Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Unfortunately, there’s no way this is over.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Scarlett
“Listen! Listen! Is everyone listening?” The chatter dies around the table as we all look over at the tipsy brunette wearing a skintight pink dress and a coordinating pink BRIDESMAID sash. “Tonight, everyone who’s single at this table is getting laid!”
The other women raise their champagne glasses in the air in a raucous toast to this declaration, and no one notices that my cheer is a little lackluster.
It’s the first weekend in February and I’m out celebrating my future sister-in-law. Hannah’s bachelorette party is in Miami. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to make it. It took a herculean effort to get here, and while everyone else has been livin’ it up in the MIA since Thursday night, I flew in this morning and will be flying out at the crack of dawn tomorrow so I don’t miss any work. I’ll be back at my desk, fresh as a daisy come Monday morning. On top of that, I brought my laptop and toiled away like a worker bee on the flight down here. Hannah, knowing this, stopped me as soon as I walked into the beach house.
She reached out then opened and closed her hand twice in quick succession: Hand it over.
“Where’s your laptop?”
I screwed up my face. “Laptop?” What is that word you speak?
“Is it in your carry-on or your purse?”
She started yanking my purse off my shoulder, and I stepped back and held my arms out to buy myself a little time to come up with a good excuse.
Instead the truth spilled out. “You can’t take my laptop, Hannah. I might get an email!”
“No! No work for twenty-four hours, Scarlett.”
“You can’t do that. I’m a doctor!”
“No, you weirdo. You’re an attorney and no one’s life is on the line—”
“Mine will be!”
“—if you don’t answer a stupid email until tomorrow morning. I mean it! It’s my wedding wish.”
Irritated, I replied, “That’s not a real thing.”
“It is now!” And then another bridesmaid swooped in with a can of hard seltzer adorned with a sparkly pink penis straw, and that was that. Even if Hannah hadn’t confiscated my laptop, I’m too drunk to work now anyway. I’ve consumed enough alcohol to rival a freshman fraternity pledge. These people are trying to kill me.
We spent all day at the beach picking up as much color as we could manage. Then we headed to the pool. I think I had a sip of water then, so that’s good, but now we’re at dinner at Carbone in these slinky pink dresses someone picked out for all of us to wear. They’re from Amazon and I’m pretty sure they’re for small children because I could barely get this thing over my butt. I feel like I’m barely wearing anything at all.
Hannah has gone for an understated bridal look: feather boa, Miss USA crown, and over-the-top bridal sash. The pièce de résistance is the blown-up picture of my brother someone has made into a necklace for her to wear around her neck. It’s huge.
She’s just as drunk as the rest of us, as she should be. I love seeing her let loose. She’s usually as uptight as I am. Blonde, demure, and reserved, she’s an accountant at the Elwood Hoyt offices in Los Angeles, which is how she originally met Conrad. When she first joined the family, she and I bonded over our workaholic tendencies, which is how she knew to take my laptop away from me back at the house.
Even now, if I so much as attempt to reach into my purse, she shouts at me from across the table.
“No phones, Scarlett, or I’m going to make you do a shot!”
One more shot and my liver will become sludge. Quickly changing course away from my phone, I hold up my hands in innocence and reveal to her the tube of lipstick I was digging for. Ha!
She purses her lips then points her pointer and middle finger toward her eyes, back toward me. I’m watching you.
She doesn’t really have to watch me. I’m not going anywhere. After fifteen rounds of heavenly but heavy pasta dishes, I will need to be wheeled out of here on a trolley.
I don’t think anyone’s in a rush to get up and try to wibble-wobble ourselves out of here, which is how we got started on truth or dare in the first place. This is a game I have not played since my twelfth birthday when Lindsey Gee dared me to lick her brother’s toilet seat.
“Truth or dare. TRUTH OR DARE!”
“Do we have to?” Gabriella asks. “I mean isn’t that a little juv—”
Jordy holds up her hand. “Boo, don’t be boring, Gabriella. Tell us who gave you the best orgasm of your life, and don’t bother trying to say it was your husband—we’ll know if you’re lying.”