Bad Boy's Bridesmaid

by Sosie Frost

  Mandy didn’t drink. “Then shouldn’t I be sober?”

  “You’re even more awkward sober. Believe me. You need a drink.”

  If I was sticking around to watch this, I’d want a drink too. And probably some popcorn.

  The girls descended on breakfast like a pack of ravenous hyenas, laughing and braying and snapping at the others for being too loud with their headaches. It took them five minutes to destroy the meal I prepared and an hour to get ready to dance, which didn’t make much sense since most of them just tossed on yoga pants and put their hair up.

  But, until last night, I only fucked women; I didn’t try to understand them.

  Mandy was the first one I attempted to figure out, and she made chasing her into a goddamned competitive sport. I didn’t know if I was supposed to tackle her, drift behind her, or score. Not like she’d tell me what the hell to expect either.

  “Okay, girls. I need you all in a line.” Lindsey clapped her hands. “You better stretch too. This isn’t going to be quick, and it’s certainly not going to be easy. You’ve been warned.”

  Lindsey’s idea of a bachelorette weekend party included a mandatory dancing boot camp. Some of her plans weren’t bad. I liked watching Mandy squirm in embarrassment while she pranced in tiny boy shorts emblazoned with rhinestones slapping the word MAID on her ass. She tugged the clingy material down, but they hardly covered her little bridesmaid booty.

  It might have been nice if the girls weren’t seven sticks of dynamite waiting to blow—both me and what fragile progress I’d made with Mandy.

  Lindsey chose her college friends as her bridesmaids—Carmen, Peaches, Caitlyn, Amy, and…red head. I didn’t remember her name. That was a problem, especially since I had slept with her five months ago.

  Well, I slept with most of the bridal party over the past few months. It hadn’t been a major concern before—they all knew it was just one night of fun. But what was amusing before suddenly became dangerous. The bridesmaids wiggled, shimmied, teased, and baited me with every shake of their tits or twerk of their asses.

  And Mandy noticed.

  Not sure if I should have worried about that. She wanted complicated? She got it.

  Lindsey ordered me to move the furniture. I shifted the couch and TV into the hall so they’d have room to dance. Then the bullshit started.

  Caitlyn squeezed my bicep and giggled about how strong I was. Not sure what I saw in her before…then again I couldn’t see much around her double D rack. But she didn’t rock curves nearly as well as Mandy.

  Peaches—I was certain that wasn’t her real name but damned if I had bothered asking—blew me a kiss when the girls lined up to dance. Red head mimicked blowing something a little differently.

  Thankfully Mandy didn’t see Amy grab my ass.

  These girls stalked me, half-starved and drooling for meat.

  “Where are you going?” Lindsey planted her hands on her hips as I attempted to sneak out. “We need you to watch.”

  Mandy nearly spilled her water. “No, we really don’t. Not when we’re learning.”

  “Shame is an excellent motivator.”

  “If that were the case, I’d have mastered the steps by now.” Mandy waved a hand at me. “Go, Nate. Shoo. Be gone.”

  As she wished. I took a step. Lindsey pinched my arm.

  “You’re not going anywhere.” Lindsey pulled a camping chair from a closet and sat me in it. “You have to tell us if we’re in sync. I can’t see the entire ensemble, especially during Thriller.”

  “So you’re really doing the Thriller dance?” I laughed.

  “Why?”

  “Seems cliché.”

  I missed Mandy’s frantic arm motions warning me to avoid the confrontation at all costs. Lindsey screeched. The girls’ flirty pouts turned to legit irritation.

  Great. Seven pissed off, underfed, hungover women sneered at me.

  I cleared my throat. “But I’m sure your dance will bring something new and innovative.”

  “Damn right.” Lindsey turned to her girls. “Okay, we’re going to work on the flash mob portion. Mandy, this is all you. When you hear The Funky Chicken, you’re the first onto the dance floor.”

  Mandy looked ready to puke. “Are you serious?”

  “Do you have a problem with that?”

  “Yes! Twelve hours ago you banished me from the wedding! Now I’m starting a flash mob to The Funky Chicken?”

  “Serves you right for leaving the wedding party.”

