Page 88 of Calamity Rayne Gets Hitched

“So what? Elle’s doing more than that with that douchebag from the gym!”

I stilled. “Wh—what douchebag?”

“The one she’s been seeing for the past few weeks.”

That couldn’t be right. If Elle was seeing another man I’d know. We were best friends and, as such, we told each other everything. It was the law. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“If Elle was interested in someone else, I’d know about it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. We tell each other everything.”

He cocked his head as if to say he could prove me wrong. “Think about the situation, Meyers. You’re marrying my brother. Maybe she didn’t want to upset your plans.”

“How would her dating life affect my plans?”

He shrugged. “We’re both in the wedding. There are a lot of parties scheduled. She probably didn’t want to add more complications to your plate.”

“So she lied to me?” I scoffed. “If she dumped you for someone else, why are you defending her?” I couldn’t wrap my brain around how she might have failed to mention such a thing to me.

He shrugged. “Call it trying to be the bigger person.”

“So…you weren’t the one to suggest seeing other people?”

“Hell no. Why do you think I took a job in New York? I needed to get away.”

“What does this mean? Are you two broken up?”

“We were never officially dating.”

“You’ve been sleeping together for months!”

He held out his hands and shrugged. “Don’t take your frustrations out on me. This wasn’t my decision. I was having fun the way things were. But I’m not going to sit around while she spends all her time with some dope named Paul.”

Paul? Nope. Elle never mentioned any Paul to me. “When did this happen?”

“Around New Year’s. I sort of flipped out, so I figured it was best to get away for a while.”

My mind returned to my last conversation with Elle. Me asking her to come to New York. Me raving about my new Jeep. Me, talking about the wedding and my hair and the wedding. Me, being a total me monster blabbing about me, Me, MEEEE! “Oh, crap.”

“What?”

Feeling small and ashamed that I could be so preoccupied with my own world that I’d somehow miss such massive drama in my best friend’s life, I quietly asked, “Why didn’t she tell me?” But then I heard the me in my question and I felt sick. “This wedding’s turning me into a total narcissist.”

“No, it’s not. I’ve seen other brides run around for months acting worse than Mussolini. You barely bring up the wedding.”

Maybe not to Barrett, but it had been the focus of most of my conversations with Elle lately. “What kind of friend am I if she can’t even tell me about her breakup.”

“Well, it’s not necessarily a breakup.”

“Semantics.”

The black town car pulled up and Marty stepped out to get my door. Barrett seemed to recognize him but didn’t say hello.

“Rayne, please don’t tell her you saw me kissing someone else. We both understand the rules. Telling her will only make things worse. It changes nothing.”

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