Page 16 of Summer with My Sexy Ex
Women of all ages check him out as we cross the main lobby floor. I want to yell, ‘Take him, he’s yours’ and ‘Back off, bitches’ in equal measure.
I thought four years would be long enough to get over my anger.
And my infatuation.
It’s not.
So now, I’ve got to do the next best thing. Stay the hell away from Wyatt Reed.
As far away as I can.
wyatt
“Welcome, everyone.”Blake’s fiancée Taylor stands while she addresses the long-ass table in front of her. “We’re so happy you could all join us for what promises to be an amazing weekend filled with fun and adventure. Right,honey?” She backhands Blake on the shoulder and looks at him sternly.
He sets his phone on the table and rises to join her. “Yep. Super happy. Gonna be great.” His near-robotic response makes us all laugh.
Dozens of people are here to celebrate Blake and Taylor getting married. I don’t even think I know this many people outside my family, let alone well enough to invite them to a weekend in Vegas. It’s got to be a fire code violation to have this many people in such a small space.
I glance around the private patio where we’ve been summonsed but don’t see Bristol anywhere. There’s an empty seat next to me, with a nametag reading, ‘Groom’s Special Guest,’ that I’m guessing is probably hers.
We were given our name tags—which are reallywedding roletags, given mine reads Best Man—by Taylor as we arrived. She also told us to get to know the people sitting on either side of and across the table from us.
Which I took to mean I only have to introduce myself to and remember the names of four people out of everyone here.
Perfect as far as me and my social skills are concerned.
But then Taylor re-arranges people, and things get a little dicey.
She asks all of us to switch seats, so we alternate according to gender. I don’t fucking know why, and I don’t particularly care. Blake seems fine with it, so I’m fine with it.
Surprisingly, the switch works out okay until we get to bridesmaid number nine, who, unbeknownst to Taylor, has a wife. Not sure how she didn’t know that if they’re friends. Then I remember Blake’s text comment about the number of people in the wedding party and not knowing many of them.
“Okay, well.” Taylor looks back and forth at the couple. “Which one of you is the boy?”
“Neither. We’re both women,” number five says.
“No. I know that.” Taylor tries again. “But, like, in the relationship, which of you is the man?”
It’s like watching a disaster in slow motion—you want to stop it, but at the same time, see how it plays out. There’s no way Taylor is this dense and clueless. Right? I mean, she’s a teacher. And she’s going to procreate.
The door to the private patio slams open, and Bristol bursts into the room; her face is flushed, and her hair is wild. “Sorry, sorry, I’m late.” She rushes to Blake, giving him a quick hug, then scans the room for an empty chair and heads toward the one next to mine.
Until she sees it’s me.
Her steps slow considerably as she searches for somewhere else to sit. There is nowhere else. The patio is bursting with people. I can’t even see the other end of the table.
She stands against the wall behind me.
Taylor looks at her, blinking rapidly. “Aren’t you going to sit?”
“Um, yes.” Bristol pulls out the chair next to me and sits. She leans away from me and toward groomsman number four. “Would you mind switching seats with me?”
“Oh, uh.” He looks up at Taylor—who’s back to glaring in our direction, with her hands on her hips, obviously disturbed by the interruption—and then to Bristol. “I don’t think I can.”
Bristol’s brow furrows. “Why not?”
“Because we were assigned seats.”
