24. Cherise
Chapter twenty-four
Cherise
The villa's living room buzzed with energy after the luau as we walked out of our rooms one by one, having changed into our party fits.
Grace stepped out of her bedroom, all legs and nerves, dressed in a stunning white satin mini dress that made her look like a bridal angel dropped into a Vegas heist.
“Is it too much?” she asked, smoothing her dress for the tenth time.
“Absolutely,” I said, fluffing her hair in the mirror. “Which is exactly why you’re wearing it.”
She smiled, buzzing just beneath the surface. Poor thing still thought she could control what happened tonight. Cute.
The rest of us were in black. Tight, sexy, and mourning the death of Grace’s singlehood. Hands down the hottest bridesmaids ever assembled.
I tapped a few things into my phone. A second later, Leo’s phone dinged from our bedroom.
He poked his head out, brows pulled together. “Did you just…share your location with me?”
I shrugged, slipping my lipstick into my rhinestone clutch. “In case things get crazy. You know, if I end up in a ditch, arrested, or married to someone named Maui.”
“So, you have seen Moana!” Tessa screeched, throwing her hands in the air.
Leo’s face did that adorable scrunchy thing as if he couldn’t decide if he was concerned or impressed.
“And,” I added, digging into my wallet and slapping my gold emergency credit card into his palm.
Grace snorted, already knowing the deal.
“And this is for?” he asked.
“Bail money.”
Leo stared at it like it had teeth. “Bail?”
“Yeah, bail, Cherise? Really? What the hell did you have planned for tonight?” Layla questioned.
“You never know,” I said with a wink. “Stay ready so you don’t have to get ready.”
His mouth parted like he had something to say, but I walked away to adjust my Bride’s Bitch sash in the floor-length mirror.
I grabbed the little glittery box sitting on the coffee table and held it up with a devilish grin. “Alright, bitches. Let’s go give the night a reason to be afraid.”
Leo smirked, leaning against the doorway. “Good luck out there and be safe, please.”
“You’ll need it more than we will,” I said, breezing past him. “You’re stuck with the groomsmen.”
The bride squad spilled out of the villa like chaos in heels. Grace took one last deep breath. I took one last sober-ish selfie, and then we were gone.
Destination? Trouble.
Goal? Buzzed before midnight.
Mission? Questionable behavior with no regrets.
Let the bachelorette games begin.
***
The second we stepped into the lounge, the bass hit me in the chest. Bodies packed wall to wall, drinks sloshing, and neon lights bouncing off sweat-slicked cheeks. It was chaotic. Loud. A little ratchet. And exactly the kind of energy I was looking for.
I led the girls past the crowd to the VIP booth I’d rented with pink velvet ropes, LED-lit table, penis props littered all over the surface, and enough bottle service to make Vegas blush.
“Alright, bitches,” I called over the music as I climbed onto the plush leather seat and waved the server down. “Stack the shots. We’re not pacing ourselves tonight. We’re pre-gaming for mayhem.”
Trays of tequila, vodka, and some mysterious pink liquor that looked like it could peel paint started piling onto the table.
“Rules for the night!” I held up my shot glass etched in gold dicks. “If anyone says the word bitch—yes, even affectionately. Shot. If anyone says Logan’s name.” I made a slicing motion across my neck. “Shot. No exceptions. Not even you, Grace.”
Grace already looked guilty.
“And now…” I pulled out a small glittery box and set it on the table. “Drumroll, please.”
They followed with sloppy table taps.
“We’re playing Drink If,” I announced. “There are little folded slips in this box. Each one has a scenario. You pull one, read it out loud. If it applies to you—you drink. Even if you weren’t the one to pull the card.
If you lie, I’ll know, and I will publicly call you out.
If you are wondering, yes, this game is how I plan to get you all buzzed for what happens next. ”
“What happens next?” Savannah asked.
I just smiled and tapped the box. “Worry about surviving this round first.”
I shoved the box toward Grace, who looked mildly terrified.
Grace opened the first slip. “Sexted someone this week.” She paused. “Okay, this feels… targeted.” Grace hesitated. Then knocked one back. “Hey, at least it was actually Logan this time.”
We all laughed, and I slid another shot her way. “Already breaking the rules, boo. Drink up."
Her face contorted into a frown. “This is going to be a long night,” she said, tossing her second shot back.
Tessa’s turn to pull. “Faked an orgasm to get it over with.” Her eyes went wide. Three of us took drinks. Then Tessa downed hers. “Look, sometimes it’s just easier.”
Chelsea pulled next. “Prefer being on top.” She didn’t even blink, just grabbed a shot and downed it like a champ.
Savannah muttered, “That tracks.”
Layla pulled hers, squinting at the tiny text. “Hooked up and ghosted them afterward.” She proudly toasted the room. “Boo, bitch.” We howled, and I slid an extra shot her way for breaking the rule.
Layla rolled her eyes. “Worth it,” she said as she threw the shot back.
I reached in and pulled mine. “Lied about being on your period to avoid sex.”
The entire table cackled.
I sipped slowly. “It’s called self-care.”
Savannah’s turn. “Made out with someone and never got their name.” She shrugged. “He was hot… that’s all I needed to know.” We clanked glasses in honor.
By the time the game was over, our table was covered in empty glasses, a few limes, someone’s press-on nail, and a single hoop earring whose owner no longer claimed it.
I looked around at my girls. Glossy eyes. Tipsy. Loud. Unapologetically wild.
