“Is it possible to be a bridezilla when you’re not the bride?” Kori whispered to me.
I shrugged, because I’d learned rather quickly to not interrupt Sandy when he got like this. It made life easier.
“I never had a soul patch,” Darren said, sounding annoyed.
“Did you at any point in your life have blond highlights in your hair?”
“Well, there was that one summer in undergrad that—”
“And did you ever own a braided belt and wear it without being ironic?”
“I liked that belt. I got it on spring break in Tijuana when we—”
“Thank you for proving my point,” Sandy said, then kissed Darren on the cheek.
“How is that proving your point?” Darren asked. He was trying to scowl, but I could see the way his lips quirked, the way his hands settled on Sandy’s waist.
“You’re a dude-bro,” Sandy said slowly. “And therefore cannot be trusted. I’m getting the final say on Vince’s suit because I have better taste than you.”
“You do not.”
“Foot-long Subway sandwich models,” Sandy said, deadpan.
“That was one time. And I’ve never even talked to him since. It’s not like my one-night stand is going to be a groomsman in my brother’s wedding. Oh wait, right. That’s your one-night stand.”
“It’s not my fault Vince is friends with Brian. That’s all on you homo jocks. You guys are like the worst high school clique. Like Mean Girls, except with your big ol’ manly bitties.”
“I told you not to call them that,” Darren grumbled, blushing slightly. Which, if you didn’t know the Homo Jock King like we did, you would have thought impossible.
“Your chesticles?”
“Sandy,” he warned.
“Leave,” Kori said. “Seriously. All of you. Get out.”
“This is my house?” I asked, confused.
“And mine,” Vince said proudly. “Because I live here too. In sin.” He waggled his eyebrows.
“Fine,” Kori said. “Sandy, Darren, and Vince need to get the hell out. Paul, you can stay, but you need to keep your mouth shut.”
“I don’t know if that’s—”
“Paul.”
“The only reason I’ll do it is because of my white guilt,” I said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if my ancestors once owned your ancestors. It would be just my luck if I descended from assholes.”
“I’ll allow it,” Kori said with a sniff, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Lord knows being blaxican is hard enough, what with my preternaturally smooth skin, beautiful hair, and ability to make white people feel responsibility for something that happened a long time ago.”
“I don’t feel responsible,” Darren said, just because he was still an asshole sometimes.
“Your shirt made of cotton?”
“Aaaand there’s the guilt,” Darren said. “Okay, time to go.”
Sandy came over and kissed my cheek. “Don’t worry,” he said in a low voice. “You know I’ll make him look good.”
I rolled my eyes. “Not worried. No feathers or bedazzled anything.”