  “Lindsey, can’t anyone else do it?”

  “It has to be you. Once the party sees you start to dance, they’ll know something special is about to happen.”

  “Or something super embarrassing.”

  “Which is why they’ll all watch!” Lindsey slapped Mandy’s hand down as she scratched her elbow. “Stand up straight. You’ll do The Funky Chicken, all the bridesmaids will migrate onto the floor in a circle, and then we’ll transition into the Cha Cha Slide.”

  The girls giggled. Lindsey singled out Amy. “What are you laughing at? Your Cha Cha makes me want to Gag Gag. We need to be identical out there, but we only have two days to learn a seven minute, fourteen song medley.”

  Mandy groaned. “Seven minutes? Why don’t we just learn one three minute song and do it well?”

  “Damn it, Mandy!” Lindsey stomped her foot. “That would completely overshadow the bride and groom doing the final number from Dirty Dancing.”

  Even if I didn’t have any more sex, this little information was worth the trip. “The what now?”

  Lindsey stuck her finger in my face. “It’s a surprise. Tell anyone and I’ll gut you, Nate.”

  “Does Bryce know about this dance?”

  “He’ll be fine with it.”

  I laughed. It wasn’t the reaction Lindsey wanted, but I couldn’t imagine the former linebacker channeling his inner Patrick Swayze.

  Lindsey shushed me and positioned her girls “off-stage” while she tapped play on her iPhone. The speakers echoed The Funky Chicken over the cabin. She pushed Mandy forward.

  “And I want to see real flapping!”

  Mandy got as far as the second clap before running from the room, citing a bathroom break. Lindsey groaned, nearly tossing her into the fireplace when she returned.

  “Flap, Mandy, before I peck you myself!”

  Mandy weakly fluttered her elbows and bobbed. The girls cackled.

  I had no idea I could be so entertained by a girl if I wasn’t fucking her.

  Sure, I had a girl naked, writhing, coming at my command all last night, but I’d never spent time with any afterwards. Usually it was me, Sportscenter, and a dry bowl of cereal.

  This? The awkward flapping, off-beat clapping, and hilariously overcompensated booty shake? This was fantastic.

  I could get used to hanging with Mandy like this.

  But she didn’t see the fun in it. Mandy refused to look me in the eyes, like I’d think she was any less beautiful because she couldn’t figure out her right from her left. She was sexy in her own way. She might have been a danger to herself and others on the dance floor, but when I had held her in my arms and led her through the music during the string quartet auditions, she had melted. Surrendered.

  Would have done anything for me.

  I shifted. This was the single most uncomfortable hard-on I ever had, and the most dangerous. The last thing I wanted was a boner surrounded by a room full of banshees, bitches, bimbos, and Mandy. Six out of the seven I had slept with. Great.

  I hoped Lindsey would take pity on us all. I just needed ten minutes with Mandy. Thirty and I’d go twice. That little Funky Chicken had been up all night for me, and she’d love it.

  We weren’t that lucky.

  Two hours and four bathroom breaks later, a butchered rendition of Single Ladies made it abundantly clear why no one had put a ring on the girls yet. Lindsey flipped shit.

  “For Christ’s sake, Mandy, where in my choreography does it say to stop
and scratch your leg?”

  Mandy was one pirouette from a nervous breakdown. She didn’t stop scratching. “Linds, I’m sorry! I can’t whip or nae nae anymore!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I have no idea! I’m so itchy!”

  I looked down. I’d already scratched my arm raw.

  Well fuck.

  I hid my rash. Lindsey grabbed Mandy’s ankle and twisted. Mandy latched onto her sister, and they both went down in a thump.

  “Is this…” Lindsey screeched and yanked Mandy’s leg. “Did you get poison ivy?”

  Mandy’s eyes darted to me. Oh, she wasn’t happy. This would probably be my fault.

  The detour into the woods on the way back to the cabin seemed a good and necessary idea at the time. The tree had felt softer than most, covered in the spanning ivy. And Mandy had the time of her life, legs wrapped around my waist as we fucked against the tree in the greatest quickie I ever had.

  Christ, that’s what I got for trying to be romantic.

  Poisoned.

