“Okay, well, that’s cool, but whatever he’s doing with his eyes when he looks at you is indecent all the same. More indecent than Jason Lorcan adjusting his pants every time we talk about expanding into intimates.”
I laugh. “Jason Lorcan can dream on. We’re not expanding into intimates.”
“What is this, a dictatorship?” Cami scoffs in mock outrage. “Jason and I would like to renegotiate.”
“Bras are out anyway.” I take another sip of my mourning alcohol, wondering if Will’s made any progress on the phone with another club. “Hey, Cami?”
“Hey.”
“Andalo double-booked us and then canceled on me.”
She nods, burbles out a small laugh, and takes another sip, draining her bottle. She sets it down and reclines all the way against the floor. “Clubs are out anyway.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The three of us load the truck, sweating in the setting sun as we work.
“What does a consultant evendo?” Cami asks, passing a plastic bin over to Will. “Okay, wait, I know that sounded accusatory—”
“No, it’s fine,” Will says, looking like he’d laugh if he wasn’t weighed down by a box of jeans. “It’s a valid question. The best way to describe my job is I’m a fixer, or a troubleshooter. You could come to me with any problem you don’t have time to solve, and it would be my job to help you figure out a solution.”
“So, anything goes.” Cami pops a hip and rests her hand on it, gazing up at Will in the truck.
“Within reason,” he says, warily.
Cami smirks. “Are you billing us for this manual labor?”
“No.” Will stacks the box, then turns back to grab the next one I offer him. “We can call this a free bonus service.”
“What about for calling the Nashville clubs?” I ask.
“That,” Will says, lifting my box of hangers, “was just because I’m nice.” He throws me a look, challenging me to refute it.
“And?” I ask.
“AndI booked you a new reservation on Broadway. It’s at this place called Wagon Wheel. Based on the website, it looks like a rootin’ tootin’ good time.”
“But really,” Cami says, “how high-class were we hoping to get on this stereotypical bachelorette trip, anyway?”
“I’ll be in Nashville next weekend, too,” Will says, his voice strained as he pulls down the overhead truck door. “Visiting my mom.”
I frown. Just his mom? Not his dad, too?
“Be honest, Will Grant,” Cami says. “Are you the double-booking that got our first reservation canceled?”
“You caught me.”
“Maybe we’ll see you around the mechanical bull.” She winks at him.
Will turns to me, looking disturbed. “Make sure every bridesmaid wears pants that night.”
“You sound like you’re giving advice from a traumatic past experience,” I say.
His face stays neutral. “Yes.”
“Let’s go to Agricole,” Cami says. “I want free food.”
Will shakes his head. “I’ve been trying to eat at that restaurant for months, every time I visit Austin. It’s impossible to get in without a reservation. Also, it’s impossible to get a reservation.”