I had them right where I wanted them.
I reached down into the bottom of my glitter box and pulled out the real chaos for the night.
“What now?” Grace asked, suspicious.
I smirked and held up the stack of neon papers. “Scavenger hunt. You each get a list. Twelve wild things. Each has a point value. But don’t even think about cheating—we need a picture of the act for it to count.”
Savannah crossed her arms. “You’re kidding.”
“Does it look like I’m kidding?” I handed out the slips with the audacity of a teacher with a pop quiz. “Teams are: me, Chelsea, and Grace. Versus Savannah, Tess, and Layla. You have thirty minutes. Meet back here when the clock runs out. Losers have to buy the next round.”
Tessa eyed the list. “Are we seriously doing this?” she asked, eyes wide.
“Yes,” I said, already pulling out lip gloss and tying my sash tighter.
They hesitated.
Then Chelsea clapped. “Let’s cause a scene.”
We all cheered, broke off into teams, and scattered.
I didn’t even hesitate. Dance on the bar was 25 points, and it was in the bag.
Chelsea tried to hold my purse, but I tossed it to Grace and launched myself onto the bar like I was auditioning for Coyote Ugly: Blackout Edition.
I shimmied. I twerked. I twirled. I almost busted my ass.
Security started making their way over, but not before Grace snapped the pic, flash and all.
“Ma’am, I need you to get down,” the security guard demanded.
“Coming,” I called sweetly, sliding off and giving our team a dramatic bow as they clapped.
Chelsea skimmed the list. “Oh, I can do that.” She flagged down some frat bro in a floral shirt. “Excuse me, can I ride you like a pony and yell Yeehaw?”
The guy paused. Then shrugged. “Hop on.” She squealed, “Yeehaw!” as he trotted across the room with her on his back.
Grace deadass straddled a chair backwards, smacked the seat, and shouted, “Giddy up, Daddy!” in the middle of the dance floor.
Layla choked on her drink. Tessa cried, laughing. I had to wipe mascara off my chin. She was drunk, and I was so proud. I flashed a pic.
I looked over to see Savannah as she got down on one knee and yelled, “Will you marry me?”
The random guy she asked said, “Absolutely.”
He dipped her, and Tessa flashed the pic.
Layla screamed, “We’re gonna have to photoshop Greg’s face on that pic later.”
“Number five. Kiss a bald guy's head. You got this, Chelsea.” I encouraged.
“Me! Why do I have to do it?”
“Because you’re the only single one.”
She glared at me, knowing damn well I was technically also single, but I couldn’t let Grace in on our little secret. My eyes shot daggers at her.
She let out a breath. “Dammit, ok.”
She snuck up behind the bouncer, planted one on his dome, blessing him. A camera flashed, and then she ran. “Goooooo!” I hissed as he looked around, confused.
We were cracking up laughing, trying desperately to catch our breath. Chelsea dragged an arm across her mouth, wiping her lips with disgust. “Okay. What’s next?”
“Take a selfie in the men’s bathroom… I got this.” I shoved the door open and yelled, “This is for feminism!” We got the pic, screamed, and bolted before the urinal guys noticed.
Beside me, I saw Tessa. She asked for a shot in a fake British accent so bad it offended me, and I don’t even know if I was qualified to be offended.
Still, point earned.
Grace, Chelsea, and I were skimming the list to see what embarrassing thing we were tasked with next, when Savannah stood on a chair and shouted, “I’m always the bridesmaid, never the bride!” with so much emotion that someone tried to comfort her.
“Dammit, I was just about to do that one,” Chelsea said, crossing her arms.
The other team was gaining on us with the points. Knocking out each task with ease. Layla found a random guy. She cleared her throat. “Hey, um, sir. Do you happen to have a condom I can have?” He blushed, reached in his pocket, and handed her one. Layla’s cheeks were fire red.
Then Tessa ran across in a blur and stopped right in front of a couple posing for a picture and photo bombed them, holding up two penis props. Damn, she got number 8.
“Prom photo with a random guy. Grace, it’s your turn,” I said, pointing a finger at her.
She obliged. Her hands awkwardly on this stranger’s shoulders, his on her hips like it was junior prom.
Points earned.
“Turn around, Grace, one more piece, and it's complete,” I commanded. She giggled as she twirled, and Chelsea and I finished her off with the last piece of toilet paper in her hair for her tissue veil and dress.
“I must admit this is cute. I should have let you guys design my wedding dress.” She laughed.
“Now go kill it.” Chelsea and I bumped fists, and Grace strutted out looking like a budget bridal Barbie and did a runway walk. We were on the floor laughing.
Two minutes left on the clock. Serenading a stranger was all we had time for. I ran over and sang “Focus” by H.E.R off-key in some guy's ear. He cringed, but gave me a high five anyway. Then the timer sounded. The competition was officially over.
We all collapsed back into our booth at the end of the thirty minutes, phones out, receipts in hand, cheeks flushed, hair wild, stomachs sore from laughing.
“Add it up,” I said, as Grace collected all the phones.
She jotted tallies on a napkin. “Final score…” My booty cheeks clinched in anticipation. “Our team won by ten points!”
I screamed and jumped on our table, “You can't compete with us!”
I waved the server over.
“You need another round?” she asked.
“I need another bottle,” I corrected dramatically, pointing at the losing team. “These losers are picking up the tab.”
Savannah rolled her eyes so hard I could hear a muscle snap over the music.
Victory. Best feeling ever.