Sean: Half the boys are already loaded and it’s only six. Although there’s supposed to be a stripper arriving soon so things could be looking up. Literally ;-) How’s your evening going?
This was the first time he’d texted me since his odd message about Ronan yesterday. I felt an unexpected pang of annoyance and jealousy at the idea of him ogling some booblicious stripper, but was happy to hear from him no matter the context.
Lucy: Great, aside from Orla Flanagan kicking up a fuss about my plans for the night. She wanted the girls to wear jerseys with their other half’s names on the back. Kill me now.
Sean: Well, you could’ve worn mine ;-)
Lucy: Ha! That wouldn’t create a shitstorm of unnecessary drama at all.
Sean: I dunno. I kinda like the idea of you wearing my jersey…and nothing else.
Lucy: Why am I not surprised?
Sean: Because you like the idea, too.
Sean: Come to my place later.
I inhaled, momentarily flustered as to how to respond. In the end I went with an easy excuse to be noncommittal.
Lucy: I don’t know your address.
Sean: I’ll text it to you.
Lucy: Let me think about it. I’m not sure what time we’re finishing up. It could be really late.
Sean: I don’t care how late it is.
Annie elbowed me in the side, distracting me from the message. I startled slightly before tucking the phone back in my pocket.
“Everything all right?” she asked.
“Fine and dandy. You enjoying yourself?”
“I’m having a great time. Plus, I’ll feel so much better about gorging on sushi later since I’ve earned it with all this exercise.” She paused to lower her voice. “Your mom has already been warning me about the dangers of not fitting into my dress on the day of the wedding.”
I leveled her with a serious look, making sure to lower my voice as well since Mam was sitting just a few seats away. “Never listen to my mother. If she had her way we’d all be going around looking emaciated.”
Annie barked a laugh. “Don’t worry, I have no intention of giving up my beloved pastime of eating. It’s a good thing your brother likes the curvy gals.” Now she gave me a sassy wink.
“Please, no talk of Ronan’s sexual preferences in front of me. I don’t want to vomit up the champagne I drank back at the house.”
“Believe me, there’s absolutely nothing barf-worthy about your brother and sex, absolutely nothing.”
She was doing it on purpose now. I held my hands over my ears. “Yes, yes, we all know how happy you are in the bedroom. Just keep the details to yourself, please.”
Annie laughed loudly. “You’re too easy sometimes.”
When we arrived at the restaurant, I was delighted that the cycling had made the WAGS hungry for carbs, so I wouldn’t have to sit through them all ordering salad with no dressing. Mam had wrangled her way into a chair beside Rick and was being a little too flirtatious for my liking. My friend seemed vaguely bewildered by her attention, and since I knew (but wished I didn’t) that my mother had developed a taste for boy toys in recent years, I cast her a sharp, disapproving glance that said, please don’t.
She pretended she hadn’t seen, the wagon.
A waiter went around the table, pouring glasses of sake as we all perused the menu. After we’d eaten our fill it was time for karaoke, which I adored even though I didn’t have a note in my head. I managed to lure Annie up onto the stage so we could sing “Talk Dirty” by Jason Derulo, which was just hilarious since she blushed through the whole thing.
Rick shook his head at my corny choice of song but I just stuck my tongue out at him, the big music snob. Besides, I knew he found it funny because I could see him trying not to laugh.
Orla, drunk on sake, stood on her chair and filmed us on her phone. I knew the video would probably find its way onto Facebook but I was having too much fun to care.
When it was time to pay the bill, I had Ronan’s credit card at the ready while the ladies put on their coats to move on to the next venue in Temple Bar. I slid my arm through Annie’s and we chatted about her jitters for the big day. It was as we were wandering down the cobbled streets that I heard a few recognizable hoots and laughter.
We’d crossed paths with the stag party.
Tom, having come home to be Ronan’s best man, had been the one to organize it, but I thought they’d go someplace boring, like the rugby clubhouse or an old codger’s pub. Before I knew what to think about this unexpected turn of events, the hens had mixed in with the stags, everybody drunk as a skunk, and I knew there’d be no separating them.