Chapter 22

Becky

2:54 PM THURSDAY

 

It takes me at least a minute to ride out my orgasm and regain control over my body and limbs.

When my fingers finally rip the blindfold off, I realize my mystery stripper has left the stage. All I can see are the bright lights and the fake smoke he’s left in his wake.

Liam Black. It had to be him. Fucking teasing me, taunting me, and haunting me, even now.

I swear a dozen curses that Dan the Man wouldn’t approve of as I try and get my bearings. Where the fuck have my bridesmaids disappeared to? Fucking typical—I should have known I couldn’t trust them in a place like this.

Even if it did jog my memory, I should have known that coming here was a mistake.

My eyes adjust to the dim light as I leave the stage. I scan the room as best I can.

If my eyes aren’t fucking deceiving me, I think I catch a glimpse of Sammi’s hair at the bar.

No, not at the bar.

On the bar.

I sigh and head over to get a closer look.

As I get closer, I see a male stripper pour tequila into Sammi’s belly button. Two muscly gods start to lap up the liquid out of her navel. She arches her back to give them better access…or to tip the tequila all the way up her body, between her tits and into her own mouth.

Tequila.

Again.

Fucking typical. I shake my head.

When the brains were handed out, Sammi got more than the rest of us combined. But on tequila, she’s not brainy, nerdy intellectual Sammi anymore.

She’s Slammin’ Sammi, scourge of the make-your-own-margarita station.

This isn’t the first time I’ve seen Sammi drunk off her ass and surrounded by a bunch of sexy men. Back at UCLA, she was able to string the college boys along and use them to her advantage however she deemed fit. It didn’t take much to have them eating out of the palm of her fucking hands…or drinking out of her belly button, for that matter.

One bridesmaid down. Two to go.

Where the fuck are Mysti May and Percy?

It doesn’t take me long to find Mysti May either, really. She’s exactly where she shouldn’t be: swapping limes mouth to mouth at the bar with a big-titted blonde bartender. The woman has a hand on Mysti’s breast and wherever Mysti’s own hands are, they’re surely up to no good.

Christ. Okay. Percy.

Please tell me that Percy is at least behaving.

Somehow, I know it’s too much to hope.

All my friends seem to be going fucking mad. We came in here to get information, and all that we’ve actually gotten is groped, licked, lap-danced, and drunk.

Sammi is shit-faced again, and Mysti can’t be left within five feet of a hot female without swapping DNA.

Which leaves Percy.

I shake my head.

At this rate, Percy is probably pregnant by now.

Someone touches me on the shoulder, and I nearly fucking scream. I’m losing my shit right now. And if I don’t find Percy soon—

“There you are,” says Percy.

I’m so relieved, I grab her and lock her in a bear hug.

“Thank you for not being a hoe,” I sob thankfully into her shoulder. “Have you seen those two?” I point in the direction of the bar.

Percy nods and waves us over a couple of beers. “Sluts,” she says wistfully, almost in admiration of Sammi and Mysti May’s antics. “Were you able to find out anything?”

I gnaw on my bottom lip.

“Too much,” I say back. I’m a little overwhelmed by it all, truth be told. It’s like my brain’s been through the wash cycle and needs to be ironed out a bit.

“Walk me through it,” Percy orders.

I sigh.

“I think I wanted to get married last night,” I admit. “Liam Black had me handcuffed to a stripper pole and—”

“Hot,” Percy interjects.

“Right? But he was talking about how I shouldn’t marry Dan, because Dan was a bastard—”

“I can see why you wanted to marry him,” Percy agrees. “He’s right about a lot of shit, Becks.”

I pause and try and slow my breathing. For some reason thinking about Dan speeds up my heart rate every time.

“It’s got me thinking, though. What if…what if I wasn’t the one who fucked up last night? What if Dan was the…the fucker, y’know?”

There. I said it out loud.

Of course, as soon as I say it, I realize how fucking crazy it sounds. Dan’s in San Francisco, eating and breathing this stupid fucking business merger, and I’m Ballin’ Becky in the City of Sin.

There’s no fucking way Dan could have driven me to do all those things from a thousand miles away. I sound like I’ve put on a tin foil hat and jumped off the deep end.

It sounds like a fucking conspiracy theory. A coward’s way out of owning up to a mistake. Because wouldn’t that just be perfect?

Oh, no, sorry, I didn’t fuck up. The whole world is just conspiring against me, thanks!

“Why don’t you call Dan and ask him?”

Percy offers me one of the beers in her hands, but I shoo it away. She shrugs and starts double fisting both.

But despite her day drinking, she’s being practical.

Of course I should fucking speak to Dan.

But how can you talk to someone who keeps refusing to take a fucking phone call?

With a sigh and a roll of my eyes, I take out my cell and dial Dan’s number. I watch the display with a furrowed brow.

