Page 20 of How to Ruin Your Ex's Wedding
The server brings us each a second beer.
“I took the liberty of ordering another round, figured you’d need it,” Gregor says.
“Thanks, asshole, but I’m fine,” I say, even though we both know I’m pretty much not.
“Hey, wouldn’t it be funny if they hired Matthew to be their wedding photographer,” Gregor says. He is the only person who knows about Matthew Hanhauser. “You could photoshop a dildo where the groom’s nose should be.”
“His name is Hunter,” I sneer.
Gregor frowns in thought and bobs his head a bit. “Not a bad name.”
“Simpcox,” I finish.
Gregor laughs. “Oh, there is so much I can do with that.”
“Right? Pimplecock, Limpcock—”
“An Imp’s cock. Wimpcock. Skimpycock.”
“Exactly. It’s a douche name. And he’s a software engineer.” I use air quotes for the title.
“Just made twenty-five million doing that, or so I hear,” Gregor says.
“It’s no five billion,” I say.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
I shrug, grab my beer, and chug over half, wanting something to ease the angst building inside me. I want Tabby to be happy. I do.
Sometimes.
The other times I want her to burn alive in a fiery death like the wicked witch that she is. The hard truth is she and I don’t work well together. We tend to bring out the worst in one another and that’s when it’s bad. But when it’s good between us, it is fucking sublime. And if being apart for the last ten years has taught me anything, it’s that I’ve yet to meet anyone who affects me the way she does. Good or bad.
We met in high school. She was assigned as my lab partner in science class and we became fast friends. Her being famous clicked with me having a famous father and grandfather. Gave us something in common.
It was her first public school experience and she was trying hard to fit in—dying her signature red hair brunette and using a different last name. It worked for a while, she was exposed to the typical mean girl drama of high school. But eventually she was found out. People freaked out about it for a time, but after a few months, she was just Tabatha, the girl who everyone wanted to be or be with.
She was smart and beautiful, with a poise not common in a typical teenage girl. I’m sure due to her past and her acting experience. Before long, she pretty much ruled the school: student body V.P., varsity cheer captain, and she wrote a column for the school newspaper while maintaining a straight A average.
But for someone that everyone knew, she didn’t actually have a lot of friends. Outside of me and Crystal, that is. It wasn’t until the end of our junior year that I worked up the nerve to ask her to the homecoming dance. That was the night I fell in love with Tabatha Seton for the first time. And over the next few years I fell in love with her over and over. Only to be interrupted by the times that I hoped someone pushed her into a hungry-crocodile filled swamp.
Today, as in literally today, I’m kind of in between. She looks amazing. Way too good for that guy. Tight white skirt that ends just above her knees. Heels that make her legs look miles long, and a low-cut wrap-type blouse showcasing her tits and her curves. When I had my hands on her hips, my fingers at the curve of her ass. If I used my imagination, I could almost feel the tiny strips of fabric holding her panties together.
My guess—if I had to make one—a nude-colored, lacy, thong. She’s always been a thong girl, or at least she was when I knew her best. I can’t imagine that has changed. Much of her lingerie when we were together was more formality than practicality. Beautiful, sexy, barely there formality.
My phone buzzes on the tabletop with a new message from social media.
For Matthew Hanhauser.
I open my notifications and see a request for an appointment.
A-List client requires utmost discretion.
I roll my eyes. AllA-Listclients say they need discretion, by which they really mean, “Please leak a few solid shots where I look really good to build hype around whatever I pretend to need discretion with.” I open the message and see the words wedding and two months in the first line. Ugh. I was hoping to take a break from weddings for a while. But, A-List clients pay big bucks and it’s not like I have anything better to do.
I’m about to hit decline, when I wonder for just a second if it’s possible . . .
The request is from Liza Littleton with Opulence in Stride Event Planning, looking for a photographer for a very high-profile event.
