Page 47 of Untruly With You

Frankie and I unfurl our shirts at the same time. Mine saysSave a Horse, Ride a Cowboy, and hers saysSaddlin’ Up Forever.

“Oh, sorry, I wore a dress,” I say, sending a mental thank-you to myself for making that choice.

"It’s mandatory!” Cassidy’s sister insists. “You can borrow some shorts from me.”

“Nice try,” Frankie whispers to me, stifling a laugh.

Within a few minutes, all six bridesmaids are in matching shirts and hats. The shorts I’m borrowing are a bit too tight and too short, but I try to ignore it. I swig my drink back, hoping it’ll dull the inevitable onslaught of continued embarrassment that will be on its way. Normally, a goofy party isn’t something I’d protest. But every girl here, aside from Frankie, gives me the same suspicious look. Meanwhile, Frankie stares back at them all, her narrowed eyes ajust try itwarning.

“You’re Laine, right?” one bridesmaids asks me finally. Aside from Shania Twain’s “I Feel Like a Woman” playing on the speaker, the room goes silent. Everyone’s dagger gaze is on me.

“Well, I’m certainly not the stripper,” I joke.

The party starts off about as I expected—naughty Pictionary and gift-giving at varying degrees of spice. I’m sure Frankie can’t feel much more comfortable than me, especially with all the talk about how Wells will “reallylove” Cassidy’s new outfits, but Frankie somehow keeps her bubbly demeanor at the forefront—at least until one of the bridesmaids starts a game of Never Have I Ever.

At first, it’s fine. Never have I ever sent a dirty text, or gone skinny dipping, or been with a friend’s ex. But quickly, things take a turn.

“Never have I ever…kissed two brothers,” one bridesmaid says, grinning mischievously at Cassidy, then at me. The look she gives me gnaws at my stomach.

“So gross,” Frankie whispers, her face twisting as she watches Cassidy take a long, almost victorious swig of her beer.

“Who was better, Wells or Sutton?” someone asks.

Frankie and I swap horrified looks.

“That’ssonot fair!” Cassidy giggles.

Everyone, aside from Frankie and me, groan in protest of Cassidy’s discretion, and she quickly gives in.

“Well, there’s always something special about your first. Sutton and I had plenty of practice over the years, but we were always sort of…vanilla,” Cassidy says, eyes flicking to me for a split second. Her words slur, and I wonder if she would offer all this up if she wasn’t two beers and three shots deep. “But Wells really knows how to take charge. And you know how he hates being shown up by his big brother.”

The girls fall into a fit of loud laughter. The pit in my stomach deepens, and I look down, half expecting there to be a hole clear through the middle of it.

“Is Sutton still vanilla, Laine?” Cassidy’s sister asks.

“I plead the fifth,” I mutter, heat prickling over my skin.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Frankie says under her breath. Louder, she announces, “I’m going to top off my drink.”

Leaping from my seat, I follow a step behind her.

As soon as we’re up and retreating to the kitchen, the front door opens, and a man with a snap-button shirt, baggy, lumpy sweats, and (no surprise) a cowboy hat comes in, a Bluetooth speaker in his hand. He smirks at Frankie and me.

Is he really a—

Before I can finish that thought, he strips his sweats off in one smooth motion to reveal a pair of briefs under ass-less chaps. Frankie ducks her head and steps into the kitchen with me right behind.

From the living room, we hear, “Howdy, ladies,” and a chorus of excited squeals. Soon after, some song starts about shaking it for the birds and bees.

I look down at my bedazzled innuendo shirt and too-tight cutoffs and sigh. “Tonight is an all-time low.”

As if on cue, the stripper’s voice booms from the living room. “Who’s ready for the ride of their life?” We sip ourdrinks and listen to the excited chaos unfolding in the living room, unable to hold our laughter in when we hear a girl shriek. From my sanctuary in the kitchen, and with Frankie at my side, it all feels a little less mortifying.

Eventually,Cassidy’s sister calls us a couple of Ubers to take us to a bar. Somehow, I end up in the middle seat of a dinged-up Honda Civic, wedged between Cassidy and Frankie.

“Did Sutton ever tell you about us?” Cassidy asks, hiccupping in the middle of her question.

“Yeah, I know you dated,” I say. “And even if I hadn’t, I’m pretty sure I could have figured it out tonight.”

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