Page 16 of The Worst Best Man

The girls whooped in the background. “Puking rally,” Taffany crowed.

“Jesus. Where’s Frankie?” Aiden demanded.

“She’s right here,” Pru sang. “Isn’t she beautiful?” The camera switched to an extreme close up of a very sober, very annoyed Frankie.

“Yeah, I’m gorgeous. We’re all aware. Pru, drink your water.” Frankie took the phone from her friend.

“For the love of god, Aide. Tell me someone there is sober. I need to get food into these girls before they turn to drunken cannibalism.”

“Cannonball,” Taffany shouted, leaning over Frankie’s shoulder and planting a wet kiss on her face.

Frankie rolled her eyes.

“Where are you?” Aiden demanded.

“How the fuck should I know? It’s dark, and there’s potholes so we could be anywhere on the island.”

Aiden sighed. “Ask the driver where you are and how long it’ll be before you’re here.”

From his angle, Aiden watched as Frankie climbed her way over a seat around a blonde and stuck her head between the driver and passenger seats. Her breasts were exploding out of the low neckline of her dress.

“Don’t put his eye out,” Aiden said mildly.

Frankie looked down, looked up, and flicked him off. “Deal with the view for two seconds, ass. Excuse me, Walter. Do you know how long it’ll be before we get to Oistins?”

Aiden couldn’t hear the driver’s reply. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the noise around him, the drunken hysteria of the women on Frankie’s end, or the hypnotic view of her breasts.

“Five minutes,” she repeated. “Thank God. We need food.” Her eyes went wide.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Which one of you just bit me in the ass?” Frankie demanded.

“Cannonball,” Taffany squealed.

Pru popped up on the screen again just over Frankie’s shoulder. “What are we doing? Are you two making out on my phone?” she asked.

“We’re not making out,” Frankie told her.

“You guys totally should. I bet it would be SO. HOT. Cause you both are SO. HOT.”

Frankie stared into the camera. “Christ, can’t you wealthy folk buy constitutions? Learn to hold your liquor, people!”

“I’ll glue Chip to a table and meet you on the street. We can revisit the making out suggestion when you get here,” Aiden offered.

“Ha.” She disconnected the call, and Aiden dragged Chip and Ford out of the crowd. A flash of cash gave them an entire turquoise picnic table at Uncle George’s Fish Net.

“Stay here,” he ordered and waded back into the crowd. By the time he found the sidewalk, he could hear them and felt a wave of relief wash over him.If this were his wedding, his bride would not be roaming the island. If this were his wedding, it would be him and his bride. No one else to distract or dramatize.

“It’s her bachelorette party!” one of them shouted, pointing at Pruitt who was wearing an upside down I’m The Bride sash and a tiara in case anyone had any doubt.

“Please tell me you have food for us in the next seven seconds,” Frankie called, pushing through the crowd to get to him, dragging Pruitt with her. She was wearing a short black dress with a deep scoop in the front. More of her was covered than the rest of the bridesmaids combined. He could see Taffany’s flesh colored underwear… or bare labia. He wasn’t sure.

Aiden clamped a hand on Frankie’s free wrist. “Follow me.”

“Hello to you, too,” she grumbled.

He surged into the crowd, nearly a head above everyone else. Uncle George’s white tents were ahead. He felt Frankie stumble behind him and paused. “Why did you insist on wearing those?” he asked, surly for no reason other than he’d been worried. She wore four-inch heeled sandals that wrapped up her calves.