Even if he does answer, what the fuck am I going to say?

So, Dan, tell me, did you do something really fucking stupid last night? Maybe something that would drive me to do a whole lot of dumbass things in retaliation?

Doesn’t sound like a great conversation starter to me.

I could interrogate him. Like on those cop shows where they’ve caught the criminal but they haven’t got the evidence to nail him just yet. With expert questioning, they get a confession every fucking time.

It could work, except that I’m not a criminal fucking profiler. I’m a party planner with a hangover. My skills in this scenario don’t really fucking apply.

I sigh.

And then I swear.

Instead of a ring tone, a voice message, or someone actually answering Dan’s number, the voice on the other end of the phone says the most crushing words that any woman calling her fiancé will ever hear:

“Message bank full.”

Shit.

Now I can’t even leave Dan a fucking message.

The wheels in my brain start turning. I could call Dan’s office!

But my index finger hovers over the display―Dan fucking hates it when I call the office.

It’s a place of business, Becky-beans, he once told me, Not the right venue for romantic melodramas.

In the past, he’s gone so far as forbidding me from using the number unless it was a matter of life or death.

Was this a matter of life or death? For me, it feels like it, but I doubt Dan would see it that way.

I nearly push the dial button when suddenly, my phone starts ringing.

And when that happens, I nearly drop it.

And then I nearly drop it again when I try and answer.

“Hello?” I try and regain some composure in my voice. Doesn’t really work.

“Hey, man,” a male voice slurs into my ear. “It’s Chet. Whazzup?”

I look at the phone like it’s from a different fucking universe.

What the fuck would Chet want?

And why the fuck does he sound drunk? I mean, on second thought, out of all Dan’s groomsmen, Chet is kind of the one that always sounds drunk, but still.

I don’t know why Dan is friends with him, honestly, except that I guess Chet does something at Dan’s company—and I have even fewer ideas about why he’s calling me right now when my fiancé should be the one doing that.

“Howzithangin’?” He hiccups into the phone. I cringe.

It always takes me a second to translate Chet-speak into English.

“Fine, you?” Keep it short and sweet. The less time I have to talk to this walking brain hemorrhage, the better.

“Yeah, wicked,” he starts. “So like…”

I hang on his every word, which I’m not proud of—they’re not the kind of words you really want to hang onto. But I’m hoping that, for whatever reason, Chet might be calling with some half-sober insight into the whereabouts of my fiancé.

I’d be better off driving up to San Francisco myself.

“Look, Chet, can you please just tell me where—”

“Becky?” says a new voice.

Part of me immediately assumes that it’s Dan on the phone now. Dan saying my name. Sometimes when you want something so bad, you can make yourself believe it’s real.

I’m just about to launch into my sob-story apology when the voice shatters that hope.

“It’s Connor, Becky. How are things going over there? Dan just wants me to reassure you that everything is completely fine here. We’re just so incredibly swamped with this merger, you can’t imagine what it’s like. You’re such a sweetheart for understanding.”

“Actually, Connor, I—”

“Haha, yeah, I bet,” Connor cuts me off. “You know, Becky, Dan gave you his step-brother’s phone number, right? We’re getting really deep into these contracts right now—I’d give the step-brother a ring if you need anything else.”

And before I get the chance to say anything more, arrogant, suave Connor has hung up on me. Again.

Ugh. Another dead end.

Dan’s step-brother, though…it’s an idea. I remember Dan saying that he’s kind of an asshole, but at this point, I’m getting desperate.

I rummage around in my handbag. Where the fuck did I put the card Dan gave me before I left? In my wallet, maybe?

“Hey girls,” Mysti May says, strutting her stuff over to us. I can smell the bartender’s perfume on her skin.

I pay her no attention, though. All I can think of is finding the card with the step-brother’s stupid phone number.

My fingers find something small and firm. Ah ha! Gotcha.

“Becky, darlin’,” Mysti says, shoving another card in my face at the same time. “Look what Mysti May got for you.”

I stare at the card in confusion. “Myst, what—”

“That nice lady bartender gave it to me.” She holds the business card out of me. “It’s Liam Black’s business card—with his phone number.” She grins from ear to ear. “You can thank me later.”

Horrified, I stare at the card Dan gave me and compare it to the one Mysti May is shoving in my face.

Bingo. Jackpot. You’re a winner.

It’s the same fucking number.

“Oh, fuck,” I gasp. The two move behind me to get a look.

“Oh, fuck,” Percy and Mysti May echo.

At the bar, I can hear Sammi throwing up into one of the strippers’ banana hammocks.

Liam Black.

Liam Black.

Both cards bear the same phone number.

They’re both marked with the same fucking name.

Man, when fate punches you in the mouth, it sure does like to break teeth.

The man I fucked here last night and married afterward is Dan’s asshole stepbrother.

Liam fucking Black.