  “For the love of God, are you that outdoor-phobic?” Lindsey snapped her fingers at Carmen. “Get the first-aid kit.”

  “I’m fine.” Mandy kept scratching, yelping as she found another spreading rash on her shoulders.

  Lindsey peeked in Mandy’s shirt to check over her back. “Holy shit, did you roll around in it?”

  No…but she was pushed into it. Repeatedly. For a couple of minutes.

  Maybe this was why guys never stuck around after getting what they wanted. The longer I stayed, the more likely I was to toss Mandy into poisonous shrubs.

  Still, if a little poison ivy was the worst thing to come from sex with her, I’d take it.

  “Stay away from me!” Lindsey shrieked. “And stop scratching!”

  “Sorry.” Mandy sat on her hands so she wouldn’t scratch. “Oh, it’s itchy. Really, really itchy.”

  Carmen returned with the first-aid kit, but she handed an empty tube of calamine lotion to Lindsey with a shrug.

  “I think we used this instead of the antibiotic on your scrapes last night,” she said.

  Mandy groaned. She rushed to the entryway of the living room and wiggled against the wooden frame. I shouldn’t have laughed. That wouldn’t get me laid again anytime soon, vengeful plants or not.

  “Fine. We’ll take five while we find something to slather on my sister.” Lindsey shook her head. “I can’t believe you’d do this when you know how much practice you need for this dance.”

  Mandy snapped at her, getting crankier by the minute. “Oh, I’m sorry. Next time I infect myself with poison, I’ll burn the rash off so I don’t scratch in the middle of Hotline Bling!”

  “If I see one scar on your shoulders in the strapless dress, so help me God.” Lindsey pushed her sister towards the bathroom. She grabbed a towel on the way up. “Don’t think I won’t roll your ass in mud or oatmeal. Maybe both, just because you’re always such a pain.”

  Mandy stormed up the stairs. “Butt-head.”

  Lindsey fumed. “Lint-licker!”

  The bathroom door slammed shut. The bridesmaids surrounded me. It wasn’t good to limp around a pack of these lionesses.

  Carmen winked. “There’s something in this kit for everyone, huh, Nate?”

  She waved a condom at me. Fucking fantastic.

  The thought struck me like another slap with the poison ivy.

  A condom.

  I hadn’t used a condom last night? I’d completely forgot. Then again, Mandy didn’t say anything. She was probably on the pill.

  Shit. I’d have to ask her.

  Except Mandy was so goddamned responsible, she’d even packed a second first-aid kit in her own toiletries. No way she’d forget something as important as birth control.

  The girls clustered around me. They abandoned the Bloody Marys for margaritas and drunkenly giggled. A game of rock-paper-scissors passed between the five of them. Carmen came out victorious.

  The condom returned to her possession.

  “Looks like I’m the lucky one.” She tucked it into the back pocket of my jeans. Her hand stayed a little too long. “How about we make the most of this weekend?”

  Oh Christ. “You should sober up. We made a lot of mistakes when we were drunk before.”

  She slurped the rest of her drink. The salt from her glass stuck to her chin. “Oh, I don’t think it was a mistake.”

  “Me either,” Amy said.

  Red head winked. “Me either.”

  Peaches giggled. “Me three. No, me four!” Her laugh rang over the house as Caitlyn purred at me. “Nate, you’ve practically slept with the whole bridal party!”

  Carmen snorted. “Of course he did. He told Rick and Bryce he’d finish us all off before the reception. Good luck with Mandy though. I heard she hates you.”

  I wished she hadn’t said that so loud.

  Mandy hadn’t hated me yesterday.

  But she did now.

  She stood in the doorway, arms crossed. Intimidation wasn’t her strong-suit, especially as she squirmed against the itchiness. But she didn’t have to threaten me.

  Her eyes welled with tears.

  And I knew I fucked up.

  “You slept with everyone?” Mandy whispered. “Are you that…sleezy?”

  “Oh, come on.” Carmen laughed. “He’s a manwhore. We reap what we sow with him. He had his fun, we had ours.” She winked. “You oughta give him a run, Mandy. He might loosen you up.”

  No. I wouldn’t. Mandy gritted her teeth.

