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“I didn’t realize the best man was responsible for this kind of thing. He asked what I was doing for you and when I said nothing he got mad.”
I smile, imagining our little brother getting heated over something like this. Defending others always gets him worked up.
“But I didn’t have the first clue what to do. Didn’t even realize you aren’t friends with them anymore. I- I’m sorry I’m a shitty best man.”
What the hell brought this on? He’s only had one whiskey in the twenty minutes we’ve been here. He can’t be drunk rambling already. “Archer, I don’t care about having a bachelor party.”
“I mean with everything. The whole… wedding.”
Or does he mean the whole last however many years of him overlooking me? Letting Dad take the brunt of his disappointment out on me?
“What brought on this introspection?” I take a sip of my bourbon, ignoring the girl that saunters by looking for us to buy a lap dance from her.
“Connor. He’d be a lot better tonight, wouldn’t he?”
“He’s not here. But you are.”
He frowns, that ever present wrinkle of his forming between his brows. “He can’t. He’s in the Philippines.”
“What I mean, dummy, is that you still showed up. Even though you didn’t want to. I appreciate it.”
“You do?”
“Yeah.”
He relaxes some, taking another drink. “So how are things going with you and…”
God, he can’t even remember her name. Doesn’t that just speak volumes about the whole situation?
“Serena,” I supply helpfully. “They’re not, but whatever.”
“You’re not getting along?”
“We’re not talking. Period.”
“But you’re marrying her in two days.”
“I told you, it’s in name only.” She’ll have the last name Bishop. The one she wanted to begin with, even if it’s attached to the wrong brother.
He makes ahmmnoise, and we sit in mutual silence for a few minutes before the set changes again, another girl up on stage now shaking her ass for everything it’s worth.
“Would I offend you if I leave?” I ask, not sure how much more of this I can take.
“God, no,” he says, setting his glass down and standing. “I’ll, uh, see you at the rehearsal?”
“Yep.”
I hightail it out of there, Archer hot on my heels, and shake my arms out as I step outside, as if the action will rid me of the sad desperation that place reeked of.
“You want a ride back home?” he asks, already on his phone to call his driver.
“Nah, I’ll walk.”
“Walk?” He looks at me like I’ve sprouted another head. He has a strict elliptical routine in his home gym he abides by, but heaven forbid he actually walk around New York City.
“Yeah,” I grin. “Just need to clear my mind.”
“Suit yourself.”