Page 33 of Bridesmaid to Bride

I reach for the volume dial. “Time to party like it’s 1989!”

“And pretend we aren’t in our late twenties,” mutters Jess.

“Oy vey!” Paige points at the dogs, now drinking their water from martini glasses. “I want to join them—someone pour me another drink.”

I wave a server over to give her a refill, pushing aside the familiar tug of duty. Tonight I’m not Eva the wedding planner or Eva the lawyer; I’m Eva, party host extraordinaire, here to make sure Paige’s last weekend as a single woman is epic.

“Ooh, can we do gifts?” Jess waves a neatly wrapped box above her head, her neon bracelets sliding down her arm.

“Hit us with your best shot.” I motion for everyone to surround Paige in a gift-opening circle. Shortly, ribbons are flying, and paper is tearing amidst fits of laughter and the occasional bark from our four-legged bridesmaids and groomsman.

Olivia holds up a gaudy-looking contraption from West’s parents’ notorious basket. Her eyebrows arch higher than her teased bangs. “Is that a... wait, what the hell is this?”

Brielle snickers. “That’s something you won’t find at Bed, Bath & Beyond.”

“Give it.” I snatch the device and turn it over in my hands like a risqué Rubik’s Cube.

“Maybe it’s avant-garde?” Brielle laughs, sipping through her penis straw. The room fills with giggles.

“No one said art couldn’t be made of silicone and batteries.” I set the mystery gadget aside. My focus shifts to Paige, who’s too busy downing her drink to care about her latest toy. Good. That’s how it should be. Her phone rests safely in my lap, her night unmarred by anything but good vibes and bad dancing.

Olivia winks at Tyson and bends over to show her cleavage. Then she puts the biggest dildo in her mouth and starts sucking it off. “Your camera like this?”

“I dunno, but I do.” Tyson flashes her a huge smile, which I didn’t know he could do. He usually just stands there, expressionless, while shit and chaos swirl around him.

God, Olivia is wasted. Or she’s doing anything to get camera time—I didn’t think of that! I’ve got to keep my eyes on her.

“Guys, seriously, how much booze is in these cocktails?” Paige slurs, her gaze fixated on a lacy thong now draped over her wrist like a corsage.

“Enough to make us consider auditioning for a Madonna video.” I raise my glass. “Let’s make a toast. Paige—may your marriage be as exciting and unpredictable as whatever the hell is in that sex toy basket.”

“To Paige!” Everyone cheers, our penis straws pointing skyward in a salute.

“Hey.” Paige locks eyes with me, her voice suddenly soft. “Thank you for doing all this. You’re the best sister a girl could ask for.”

“Always.” I squeeze her hand. It’s moments like this that remind me why family trumps everything—even when it means playing hostess for a group of horny, boozed up women.

The room erupts in giggles as Paige attempts to strap on the latest enigma from the basket—a contraption with more loops than a roller coaster. “Zach will love this, which is why I’m marrying him. Now to figure out what it does.”

“Maybe it’s a slingshot for kinky elves.” Olivia downs her drink with a glint in her eye.

“Probably need a pilot’s license to operate that thing.” I smirk, but my attention is snagged by Paige’s phone lighting up like Vegas. Unknown number. Curiosity gets the best of me; I glance at the screen and nearly choke on my own spit.

“Jesus,” I mutter under my breath, fumbling to make sure only my eyes scorch at the sight of Zach in these pictures from his bachelor party happening right now.

Holy mother. This is an unmitigated disaster.

16

Bachelor Party Punk

WEST

“Welcome to the den of vices and lost weekends, gentlemen.” I push open the door to an underground cigar bar that better be the shit for what it cost. The air’s thick with the scent of bad decisions and Paige’s disapproval. No strippers, she said, and we’re sticking to that. Who needs them when we’ve got whiskey and decks of cards?

“This place is sweet,” Zach slurs, already halfway to tomorrow’s hangover. He’s got a goofy grin plastered on his face.

“Only the best for the groom.” I clap him on the back as we navigate through the haze of leather chairs and wood panels. Each inhale is a mix of peat whiskey and smoke from cigars that cost more than my first car.

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