the head bitter bride, an older woman with severe bags under her eyes. Her face looks blotchy and bloated, as worn out as that gray dress she’s donned. A ratted veil is staked into her thick blonde hair, and it looks as if she just plucked it off a corpse bride—not that she doesn’t qualify as one herself. I clear my throat. “You know what?” I muse as the bitter bride brigade falls into their seats like a coven of angry witches whose spells have all just backfired. “Why don’t you ladies take your time with the menu? I’ll be back in just a bit to take your order.”
The head bride lets out a mean whoop while waving in another whole legion of runaway brides in this direction. “Oh, honey, this is going to be one hell of a breakup bash. I came within inches of that unholy altar before I saw the light, and believe you me I’m damn thankful. You just keep the margaritas coming. Hell, we can cut out the middleman. Just send the damn bartender this way. We’ll figure out what to do with him.” The entire table breaks out into cackles over that salacious remark.
“Gladly,” I mutter as I jump out of the way and signal Cole over to take a stab at the howling matrimonial masses. Cole is handsome, classically so, dark hair, permanent naughty grin, but he’s very much taken. His plus one, Roxy, is a slit-your-throat type Goth girl who happens to bake the best darn cupcakes in town. Roxy runs her own baking business out of her apartment, and word on the street is she’s looking for a place downtown to open up a real shop in the very near future.
“Breakup bash,” I hiss as he glides by with an ear-to-ear grin. “I’m guessing she’s the one that called it off.”
“I’ve seen it all, Serena,” Cole assures me. “Don’t worry about the crowds. Roxy is coming in to help man the tables.”
Not only has Holt taken time off to tend to his wife and sweet baby, but two waitresses left for the Bahamas this morning so we’re down to a skeleton crew.
“Good thing.” I sigh as I make my way to where Sunday and Seth are seated having a seemingly romantic dinner in a darkened corner. Her belly is bloated like a beach ball, and she can hardly lean over to place her hands on the table. I can’t help but smile at how adorable she is.
No sooner do I arrive in their presence than they flick down a couple of twenties over their bill.
“No,” I whine without meaning to. “You guys can’t leave. You’re the only thing holding my sanity together.” I dip my knees while doing my best to plead with Sunday.
Sunday and I are like sisters. We just finished our freshman year at Briggs, and here she is, knocked up and engaged to the boy who did the dirty deed, her longtime secret crush, Seth. Seth’s a good guy. We’ve known him forever, too. Sure, it was pure evil of him to keep it from Sunday that he was indeed the one-night stand she had way back in December, but the truth is, they were both pretty toasted and Seth was scared spitless. But he’s admitted now, and that entire boozy nightmare is in the past. They’re both happy as can be, and that baby on the way is more than lucky to have the two of them for parents—andmeas an aunt.
“We haven’t even talked about your wedding.” I try to appeal to her matrimonial side. “I’m thinking something huge at The Sloppy Pelican,” I tease, knowing full well the idea will be met with the utmost protest.
Sunday averts her eyes on cue. She is a natural beauty, even though she chooses to wield makeup as if it were a weapon. She has a popular beauty vlog on YouTube and has a bazillion subscribers who have helped land her to a semi-famous status. Plus, it keeps her bank account in the black.
I’m not that lucky or talented, and the only thing I’ve got to keep me in a pittance of green is the tips I earn on crazy nights like this.
Sunday glowers at me. “Definitely not at The Sloppy Pelican.” Seth helps Sunday out of her seat, and I’d swear on all of my unearned tips that her belly grew twice its size since I saw her a few hours earlier.
Sunday wrinkles her nose. “We were thinking something small and private at the overlook.” Ha! Lex and I called it. “You know, about ten people or so? It’s where Seth proposed, so it has meaning to us. Plus, that way, I won’t be such a public spectacle. Nothing calls out the rubberneckers like a knocked-up child bride.”
“If people are craning their necks to get a better look at you, it’s because you’re a stunner. Newsflash: you’re nineteen. You’re no longer considered a child by any public entity.”
“Yes, but I can’t legally drink at my own wedding either.” She pulls me in and lands a sweet kiss to my cheek. “Sorry I’m going to miss your date, but I’m beyond zonked. I’m half-asleep already. Growing another human really does take a lot out of you.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it.” I suck in a sharp breath as her words finally register. “Mydate? Oh my God, I totally forgot all about that brewing disaster.”
I give a nervous glance to the door for said “date” who is supposed to show up in a yellow denim jacket. That fashion faux pas was the first red flag in this entire debacle. I can forgive a lot of fashion-based errors, but can I really forgive a yellow denim jacket—on a first date, no less?
My God, did Dirty Boy show up sporting a canary on his person? I glance to the bar and spot him—thankfully sans the yellow jacket—going at it again. This time with some dark-haired dude who looks just as slimy as he does.
I give the rest of the place a quick once-over and come up empty of that slightly obnoxious hue.
This is all my roommate Harley’s fault. She’s the one who convinced me to swipe right. I spot her near the back laughing it up with a couple of our friends, Colby and Teagan. She’s been plotting all week on how to best corner her new crush, Tyson Swanson, basketball player extraordinaire—but really, he’s just a player. I have no idea what she sees in that perverted oaf. I spot him a few feet to her left, and I’m positive that boy is on her radar while I’m on the warpath of some yellow-loving psychotic.
“A date.” I look to Sunday and shake my head at the lunacy. “I can’t believe I’m staring down the barrel of the unknown, save for the fact he’s assured me he’s totally sane and I’ll love him to pieces. What I’m really afraid of is himhackingme to pieces. How about you stay and I toss in a free dessert? Or twelve,” I say in an effort to sweeten the deal.
Seth laughs as he pats me on the back. “You’ll be fine. This place is loaded with disillusioned brides ready and willing to do a testosterone takedown on whomever you point the finger at. Whatever you do, don’t let the guy take you to a second location.” He gives a cheesy wink while pulling Sunday in close. “But seriously, evaluate the dude. Make sure his check engine light isn’t going off.” He taps the side of his head. “And if it is, take preemptive action. Call Marlin. Tell him to bring backup.”
“Not a bad idea.” Marlin is my older brother who happens to be armed to the hilt as a decorated member of the Jepson Police Department.
I watch, forlorn, as both Sunday and Seth hit the exit, and just as they leave, an ornery jackass enters the establishment.
“Great,” I grunt just as Roxy passes me by.
“Take the left wing, would you?” She pauses on her way to the kitchen and steals a moment to glare at the bitter brides. “Sorry you have to deal with that mess. Personally, I think they’re pulling this stunt to achieve minimal fame.” She takes off again. “By the way, I called Baya. Hopefully, she’ll be here soon. But until then, we’re skating on thin ice.”
Roxy is Cole’s aforementioned better half. She’s a bit jarring to look at with her kohl-inked eyes, her Cherry Coke-inspired hair, and sardonic view of life. I, for one, happen to appreciate her nonstop sarcasm and dry humor. We redheads are known for our spicy way with words. I always seem to get along with fellow redheads, although I’m of the natural variety and my mane is anything but Cherry Coke-inspired. I’m more of a crimson hair and hormones on fire kind of a redhead with the luck-of-the-Irish green eyes to match. Although I’ve never been lucky—my Irish genes failed me long ago in that respect.
I watch as Shepherd Collins, the jackass that just made his way in, finds a seat in my newly minted wing and I groan.
