Page 33 of Maid of Dishonor

“Do you think—is Chad here?” Sam says, biting her cherry-red bottom lip.

I grimace. “Maybe.” Then, seeing the license plate, I amend my answer. “Yeah, I think so.” I point at it.

Sam takes one look and rolls her eyes. “Ugh,” she says.

PLAY3R.His license plate saysPLAY3R.

I have many, many feelings about this, and absolutely none of them are positive. Still, I hold my tongue as we make our way to the front door. I’m just about to knock when Sam grabs my arm.

“Okay,” she says. “Chad is in there, so it’s going to be your instinct to be all growly and overprotective like a dad with his daughter’s first date, except worse because your daughter is pregnant with this guy’s baby and wants to marry him.”

I blink at her. “Are you trying to help? You’re not helping. This isn’t helpful.”

“No, no, no,” she says, shushing me. She takes a quick drink of her slushie and then says, “What I’m saying is that if you push Maya on this, she’s going to push back. And if you’re rude to Chad, she’s definitely going to side with him. So just…be cool, okay?”

“Be cool?” I scoff. “I’m cool. Of course I’m cool.”

“Mm-hmm,” Sam says skeptically, looking over at me. “I’m sure. Just make sure you stay that way.”

I sigh, scrubbing one hand down my face. “How are we supposed to tell Maya about Chet hitting on you if he’s actually here?” Another thought occurs to me. “And will it even matter now that she claims they’ve been in an open relationship?”

Sam shrugs, not seeming too concerned about it. “All we can do is try. We’ll figure something out. Now come on, let’s get this over with. I want to go home.” With one more slurp, she knocks firmly on the door.

Regrettably, Chet is the one who opens. He just looks at us for a second, blinking stupidly, like he’s never seen another human being before. It could be that he recognizes us from Joey’s the other day, but it’s hard to say; he was fairly drunk, and to a stranger, Sam would be nearly unrecognizable in her baseball uniform.

Chet just stands there some more, and it’s going on an awkwardly long time now. He’s wearing a flat-billed hat (I try not to judge him for this choice) and a too-tight polo with a popped collar (I definitely judge him for this). The popped collar is obnoxious, but there’s no accounting for taste; it’s the too-tight part I can’t get on board with. It screams that he’s either looking for attention or that he’s compensating for something.

Finally—finally—Sam is the one to end our standing-and-staring stalemate.

“Hi, Chad,” she says, giving him a blinding smile. She holds her hand out to shake. “We’ve never met, other than when you hit on me at Joey’s that one time. I’m Sam, Maya’s maid of honor for your upcoming wedding.”

Chet looks her up and down. “It’s Chet,” he says slowly, his face bemused.

Sam blinks at him. “Isn’t that what I said?” she says blithely. She doesn’t wait for him to answer; she just steps around his considerable bulk and makes her way to the living room.

Chet turns to watch her, and I step inside too, patting him firmly on the shoulder a few times.

“Eyes off of her, Chet,” I say cheerfully, because Sam seems to be going with a kill-him-with-kindness approach. I’d prefer a kill-him-with-weapons approach, but Sam is right; acting like an overprotective father with his hunting rifle isn’t going to get us anywhere. So, friendly it is.

Still. If he thinks he’s going to be ogling Sam the whole time…

Yeah. That’s not going to work for me.

When Chet and I emerge into the living room, Sam is already deep in conversation with Maya. I’m pleased to see that this makes Chet nervous; it’s in his anxious gaze and the drumming of his fingers against his jeans.

The whole house is freezing cold, so when I sit next to Sam, I leave zero room between us. I don’t see how she’s not dying drinking a slushie, but the woman is dedicated. Her lips wrap around the straw again, and she takes another slurping drink until I can tell the cup is empty. I just shake my head and turn my attention to Chet—

Who isnotdoing what I told him to.

And look, I don’t think of myself as a particularly territorial guy. Maybe Sam would disagree; I’m not sure. Personally, I don’t think I’d lose my mind if some guy simply looked at a woman I had feelings for.

But Chet? Chet is taking it too far. Chet’s eyes don’t just look—theycreep, like the legs of a spider, scuttling over every inch of Sam that he can see—her long, bare legs; every gorgeous curve; her mouth as she chews on her straw. I almost expect his gaze to leave behind a trail like the black sludge inFernGully, oily and greasy and disgusting.

I’ve mentioned that movie to my students, by the way, and none of them ever recognize it.

Kids these days.

I’m tempted to give him a few good kicks, but instead I force myself to get up and grab the trash can from the kitchen—our last visit here hasn’t yet left my memory.

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