Blame it on the Champagne (Blame it on the Alcohol 1)

Apparently, she noticed Nova’s full glass because she quickly snatched it back and glared without heat while she took the shot for Nova. I waited until she’d almost emptied the glass when I struck.

“Besides, Nova. She probably is hoping for an excuse to drunk text Austin, and he’ll come to her rescue. That way, she can grind all over him and say it’s just because she was drunk and not in love.”

Raelynn coughed hard, barely avoiding spraying us with tequila. She slapped the glass down with a thunk that matched the beat of the bass flooding the dark bar and glared over her hand covering her mouth.

Nova and I laughed.

“I. Am. Not. In lo—” she coughed, either from the alcohol still in her lungs or because Raelynn tended to choke over the word when it wasn’t with us. “It’s not like that between Austin and me.”

“Of course not,” Nova said, her words dripping with sarcasm.

I snorted because while Nova could look like a deer in headlights when she faced off with Raelynn, she always won with her sarcastic comments. She was a death by a thousand cuts, while Rae was a wrecking ball.

“So, you’re saying if Austin came in and offered to let you climb him like the tree he is, you would turn him down?”

She lifted an arrogant brow. “No, because I hope all of him is as big as a tree, and I never turn down something that can make me feel that good.”

Austin was Raelynn’s other best friend—the complete opposite of her. They met at a college party her sophomore year and somehow became friends, despite her best effort to sleep with him. I think Raelynn liked—and probably hated a little—that he was the first guy to not want to sleep with her. She was all city, and he came from a farm in upstate New York.

Their friendship was…intriguing, and Nova and I may or may not have a bet on them being married by the time they were forty.

“Besides, he’s visiting family and not in town.”

“Is he your date for the wedding?” I asked.

“Of course. Friends to weddings are perfect. And I’ve seen him in a tux once and, damn, that man fills out a suit better than anyone.”

“That poor man,” Nova laughed. “How he’s fended you off, I’ll never know.”

Raelynn shrugged, unapologetic of her objectification of her friend. “Three more shots,” she said to the bartender, eying Nova with a challenging stare.

This time she obediently drank, not even wincing. Deep down, we all knew how much Nova liked tequila. My rebel side sat closer to the surface than hers, but she still had one—and Naughty Nova loved tequila.

The lights flashed, and the club enveloped us in one remixed song after another without consuming our words. We stood at the corner of the long bar, swaying to the music, laughing, and talking. We had to shout a little, but not so much we’d be hoarse in the morning.

“Question,” I started, holding up my finger like I was preparing a declaration. Both girls laughed when I had to close my eyes and brace my hand on the bar for a moment because the alcohol hit me a little too hard. I shook it off and continued. “Is it really a bachelorette party if it’s not a real marriage?”

“Why isn’t it a real marriage? It’s legal. You live together. You’re sharing assets,” Raelynn ticked off each argument.

“Because it’s not. It’s an arrangement. Like a business contract.”

“Was that not what it was between you and Camden? Isn’t that what your parents planned the whole time?”

I shuddered at the mention of Camden. “This is different.”

“How?” Nova asked.

“It just is.” My brain struggled to form a coherent argument with all the liquor.

“Would you have fucked Camden?” Raelynn asked.

I fake-gagged.

“That’s a yes.”

“I don’t know. Maybe because I’m choosing this and not anyone else. I figured if I chose my husband, it would be for love.”

“Love-shmove.” She waved the word away like a fly. “You’ve just upgraded your arranged marriage package deal. I call it a win.”

“Camden was pretty bad,” Nova added.

“It just all feels fake,” I said, waving my hands around to encompass the room.

“Does the sash not make you feel like a real bride to be?” Raelynn asked with mock seriousness, her hand on my shoulder.

I looked down, stroking the cheap satin and rough, patchy glitter, declaring my status. The stark white material stood out against my black top and black leather pants, making it impossible to miss. Which was why we were so drunk. People loved to buy drinks for a bachelorette party.

“If that doesn’t, then the tiara and bouquet of flowers should,” Nova said.

“Too much?” Raelynn asked, her face scrunched up with fake concern.

“No,” I said.

“A bit,” Nova said at the same time.

Raelynn shrugged, striking a pose like a supermodel, showing off her dark yellow silk top and black leather mini-skirt. “Tough shit. I’m too much, and you bitches love it.”