Chapter 22 #2
“Hi,” I respond, holding up my wine.
“A little birdie told me that you used my mom’s song to walk down the aisle to,” she says with a dazzling smile.
And I nearly drop my drink.
“Holy shit, are you Iris May?” I sputter in disbelief.
Her smile grows wider. “Yes!”
Lucy May was my favorite artist growing up, and the only thing I ever really knew about my wedding as a kid was that I would be walking down the aisle to her song.
Her voice is what got me to sleep as a kid, when Lucy had her daughter, Iris, when I was around seven years old.
Lucy had quite a few husbands, which only added to her charm. She hated men more than anything, and you could hear it in her songwriting. But Riot May, well, he was the real deal. You could tell.
“How the fuck did they get you on this show?” I ask, looking around, feeling a little loosey-goosey.
Iris laughs, which, if I’m honest, is the better reaction than what I’d have done if someone said that to me. “Why not! They paired me with that guy over there, though,” she points to a man across the room who looks like he could be a bodybuilder.
I rear back. “He’s bald,” I whisper.
“And he has the smallest penis known to man,” she whispers back.
I frown. “Does he go down on you?”
She shakes her head.
“Jesus. Does he use toys while he fucks you, too?”
Where am I even finding these words?
She shakes her head again, sinking into herself with a grimace.
“Why are men like that?” I ask in disbelief. Don’t get me wrong, a man can have a small penis and still be phenomenal in bed. But if they don’t care about their partner’s pleasure, what’s even the point?
I’d say that about a man with a giant dick, too. If you don’t know how to use it, what. Is. The. Point?
Iris shoots me a coy smile, bringing her glass of wine to her lips as her eyes shift to Cooper. “Have you guys,” she pauses, “you know…”
“Oh god no,” I say with a laugh, and she looks as confused as ever.
“Just look at him,” I say, waving my hand in his direction.
“I am, and I gotta say, he’s hot.”
A burning, jealous rage rips through me at the words, and I shove them down within a second. Other people are allowed to find my enemies hot.
Is he even still an enemy, or am I just saying that to feel better about my horrible, really dumb, no good decisions?
“He’s okay,” I agree with a shrug.
“No, he’s really hot. Isn’t he tattooed too?”
“As of,” I check my invisible watch, “a few months ago, yes, he is.”
She giggles. “It sounds like there’s a story there.”
“The man has no impulse control,” I shrug.
“So you guys haven’t had sex?” she quizzes.
I shake my head. “No—pe. And don’t plan on it.”
Even if that’s all I want right now. Am I sweating down there? Wetter than the god damn inner harbor, watching him roll up those sleeves.
“That’s crazy. God, I’m such a slut.”
“No,” I correct immediately. “Slut is a word made up by men to make women feel bad about taking control of their bodies while they become slaves to porn. You’re not a slut for wanting sex.”
A small smile forms on her pouty lips. “You’re cool. I like you.”
And I like her, too.
I down my second drink by the time we’re done talking, and when I turn around, I immediately have to ask for another.
Because one of the other women has her little claws on Cooper.
Another fit of jealousy whooshes through me like a wave, my fuzzy head swimming with ways to torture him for daring to look at her.
Except he’s not.
He’s staring right at me.
Normally, I would never get upset at a woman for hitting on my man. If the man is actually mine, then he’s a good guy. If they don’t know about me, of course, they’d want to get to know him.
The problem is that we’re at a cast cocktail party for a show in which we are all married… technically.
Which means that if anyone is flirting with anyone else, it’s knowing full well that they’re taken.
I look over across the room to find Eddy watching intently, and I want to rip the smug, gross smile right off his little lips.
I only realize that I must be burning a damn hole into the side of his face when his eyes meet mine, suddenly looking very scared.
If they want a show, I’ll give them a little something.
Downing another drink, I grab my purse and walk slowly toward Cooper, keeping my eyes on him. The way his jaw ticks as he moves away from the other woman, little by little. The way he looks at me every few seconds, clearly begging for help.
When I finally reach him, I grasp his arm in my hands, bringing my chest as close to him as it can be. “You having a fun time, Baby?” I ask, rubbing my face against his jaw.
“Yeah, all the guys are really cool,” Cooper says, his pulse instantly calming down. “And well, Caroline, was it?” he asks, tilting his head.
I can feel her sizing me up. “Caroline, yes, I’ll—” she pauses to look around for her husband. “I’ll catch you later, Cooper.” The woman turns on her heel and sashays away, leaving the two of us alone.
“I’ll catch you later, Cooper,” I mumble in a mocking tone.
A grumble of laughter shakes me, and it’s in that moment that I realize I’ve had entirely too much to drink. “I like seeing you jealous,” he says with a grin.
I shake my head, using him for stability. “Why would I be jealous?”
“Because I know how you are when you’re jealous.”
My lips thin and my eyes narrow as I try to figure out what he means.
“That night on the beach? God. It’s burned into my memory, Sweetheart.”
“You’re just saying that for the cameras,” I say simply.
“Am I?”
But something tells me he’s not.