That’s all on me.
47
Magma
The only person working behind the bar is busy making a huge cocktail order. He just poured four pina coladas, and now he’s making margaritas. At least, I think they are margaritas.
“I will be with you soon,” he tells me.
I nod.
I left Brook at our table with the promise of a drink, and at this rate, she’ll get it sometime around the cake-cutting. I glance back over my shoulder to check on her. She’s fine. Robyn has claimed the chair next to her, and the two of them are chatting away like old friends.
Good. She deserves a decent night after everything I’ve dumped on her.
The speeches are done. Dinner is done. Flint’s speech got the biggest laughs, mine got Robyn crying into Ridge’s pocket square, and the caterers are clearing the last of the plates. Any minute now, Robyn and Ridge will open the dance floor, and then this wedding officially moves into the part of the evening where nobody is safe from being pulled out of their seat.
My gaze drifts.
It’s been doing that all night, no matter how many times I pull it back. It goes straight across the room, past three tables of hospital staff, and lands on Carla.
And that prick male she is seeing.
He has his arm draped along the back of her chair, and while I watch, his hand moves to her shoulder. Then her arm. Then he’s leaning in to say something, and his fingers brush her wrist on the table. He can’t stop touching her. Every ten seconds there’s contact somewhere, like he’s checking she hasn’t evaporated, and it is pissing me the fuck off.
The two of them look cozy. They have their heads bent together, talking nonstop. I didn’t know two people could have that much to say to each other. How many topics can there be? And how funny can a person be? Carla laughs again at whatever comedic genius just fell out of him. It grates. I grind my teeth for the tenth time tonight. At this rate, I won’t have any molars left.
“Why the angry face?” Flint asks, appearing at my elbow.
“I’m not angry. I just don’t like having to wait this long for a drink. I haven’t seen our waitress in over an hour,” I grumble.
“Relax. We’re supposed to be having fun.” He gives me a slow smile that says he’s enjoying himself at my expense.
“Yeah, yeah. I can’t have fun if I’m thirsty.”
“Yes, you can. Firstly, Brook is gorgeous. Holy shit.”
“Yeah, she is,” I say, and leave it there. I could tell him Brook and I are only friends, but then he’ll want the whole story, and he’ll give me endless shit about it, and I don’t have the energy for that today. Let him believe whatever makes him happy.
The barman finally arrives in front of us, and I order two beers and a glass of white wine for Brook.
Flint waits until the barman moves off, then leans an elbow on the bar and studies me.
“Why are you glaring at the male with Carla?” he asks.
Shit. Am I that obvious?
“I don’t know. Am I glaring?”
“If looks could kill, that male would be a pile of ground bone and flesh.”
“Oh. Yeah, well…” I roll my shoulders. “I’m not sure he’s right for her, that’s all. Isn’t he a little young?”
Flint shrugs. “I don’t think so. Even if he is a year or two younger, what of it?”
“I don’t know. I don’t like the look of him. He looks shady.” I narrow my eyes, looking at him with distaste. The asshole is tickling her arm and looking down her dress. I swear, if he doesn’t look her in the eye, and soon, I’m going to go over there and remove his eyeballs with the dessert spoon lying on the table.
Flint laughs his head off. A woman two seats down glances over at us.
