Page 39 of The One Night Dash
“Let’s get these where they need to go, then find a seat.”
“You go ahead, I’ll?—”
“You gonna leave me all alone with these assholes?” I only half joke.
“Okay then, the dumpster’s out back.”
“Fucking twats,” I whisper under my breath as I take some of the flowers out of her arms.
“Oh my gosh, shush,” she whisper-hisses back and sucks in a laugh.
Inside, Noelle slips toward the bathroom when she spots the water stain down the front of her dress, promising she’ll be right back. Am I pissed that her dress got dicked up? Hell yes. Can I say anything but “It’s barely noticeable?” Hell no. That would put not only my sisters but my mom in a tailspin. So, I wait outside, arms crossed, head down.
The door finally creaks open, and she steps out, blotting at the fabric with damp paper towels. She doesn’t even get two steps before a trio of bridesmaids sweep up, chattering over each other.
“There you are. We’ve been looking everywhere?—”
“Lauren needs her bouquet fixed?—”
“Can you come make sure it’ssymmetrical?”
I move before Noelle can open her mouth. My voice is calm and low, yet it cuts through their babbling. “I’m sure the bouquet’s fine.”
They blink at me, startled.
“Guests are being directed to their seats now,” I continue, meeting each of their eyes in turn. “And we’re guests. Both of us. She’s done. It’syourjob to cater to the bride, as bridesmaids.”
It comes out firm enough to feel like a warning, but I lace it with just enough respect that it can’t be called rude. Just final.
One of them opens her mouth, but I don’t give her the chance. I slip my hand to the small of Noelle’s back and guide her past them, toward the aisle.
Noelle tilts her face toward mine, biting back a smile. “You know you just declared war with the bridesmaids, right?”
“Good,” I mutter. “Bring it on. Warning, though, I can’t hit a chick even if she hits me first. So got my back, Pembrooke?”
“Ooo, do I get a jersey with my name on it if I do?”
“I think I can manage that.” I wink and nod as the line moves forward.
I keep my hand steady at Noelle’s back until we slide into a row halfway up, the murmur of voices and shuffle of guests filling the space around us.
For the first time since stepping off the plane, I let myself breathe.
Noelle smooths the front of her dress, checking the spot she’d been blotting, then pulls her phone from her clutch. The glow of the screen lights her face, and I watch her expression shift—confusion first, then something caught between exasperation and disbelief.
“What is it?” I lean in, keeping my voice low.
She angles the phone just enough for me to see. It’s a text.
Lauren
Is Dash really here?
Noelle’s eyes flick to mine, wide, lips pressing together like she’s not sure whether to laugh or groan.
“Guess the secret’s out,” I murmur.
She exhales through her nose, typing something quick in return, fingers flying. Whatever it is, I can tell by the way her shoulders square that it isn’t apologetic.
