Page 17 of The Worst Best Man

“Ask the bridesmonsters,” Frankie grumbled. “Coordination.”

“Aiiiiiiden!” An animated Margeaux threw herself into his chest hard enough that he had to catch her. “I missed you!” He saw it coming, was powerless to stop those two over-inflated raspberry lips as they came at him.

She laid a kiss on him that was sixty steps beyond friendly. She pulled back and looked up at him, squinting with one eye. “You and me are gonna have sex.” She poked him in the chest with a talon-like fingernail. “S-E-X.”

“Can we please get something to eat before you two decide to fuck?”

“I know what I’m hungry for,” Margeaux said, saucily. She slid her hand from Aiden’s chest to his crotch and squeezed. Aiden’s first reflex was to swing at her. The best offense was a good defense. But before he could decide whether to hit his first woman ever or just cower in fear, Frankie swooped in.

She slipped an arm around Margeaux’s swan-like neck and tightened her grip. “Get your hands off his junk or he’ll sue you for sexual harassment, Marge.”

Margeaux stumbled under the weight and pressure Frankie was applying. “’s not sexy harassment if I’m a lady. And I’m a fucking lady!”

“My lawyer and I would disagree,” Aiden said coldly.

“Oh, hell. Get, Pru,” Frankie ordered, pointing behind him. “I’ll contain Slutzilla here.”

Pruitt had decided to take a rest and was sitting on the sidewalk holding her shoes in her hand. Aiden was too tired to fight the shoes back on her feet, so he tossed the bride over his shoulder and hoped the scrap of white dress kept everything important covered.

She was singing “Here Comes the Bride” when he dumped her in Chip’s lap. The drunken couple was ecstatic to see each other. Frankie was ecstatic to see plates of fish and rice piled on the table. She slapped the beer out of Pru’s hand and waved over the server. “Is there any way we can get a ton of water?” she asked, laying a hand on his arm. The guy grinned at her as if she were asking if she could give him free blow jobs for life.

“Anything for you, miss.”

“Keep the miss and call me Frankie,” she insisted. “Water for everyone, and I’ll be in your debt forever.”

“Look! Frankie’s making friends with the help again,” Margeaux crowed. “It’s cause sheisthe help.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, why are you such a c-word?” Pruitt demanded from Chip’s lap.

Margeaux apparently had built up quite an immunity to being called the c-word. She was too busy laughing at her own joke to respond and fell off the bench backwards. No one stopped to help her up.

Digby and Davenport materialized out of the crowd and pounced on the food. Davenport was sporting a hickey on his neck. Digby was wearing a hat he hadn’t had ten minutes ago.

Taffany eyed the table with skepticism. She nearly tackled a server who was carting a tray of beers. “Excuse me. Where is the VIP section?”

The server laughed so loud and for so long that Taffany forgot what she’d asked and sat down next to Cressida who was enthusiastically making out with a stranger.

Aiden slid onto the bench beside Frankie, who was so busy shoveling food into her mouth, eyes rolling back in her head in pleasure, that she didn’t even notice him. The moans escaping her mouth were not G-rated, and Aiden felt his blood warm.

“Nice night,” he commented.

“Oh, the best,” Frankie agreed with sarcasm, spearing a piece of grilled fish. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather be doing.”

He leaned in, crowding her. “I can.”

Those big, bright eyes looked at him warily. “What? Get mauled by Marge?”

“Not at the top of my list. Not actually anywhere on my list. She’s terrifying.”

Frankie snorted. “Well, at least you’re not completely stupid.”

“Not completely,” he agreed.

Aiden dropped his hand to the sliver of bench between them, his knuckles grazing her bare thigh. Testing. She jumped at the contact but didn’t bite his head off. And what he read in her eyes? It was that quick spark of desire. He wanted to see it again. He wanted to watch it blaze to life.

Testing, he placed his hand on Frankie’s knee under the table. Her skin was smooth, silk-like under his palm. And he wanted more.

She was still watching him. “What’s your game, Kilbourn?”