Page 10 of Maid of Dishonor
“Sam,” I growl.
She clears her throat. “Right. Sorry. Anyway, right now she’s trying to be responsible in the way she knows how. She’s young and pregnant and scared. And alone,” she adds. “I mean, she askedmeto be her maid of honor. We’re friends and all, but frankly I’m surprised there’s no one else she wanted to ask. If we fight back on this, I’m worried she’ll just be even more determined. So let’s just…tread carefully. Gather some more information about this guy. She’s texting me a picture of him, actually; that’s a good start. We can look at him and judge his moral character completely by his appearance alone.”
I can’t stop my snort of laughter. “A foolproof plan.” I sober quickly, though. “But Sam, you’ve heard the stories about him. She can’t marry him.”
Sam nods and grimaces. “The situation isn’t promising,” she admits. “The open relationship bit especially. I mean, it’s one thing if they had previously agreed to an open relationship, but it sounds like she had no idea he was seeing other people. Just right now, until we know a little more, let’s not bulldoze everything, okay? Especially to her face.”
I grunt but let it go, and we spend the rest of the drive talking about the wedding that we’re now apparently helping plan.
Sam’s phone dings just as we’re pulling into her driveway, and I turn the car off.
“That the picture?” I say, unbuckling.
“I think so—” But Sam breaks off when she gasps loudly. It’s so loud that at first I think she’s messing around, but when I look at her, her eyes are wide, her mouth gaping.
“Chad!” she says. She looks at me, her eyes still bugging out of her head, and then points to her phone. “It’s Chad!”
I’m so lost. “Chad?”
She turns the phone toward me. “Chad!” she says.
“Chad,” I growl as I take one look at the photo and feel a wave of anger course through me.
Chad—sorry,Chet—is none other than the guy who tried to pick Sam up at lunch, the one who was all up in her space. I knew I recognized him. I’ve only seen a few photos of Chet, and he’s always had a full beard; clean-shaven I couldn’t place him. I guess it makes sense we ran into him there, in a roundabout way; Maya worked with him at Joey’s, and then she introduced us to the place.
I give the photo one last glare for good measure before looking away again. “He said his name was Chad?”
“No,” Sam admits. “He just had that frat boy vibe—”
“Yes! Thank you,” I say, feeling vindicated.
“And he seemed like a Chad to me. Really, though…”
“Chet’s pretty dang close,” I finish for her, nodding.
“Okay, so, wait,” Sam says. “Maya’s baby daddy and future husband is the gross guy who hit on me and tried to get handsy?”
And now, more than ever, I’m convinced of what needs to happen. “We have to stop this wedding,” I say.
Three
Sam
“I think Albert Pujols is dying,”I tell Carter over the phone the next day.
“Wait—what?” he says, sounding shocked and more than a little concerned. “Where did you hear that? Hang on, I’m pulling up ESPN—wait a minute.” He goes silent at the sound of my snickers, and I can see in my mind’s eye the exact scowl he’s wearing as he says, “Sam, you better be talking about your stupid plant.”
“Don’t listen to the mean man,” I coo at my aloe vera plant, named Albert Pujols after one of the greatest baseball players of our generation. We went through a bit of a rough patch after Pujols left the Cardinals, but we’re doing better now. Time healed the wounds of that betrayal.
Carter sighs. “You’re talking to your plants again. Plants aren’t people, Sam.”
“Well, now you’re just being mean,” I say, propping one hand on my hip.
“Mm-hmm,” Carter says, but I can hear the tinge of amusement in that little humming noise. “So he’s dying, huh?”
I frown, biting my lip as I run my fingers softly over one of the aloe leaves. “I’m not sure,” I say. “But he’s looking a little wilty and brown. I think I might have drowned him.”
“Eh, give him some time to dry out. How is everyone else?”
