Page 7 of Fighting

Bad Idea:

You know who this is.

oh, I know what you need.

The elevator doors open, and I step in. There are a few women scattered around the tiny stainless-steel box, and any one of them could be related to Stef, so on the off chance that the image is risqué, I don’t open the text thread.

It dings again as I step out and stride toward the double doors with the gold plaque embossed with Bridal Suite. With a flair for the dramatic, I enter, flinging the curtain of dark blond hair that hangs down to my waist over a shoulder.

“Good morning, ladies—” My enthusiastic greeting gets cut off when the blazing sunlight streaming in from the floor-to-ceiling windows blinds me. Wincing, I slide my black mirrored sunglasses over my eyes. Thank god the suite is outfitted with a coffee bar.

I fill a mug of coffee, sugar, and cream, then slide onto the chaise lounge beside Lily.

“How did you sleep?” The second the words are out, a queasy rush comes over me. Pressing my coffee into her hand, I jump up, then scurry for the bathroom.

When I’m done emptying the contents of my stomach, Lily enters with a hand towel and a tiny plastic cup of mouthwash from the sink in the room. Great. I haven’t been hungover like this since my years at Harvard.

More ringing. Is that in my head? No, it’s texts. Why is my ringer on?

Bad Idea:

[goofy face selfie]

Come on, Ivy Out of My League

It was nice to see you have some fun.

Nessa:

Ivy Out of My League?

Bad Idea:

Nessa:

Last night was a mistake. It will never happen again.

“Can I kill the best man?” I groan to Lily.

She blinks. “I mean, I’d prefer you… oh, you mean the other one.” She’s piecing it together in real time.

“Delia and I had a lot of tequila and played a game with Mateo. Or I did? I think she was there for a bit.” I groan. “And I ended up sleeping in Mateo’s room. So, anyway…” I heave out a breath. “River said he now gets ‘relationship privileges,’ and that if I didn’t tell you, he would. He kind of… found me there this morning?” My voice squeaks on the last bit.

Slumping my head against the wall, I slide my sunglasses back on so I can wallow with at least a modicum of privacy.

“So what? You were in his hotel room? And that’s a big secret…?”

She’s really not getting this.

“Come on, babe. Please do not make me say it. You can put the pieces together.” I nudge her.

“Oh.Oh. Waitwhat?” Her voice gets a little too loud, her excitement taking hold.

I shush her. For the sake of my head, but also because I do not need the half-dozen members of the Santos-Manolo family on the other side of the wall knowing what we were up to last night.

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