Page 6 of Knot Your Bridezilla (High Fructose Corn Syrup Verse #2)
AVRIL
As usual, Zane knocked at the absolute worst possible time.
I rolled my eyes the moment my back turned after letting him into my room.
Wine glass in hand, my hair mussed up from all the times I ran my hands through it in exasperation…
my workspace was unrecognizable. The seating charts and bridal magazines were nowhere in sight.
Now instead, I had resorted to printing out pictures of some of the beta guys and lining them up on my corkboard like a list of wanted posters for the FBI…
it really didn’t help that I had attached tacks with little pieces of yarn to connect some of the pictures.
Okay, so when I had started doing this about an hour ago, I had thought that it would help me to visualize important personality traits…
but looking at it now without any context; it looked like I was tracking a serial killer.
Or making a list of my next victims. Whatever was going on, there was something about yarn on a corkboard that gave off the vibe that I was doing some crazy paranoid shit.
Zane walked straight to my workspace, staring at the corkboard with his eyebrows raised. He waved at my picture collection. “Is this a good thing, or…”
“It’s fine. Everything’s fine. I mean, the last two dates I went on were the worst I’d had in my life, but besides that, everything’s just peachy.
” I took a deep sip of wine, then stopped to swirl it around a bit, staring at the deep purple, when what I really wanted to do was down the rest of the glass like a shot and grab another.
“Whoa, sis. Two bad dates doesn’t mean anything. Everyone goes on bad dates every once in a while.”
“My last date—the guy was in a literal cult.”
Zane winced. “How did you know that he was in a cult?”
“Because when I asked him the name of his religion, he brought up the name of his Great Prophet,” I sipped my wine furiously, kinda wishing that I could take some of my bad dates, shrink them down and drown them in it instead.
Or maybe drown my cheating ex? Nah, he wasn’t even worth the effort.
“I googled his Prophet later, and he’s just this skinny dude with glasses.
Honestly, even his picture looked boring.
I thought that cult leaders had to at least be charismatic? ”
It would be funny if I weren’t on the verge of crying. If it wasn’t my literal wedding on the freaking line.
Zane shook his head. “What about the other guy?”
“Oh, yeah. Mark. He referred to himself as a high-value man .”
“Yeah, somehow that’s worse than the cult guy.” Now I had Zane running his hands through his hair in frustration. “So I’m not going to lie. This dating set-up thing you got going here looks a bit like a hot mess.”
I shrugged. “You can’t be a hot mess without being hot.”
“I mean it. This dating app thing was my idea. I can help you.” He kinda had a point, but it was fine.
“No. I spent a whole hour with the yarn, and getting the printer to work. I’ve got the next one picked out. There’s no way that all these guys are crazy.”
Somewhere on my psychotic-looking corkboard, one of these guys was Mr. Right.
If I had to go on some bad dates to find him, so be it.
I didn’t need my brother or anyone else’s help to figure it out—I wasn’t that desperate.
Not yet anyway.