  “How…” Her breathing quivered. “I think you should go.”

  “Mandy—”

  “Now, Nate.”

  Son of a bitch. The girls groaned. I ignored them. Mandy ducked out of the living room, but she pushed me away before I could get too close. She led me to the door.

  I couldn’t leave it like this.

  “I guess you’ve had us all now,” she said. “Unless you’re aiming to sleep with the bride, it’s time for you to go.”

  “It’s not like that,” I said. Damn it. “It was a one-time thing with all of them. You know. That’s why you wanted me in the first place. Just some fun.”

  “Yeah. I should have known better. This isn’t fun.”

  “I’m sorry. Let me explain.”

  “I really can’t deal with it right now.” She couldn’t look at me, and I had no idea what I had lost until I missed the honey-amber of her eyes. “I thought what we had was special.”

  “It was.”

  “Please, go.”

  A couple tears rolled over her cheeks. I made her cry?

  How the hell did I make her cry?

  “Mandy, if I knew sleeping with those girls would have made you feel like this—”

  “You have no idea how I feel about this, about us, about you—” She pushed me to the door. The rest of her words dissolved into a choked sob.

  I hated to see her upset, but, at that moment, she just hated to see me.

  The front door slammed in my face. I didn’t care.

  Her words echoed in my mind. I had no idea how she felt about us…about me?

  Holy shit.

  I nearly tumbled off the porch.

  Did Mandy have feelings for me?

  Chapter Eleven – Mandy

  “Honestly, the dress doesn’t even look like it was made for you!”

  For the first time since the wedding planning began, I shared Lindsey’s dismay.

  Nothing about the hideously teal bridesmaid gown fit me. The bustles had no lift, the bows no liveliness, and the strapless cups…

  Well, I made short work of them.

  The last thing I needed was anyone staring too intently at my body, but it was way too early for any real changes right?

  I looked down. My breasts were trying to suffocate me, but everything else seemed halfway normal. I thought. Maybe?

  I hadn’t looked in the mirror yet, waiting for the moment Lindsey or Mom or one of the bridesmaids called out
some sort of un-hideable baby bump. If it happened, I couldn’t even blame a big lunch. It’d been hell to just sip soup. Nothing stayed down except copious amounts of oranges, and that was risky because citric acid did not make for a pleasant return experience.

  I pinched my eyes shut. The hot lights of the bridal boutique shined like an interrogation.

  This was it. The jig was up. My bun was in the oven, and they turned on the heat.

  “When did you lose weight?” Lindsey plucked at the bunched material over my waist. “No…when did it all go to your tits?”

  Mom frowned, rubbing her chin. “It must be the lighting. Mandy isn’t that small.”

  Thanks, Mom.

  But the measurements confirmed it. I was different from the first fitting. I lost weight.

  Well, that was a relief. Or was it? The doctor did warn that it wasn’t uncommon for women to lose weight in early pregnancy because of the morning sickness, especially if they happened to be a little curvier. And I couldn’t really eat much but fruit and crackers.

  Okay. Another freebie. I breathed a quick sigh.

  “Who measured her the first time?” Lindsey whirled around to berate the terrified seamstress and owner of the boutique. “We’re lucky the hem isn’t dragging on the floor too!”

  “Well, we were all supposed to go on a diet,” I said.

  “Yeah, which some people have forgotten to do!” Lindsey pointed at her other teal and miserable bridesmaids. “I made the spreadsheet, why aren’t you guys logging your weight? We’re supposed to be doing this together.”

  I heard the edge of real panic in my sister’s voice. That stress peaked when the zipper to her dress needed a bit of encouragement to climb past her booty. We got it zipped, but Lindsey immediately peeled it off and threw away half of the candy bar she was nervously eating.

  My sister pushed me to the dressing room. She waited outside, lowering her voice so those beyond the fitting areas couldn’t hear.

  “Mandy, I know you’ve been trying hard,” she said.

  I braced for it. What was it this time? Maybe she thought I was deliberately causing her problems. Maybe I wasn’t pulling my weight, or I hadn’t asked Dad to fork over another two grand for gold dust in the champagne.

  “I wanted you to know…” Lindsey exhaled. “I really appreciate it.”