Page 15 of The Worst Best Man
Pruitt moaned. “Carbs. I want.”
“Come with us,” Frankie told her.
“I can’t. I’m vegan until the reception. Otherwise they’ll have to sew me into my dress.”
Pruitt had dropped twenty-one large on her custom, one-of-a-kind dresscavaganza. She’d been off carbs—except for the allotted alcohol—for sixty-four days. All of the bridesmaids had done the same to ensure that their size zero designer gowns would fit perfectly. Frankie was happy with her eight and the Spanx she’d packed in her suitcase.
Life was too short to not eat pizza.
“You’ll be beautiful,” Frankie promised her. “Chip here will get you a salad and a yummy green juice, and you won’t even miss the pizza.”
Lies. Dirty, dirty lies.
“Anything you want, babe,” Chip promised.
Pru sighed. “Will you eat with me?” Chip, whose metabolism had remained the same since he was twelve, looked crestfallen for just a moment before his resolve kicked in. “I’d be honored.”
“Maybe you should ask your best man to join you,” Frankie suggested, jutting her chin down to the sand where the shirtless Aiden was glaring at his phone. “Come on, my dear Davenport. Mama needs food.”
Chapter Seven
Oistins Fish Fry was the kind of human meat market that should have bothered Aiden. It was a press of bodies on all sides. Tents flapping wildly in the constant breeze. Neon lights, dancers with glow sticks, and open grills everywhere. But it wasn’t the wild crowds lining up for a spot at picnic tables where they’d be served freshly grilled fish and cold beer that concerned him.
It was the fact that no one else seemed to be bothered by the fact that the bride and bridesmaids were half an hour late and no one was answering their phones.
Why Chip and Pru needed yet another bachelor and bachelorette party was beyond him. He’d attended the one in the city. A steak and scotch dinner followed by one of the more tasteful strip clubs that the groomsmen had done their best to debauch.
Today, they’d hit three rum shops and a distillery for a private tour. No strippers this time, not with the wedding less than twenty-four hours away. But the girls had been cagey about their plans, and now they were MIA. Aiden was not happy.
The band struck up another energetic song, and Aiden brushed off a few invitations to dance. Chip and the rest of them were happy to be swallowed up by the crowd, making a mockery of the dance.
“Shake your ass, Kilbourn,” Digby shouted from the middle of a dozen ladies. They encircled him, moving as one, and Aiden pondered punching Digby in the face. But that would upset Pru, and Digby was drunk enough he might not notice the blow.
“Best bachelor party ever,” Chip announced at the top of his lungs. The crowd around him cheered. He’d said the same thing at the steak dinner and again after a particularly creative lap dance. Chip was an effusive kind of guy. He loved everything, and it was hard not to love him back.
Aiden waded through the crowd to his side. “Where are the girls?” he demanded.
Chip closed one eye and tried to focus. Aiden, for once in recent memory, was the only sober member of the party. “Girls? They’re everywhere, man.” He waved a hand in a wide circle.
“Not those girls. Our girls. Your bride, Pru? Frankie? The bridesmaids?”
“Ohhh, those girls! They’re awesome, aren’t they?” Chip said, leaning hard on Aiden. “Well, Pru and Frankie are. The other three are kind of scary. But totally in anal-shomeway.”
“Yeah. Totallyal-shome. Aren’t they supposed to be meeting us here?”
“Oh, yeah! I forgot.” He fumbled through his pocket for a phone. “Let me call my beautiful bride. I’m getting married tomorrow. Did you know?”
Aiden bit back a sigh. “I’m aware. Dial.”
“Okay, okay.”
Chip stabbed at the screen.
“Baaaaaaaaby!” Pru, drunk as a skunk, answered the video call. She was listing to the right on one of the blonde bridesmaids.
“Babe! I’m so drunk!” Chip shouted cheerfully.
“Oh, my God! Me too! Taffany threw up twice so far!”
