Sammi
7:04 PM FRIDAY
I’m still feeling high from the applause. So much hard work, so many hours in the lab, all leading up to this moment.
I clutch my award tightly to my chest.
Definitely never letting go of this thing.
The IMBC is a big deal. Not just for me, but for Marine Biologists worldwide, so I’m feeling more than a little proud.
The room is packed to the brim with scientists. More than one of whom has clearly taken advantage of the open bar.
Not me. Tonight, I’m keeping my wits about me.
I learned my lesson in Vegas: Sammi Brighton and tequila are not good friends.
I see the gang at a table up ahead and jog over to meet them.
“Tada!” I say, holding the award out for their inspection.
It’s met with a small chorus of applause and ‘Woo-hoo!’s.
It feels great to have them all here.
It almost makes up for the fact that Eggs is missing it.
In terms of fiancés, Eggs is nothing if not practical. If he could be here, he would, but he can’t. That’s part of what makes us such a great match—we get each other, and we don’t get emotional about it.
We share the same values, and that’s what really matters in a relationship.
I’ve never been big on the ooey gooey notion of love. You don’t choose your future based on butterflies or fireworks. Like all good decisions, you choose it based on numbers and facts.
Eggs and I have exactly the kind of relationship that I want. It’s logical, calculated. It makes sense.
Which is why I realize that he wouldn’t miss my award without a good, solid reason. It’s comforting—even though it would be a lot more comforting if he were here. This means a lot to me, and I wish I could share it with him.
He’s not the only absentee, though. There are a few co-workers I wish had made it as well. My team specifically, all busy with tasks of their own.
Makes me feel a little bad for even being here. They’re all out in the field with their noses to the grindstone, and I’m schmoozing it up in Bangkok while my contemporaries all applaud my efforts.
Some of my disappointment must show on my face, because Percy lays her hand on my shoulder, drawing me away from my thoughts.
“Stop looking like such a wet fucking monkey,” she says. “Eggo Humpdick will be here tomorrow—and then soon enough you’ll be Mrs. Eggo Humpdick.”
“Humpdork, more like,” Misty rolls her eyes. “Y’all nerds are perfect for each other…but I’m glad that it’s just us girls tonight.”
I look pointedly at Liam, who shrugs.
“Please. He doesn’t count.” Becky chimes in. “Do you, babe? You can borrow one of my dresses if you’re feeling left out.”
Liam just chuckles and shakes his head. “Love, that’s very sweet of you, but you know I don’t have the legs for it.”
“Besides,” Percy says, “without Eggs here, we can talk wedding!”
They’re all smiles at that.
I guess they have a point. Eggs isn’t the type to sit around and talk about the wedding all night. It’s nice to just have the girls sometimes.
Well, the girls and Liam.
We all sit around the table, and Becky launches into it.
Weddings are a reflection of the couple, so ours is understated and practical.
That being said, I’ve still let Becky have some fun with it.
“It’s going to be gorgeous,” Becky says. “I’ve got everything handled. Even the weather is going to be perfect! Best little beach wedding ever. Like, totally.”
I smile at her. She really gets going once she’s in her zone.
Truthfully, though, I’m more excited about the honeymoon.
I know that a working honeymoon isn’t for everyone, but I can’t wait. Studying the migration patterns of hammerheads with Eggs? Paradise.
Who could ask for more?
We pass around appetizers as we talk.
Flowers, music, food—Becky’s got it all worked out.
I’m glad she’s got the reins on this one. Honestly, I can’t see myself focusing long enough to put it all together.
“So that’s that!” she finishes, displaying a huge smile as she looks around at the group. “Sound good?”
“Sounds great, Becks.” I was definitely zoning out for a big chunk of it, but I’m sure it’s wonderful. I trust her way more with this than I’d trust myself.
“So now we just need to decide what we’re doing tonight,” Mysti chimes in.
“Tonight?”
“Mhhm.” she says, mischievously waggling her eyebrows.
I know that eyebrow waggle all too well.
“No,” I tell her, wagging my finger right back. “Hard no. Absolutely not. Not tonight.”
She looks at me like I just kicked her puppy, “What?!”
“You know what happened last time! We’re not going anywhere but back to the room.” I can’t believe it even needs to be said. After Vegas, I thought we all knew better.
“Oh, come onnn,” Mysti whines. “When are we ever gonna be in Bangkok again?”
I look to the rest of the group for support, sure that I’m not the only one thinking clearly.
“She’s got a point.” Percy says.
The traitor.
I shoot her my best e tu glare.
“I’m not saying we go crazy,” she continues, holding up her hands, “but what’s one drink gonna hurt?”
The others nod in agreement. I’m totally outnumbered.
Still, I shake my head. Hard.
“NO. No way. When have we ever had just one drink together?”
“But you’re getting married!” Becky pipes up. “We have to go get a drink. We’ll keep it tame, Sammi. Scout’s honor.”
I know damn well she was never a girl scout.
Just as I know that this is a terrible idea. For some reason, whenever I get around these three, I damn near lose my mind.
I shake my head again. “Nope. Not gonna happen.”
Mysti groans from across the table.
“Look,” Percy says, all business now, “nobody wants a repeat of Vegas. That’s not gonna happen. We just want to have one last drink with you as a single woman. One teeny little drink. What’s the harm in that?”
Fucking temptress. No wonder she has billionaires eating out of her hand around the globe.
Any other time, I can resist her. When she uses her serious voice, though, it’s so hard to argue.
“Fine.” I say, dramatically hanging my head in defeat. “Fine, fine, fine.”
I hear them cheer. Not my intended reaction.
I snap my head up, “ONE. DRINK.” I accentuate the statement by holding a single finger up. “One. Okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. One drink. No more.” Mysti says, sounding wholly unconvincing.
“I’m serious.”
“We know!” Percy says.
I push my chair back and stand.
Not a moment later, Becky’s tiny hand clasps around mine. I barely have time to grab my purse, before I’m being dragged toward the exit.
“Aw, cheer up,” she says. “Everything’s perfect. It’s gonna be great.”
I mumble under my breath. Something vague about terrible friends.
“What?” she asks.
“I said, one—”
“One drink! WE KNOW!”
She drags me out into the humid air, my heels clacking against the sidewalk.
I remember thinking, once again, that this is a bad idea.
It’s just one drink, though. One fucking drink—for real this time.
I mean, how bad can one drink be?