Shit.My teeth grit with the disdain ofshut your dirty damn mouthas I glare at him, noticing people begin to file out of the seat aisles.
But my mother doesn’t even notice my reaction as she counts on her fingers, then blurts out, “Six months. He’s right. You two seemed to have loads of fun at the wedding, so play nice now.”
I’m going to be sick, metaphorically ... maybe literally.
She smiles at both of us. “I swear if you’d just stop hating each other, you’d see you’re a perfect match.”
I blanch. “Eww. Mom. Inappropriate. If I want a lifetime of regret, I’ll join a reality dating show like any other respectable member of my generation.”
My head shifts around again, hoping to catch a glimpse of Goldie, but all I see is Noah speaking to some of his old friends.
As I look back, Chase cocks his head. “Which island are we going to?”
“Shut it, STD.”
“Evie,” my mother chastises, this time swatting my arm.
But he smirks. Still hate it.
Regardless, it still holds my attention. And for too long.
It’s because he mentioned the wedding.That damn wedding.
His tongue darts out before he draws his bottom lip between his teeth then lets it glide out slowly. I can’t help but watch, because I’vebeen suddenly transported outside to a cobblestone street. Sitting at a supremely long table on a closed-off road in Beacon Hill. Where I’m irresponsibly sipping my fifth extra-dirty martini and watching him lick a piece of lime off that same bottom lip.
All from across pristine table linens while music wafts in the air for all Boston to hear. I’m right back at Goldie and Noah’s wedding, where the best man and the maid of honor became the oldest wedding cliché known to man.
Shit.
I clear my throat, blinking a few times as he chuckles and our eyes become fixed. It’s momentary, but enough time for me to see two things: I’ve been caught, and he’s got stubble on his face.
Gross.
My lips part to say something snarky, but he beats me to the punch.
“You know, Camilla, in order for us to fall in love, your daughter would have to text me back. I’ve been waiting since ... oh yeah, the wedding.”
My eyes pop open.Fucker.
“What?” my mom gasps too excitedly. “Evie ...”
Oh my god. He’s such a son of a bitch.
My mom’s staring at me for an explanation, but all I have to offer is a panicked chuckle that tries to escape before I hide it and turn away quickly.
“Speaking of texts,” I begin, hurrying out of the aisle while hitching a finger over my shoulder as I look back. “Where is my favorite contact? Probably the ladies’. I’m gonna go congratulate her ... Seriously, what kind of sister would I be?”
I don’t even chance another peek over my shoulder to see their expressions because I already know my mother has begun plotting my future wedding to Boston’s most prominent jackass, and Chase is delighting in making it awkward.
He’s just so . . . ugh . . . like the worst . . .
This is why I begged my sister to kill him off in the movie, but she said it was too mean. I guess I see her point since we literally all survived by the skin of our teeth. Still, I stand by it. One version of me should be able to live out the dream of being rid of him.
Never will I ever save his life again.
I’m lost in about ten different thoughts between how I’m going to either explain the texting or alternatively hide his body when I push out of the theater into the hallway.
Like, just stop bringing up the wedding. God, I can’t believe I ...
